TEN

Are You Not Entertained!?

Being alone in the cell started to grate on Dungar after a short while. He would occasionally nibble on his provisions and take short naps periodically due to boredom and lack of stimuli. Before long he sense of time was all but obliterated. He had no idea how long he had been confined there alone by the time the gate opened up again.

“I thought we were supposed to take blood bath people to the other cell?”

“It’s totally full. It’s no big deal to leave him here, he only has to last the night.”

Dungar watched as a tied up man was tossed into the cell with him. As the gate closed and the room turned to dimness, Dungar made his way over to the individual. He was an older gentleman with long greying hair, most of which was swept back behind his head. His face was old and weathered, but still tough looking. It was a similar toughness to that of Sir Pent’s face, battle-hardened and unapologetic.

“You plan on staring at me all day, or are you gonna help me up, son?” The man groaned exasperatedly.

Like many of the men Dungar had encountered on his journey, this man’s voice too had a bit of drag to it. But it was slightly higher than what he had been becoming accustomed to, and there was a noticeable drawl to it. He bent down and undid the binds on the man’s hands before helping him to his feet.

“Appreciate that, boy.” The man thanked, dusting himself off.

“No problem, sir.” Dungar responded.

“Sir? How did you know I was a knight?”

“You’re a knight?”

“You just called me sir.”

“Is that not a typical way of addressing an older man?”

“Older man!? Just who do you think you are, son?”

“How about you stop calling me son and I won’t refer to you as an old man.”

“How about I feed you my fist, son!?”

At that, the man wound up and took a very uncoordinated swing at Dungar. Effortlessly, he sidestepped the punch which caused the man to lose his balance and stagger before falling to the floor. Dungar gaped at him as the man gracelessly rolled around trying to get back up before settling into a sitting position.

“Alright son, I’ll let ya beat around the stump … This time!”

“Are you drunk?” Dungar bluntly asked.

“Well that depends on what you mean by … You.” The man slurred while looking around.

Sighing, Dungar slumped against the wall into a sitting position as well. They sat for a long time, neither speaking to the other. Dungar eyed the older fellow suspiciously as he sat in the middle of the floor gibbering to himself before finally going silent.

“Is that blood event tomorrow?” The man finally spoke

“Yes.” Dungar replied matter-of-factly

“Well that sucks.” He stated. “How’d y’all get holed up in this calaboose?”

“… Uh. What?”

“… Where did they snag you from?”

“Lotsotri forest.”

“Lotsotri forest? What were you doing there?”

“I was on my way to Jenair.”

Upon hearing that, the man sighed to himself.

“Aw flaming piss buckets. You weren’t intending to marry the queen were ye? Because if you were then I got bad news for ya.”

Dungar perked up at the mention of her. It’s only been a few days; surely she couldn’t have gotten married already. If she ended up with Rainchild then he’s really going to kill her.

“What do you mean?”

“The queen, son.” The man repeated. “The fishy wench ain’t who ya think she is. She’s a witch and a killer. And I’ll have her head on a spike even if I gotta see every last one of you suitors knocked galley west.”

The multitude of questions roiling around in Dungar’s mind left him with a very odd look on his face. The man, however, assumed his odd look was surprise resulting from the information he was just presented with.

“Hope this doesn’t foster no bad blood between us, son.”

“I think we’ll be okay, sir.”

Dungar wasn’t sure what to make of the strange man he found himself locked in a room with. Did he actually know about the queen, or was he just a crazy conspiracy theorist? Questions like those forced Dungar to question his own stance on the matter. If he were to write off this old fellow as a crazy conspiracy theorist, how could he justify his own quest? On the other hand, perhaps this man could be the ally he needed.

“What do you know?” Dungar asked.

“What do I know!? I know she’s a witch and a murderer!” The man responded defensively.

“I’m asking how you know that, you crazy old goat.” Dungar countered, irritated.

“You watch your tongue or I’ll take it from you, boy!” The cellmate growled.

Dungar stared at him with a bored expression of contempt. He was imprisoned, starved, and beaten. Petty threats of violence from an old man weren’t about to faze him now. Something about Dungar’s scrutinizing stare must have tipped the man off to that notion, because he opted to carry on.

“I saw it with my own eyes. I was stationed outside the king’s private chambers to superintend his slumber that night, and I had barely even been drinking before this shift! Then the princess came, so naturally I let her inside. I figured if there was anyone on whom his highness could rely it would be his own dang daughter. But after she went in I watched her. She went right up to his bed and knelt by him.”

“Why were you spying on the princess when she thought she was alone with the king?”

“THAT’S NONE O’ YER GODDAMN BUSINESS, BOY!”

“… Alrighty then.”

“Ahem now where was I? Ah yes. She began to work some sorta witchery on my dear king. There were flashes of red and purple and all them other colors and before I knew it King Ik was lookin’ all gone up the flume in his bed. When she left his chambers, the harlot tried to convince me the king was resting and not to be disturbed, BUT I KNEW BETTER! I rushed to his side only to feel the touch of the king’s cold carcass. Naturally, as any of us knights would do, I rushed to our betrayer to beef her where she stood! But wouldn’t you know it, son, she knew I would come for her. I was arrested by my own brothers, my cries of treason falling on deaf ears. But mark my words, boy. I’m gonna track down yer bride-to-be, and she’s gonna die.”

“So wait.” Dungar replied. “You mean to tell me that you were actually a knight?”

“Still am, boy!” The man declared. “A true knight serves his king! And even stripped of my position I still am and will always be Sir Lee of Castle Jenair!”

“Dungar Loloth.” He introduced himself, stretching out one of his giant bear paws of a hand. Lee took it in one of his and they had themselves a nice manly handshake with just the right amount of firmness.

“Did you perhaps know a Sir Pent?” Dungar asked.

“DID I!?” Lee exclaimed. “Why that wretched scumbag is one of the traitorous lowlifes who arrested me. He’s so crooked he’d swallow a nail and shat out a corkscrew. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire!”

“I think he’s dead.” Dungar added nonchalantly.

“Don’t be so sure, boy.” Lee warned. “He’s a wall-eyed, lippy bastard, but he’s also one tough son of a whore. If you didn’t hear no death rattle from em, then don’t bet all yer chips just yet.”

They sat in silence for a little while after that. Dungar couldn’t figure out whether to be amused or annoyed by the man’s idiomatic jargon. He had no idea what most of the phrases the man was saying meant, and yet still found himself able to understand the bulk of it. He was still convinced the man was at least a little bit loopy, but he couldn’t help but like him anyway. He was a stand up fellow with a chip on his shoulder and a burning vengeance for the queen. Just the kind of guy Dungar needed.

“I have it in for the queen too.” Dungar finally spoke.

Lee, who had been ventriloquizing to himself with his hand, paused and looked at Dungar.

“I met a man from the Kingdom of Farrawee …” Dungar began, and proceeded to fill Sir Lee in on the details of his encounter with Stranger.

When Dungar finished recounting the story, Lee spoke again.

“Why that no-good squirrelly mudsill of a woman, soon as we find her she’s getting nailed to the wall, son.”

“Agreed,” Dungar nodded.

“BUT UNTIL THEN!” Lee yelled for some reason. “I suggest we find a way to survive our current predicament. Once that blood bath starts that whole arena is gonna get hotter than a whorehouse on copper night. Best get some shut-eye, son. Yer gonna need to have yer wits about ya when that place starts turnin’ into a bone orchard.”

And without another word, the two men rolled over to go to sleep. Not that it was that easy to drift off with the threat of death looming at any moment. Dungar’s mind drifted back to what Herrow said to him earlier that day about how he was apparently going to entertain the crowd while they rounded up more people to replace the ones he released. He doubted she knew that he knew how to juggle, so she probably had something more sinister in mind. All the more reason for him to get some sleep, he knew he was going to need his strength tomorrow.

When Dungar woke up the next morning it was not to the sound of Dritungo yelling; nor was it to the feeling of fists being driven into his body. Instead, it was to the feeling of being picked up and gagged by four guards while they carried him out of his cell, probably to avoid waking Sir Lee.

As he was dropped in front of the familiar arena gate, Dritungo came up to him and clasped a hand onto Dungar’s shoulder.

“How’re the ribs, murto?”

“Better than yours will be when I’m done with ya.”

Dritungo laughed a deep belly laugh.

“Well here’s hopin’ you get to find out, tough guy.” Dritungo foreshadowed as the hand of his on Dungar’s shoulder grasped the back of his tunic. “If you live through today then I’ll let ya go toe to toe with me.”

Before Dungar could respond, he felt himself thrown through the door and out into the arena. The familiar dull roar of a large audience surrounded him as he blinked in the harsh sunlight. When his vision adjusted, Dungar looked around. He was truly alone in the arena this time. No Jimminy, no rock stuffed down his pants, just his own weary body to rely on.

“Gentleman and ladies!” Herrow’s voice rang out through the stadium. “Welcome to the biannual Vthnnqouayey arena blood bath!”

As usual, a tremendous cheer reverberated from the crowd.

“Before we reach our prestigious main event though, we have a special treat for you this year! Down in the arena before you there is your first round of entertainment! He is one of the most elite members of the infamous Bare Knuckle Bandits.”

The usual jeers and boos then erupted from the crowd. Dungar just rolled his eyes. Were the Bare Knuckle Bandits even a thing, or did she just make that up too?

“The bandit you see before you,” Herrow continued, “Was caught and tried for his numerous counts of theft, arson, vandalism, rape, and of course, murders. Rather than seeing him simply executed for his heinous crimes though, we here at the arena petitioned to have his cowardly presence here for his final hours, so he could at least see what it’s like to fight with real men before he dies!”

As she finished speaking, the gate on the far side of the arena opened to reveal Dungar’s opponent. It was a tall individual with incredibly long arms and of average build, but it did not appear to be human. Its skin was a brilliant white color and had an odd layered texture to it like papier-mâché. It was completely hairless and had beady black eyes and no lips or nose, just an opening that Dungar assumed was its mouth. It wore nothing but a loincloth and a ring of fur around its neck, and it was armed with several spears as well as a small, circular wooden shield.

“Our gladiator this fine morning is Chocky of the Weib Tribe. He may not be the burliest of our gladiators but he is fast with a spear and has quite a reach!”

The crowd was clearly as used to seeing a member of the Weib tribe as Dungar was. There were cheers for the gladiator, but they were quieter and more unsure sounding than usual.

“His village was also burned down by the Bare Knuckle Bandits!” Herrow added, hoping to add some drama and sympathy. “Here is his chance for revenge! Let the fight begin!”

Immediately Dungar found himself being forced to dive out of the way as a spear was thrown at him. As he hopped back to his feet, he found his opponent bearing down on him with a second spear in hand. He frantically had to dodge side to side as the spear was repeatedly thrust towards him. As the barrage of attacks continued, Dungar felt himself rapidly losing control of the fight. He started to back away while continuing to dodge the wild swings and thrusts of the savage white man.

Soon enough, Dungar felt his back against the wall of the coliseum as his opponent moved to corner him. Chocky wound up and thrust forward the intended killing blow. Dungar felt the cool breeze created by the weapon on his face as he barely managed to duck out of the way. Just as Dungar had hoped, the spear became embedded in the wooden wall of the arena right where his neck was a second earlier. As the gladiator grasped his weapon, frantically trying to pull it from the wall, Dungar ball up his fist and delivered a massive uppercut right into his opponent’s chin.

The force of the blow was so tremendous that not only did the Weib Tribe representative’s hands leave his spear, but his feet also left the ground as he careened backwards towards the center of the stadium. With impressive resilience, the gladiator managed to get back on his feet just as Dungar reached him. As Dungar grabbed him by his fur necklace, the gladiator delivered a return blow to the side of Dungar’s face. When knuckle met cheekbone a faint cracking sound could be heard. It was the sound of Chocky shattering his hand. He hardly had time to make a pained facial expression before a storm of enraged swings from Dungar sent him back to the ground.

Dungar loomed over his battered opponent, who was bleeding from the face and gasping for air, before he looked up at Herrow. She was seated comfortably in a large throne overlooking the fight. Seeing that it had come to a close, she got up from her chair and raised a hand towards the arena; her thumb protruding downward from that hand.

Dungar looked at her with her odd hand expression, before making one back to her with a different lone finger protruding from his. Then he kicked Chocky in the ribs one more time for good measure before strolling back to his gate.

“Not so fast, convict!” Herrow’s voice rang out through the stadium. “Your term here in Vthnnqouayey arena is only just beginning!”

As if on cue, the gate at the other end of the coliseum opened up to reveal another gladiator.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Dungar growled through gritted teeth. She kidnapped him against his will, slandered him and painted him as a convict, subjected him to beatings and solitary confinement, and then sentenced him to die like an animal. No more. Dungar was going to tear her limb from limb even if he had to go through every gladiator north of the Great Fall.

He wasted no time with this new challenger. He bowed his shoulders and took off towards his opponent at an all-out sprint. The new gladiator, a shorter man in gold armor and a matching gold helmet, froze in awe of the barbarous blacksmith bearing down on him. Once he reached about five paces away from his target Dungar leaped an epic leap into the sky, winding back his fist as he rose. As he came back towards the ground, he drove his fist into the gladiator’s face with an impact so thunderous that the man’s helmet and shoes were thrown from his body as he hurtled backwards at breakneck speed into the wall. The gladiator’s face was gone; all that remained was a solution of pulverized bones, teeth, and blood.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, and thoughts of vengeance coursing through his mind, Dungar paced in front of the gate like a rabid redbear just begging for someone to come through. When someone did, Dungar lunged for them just the same. However this time Dungar watched in horror as this opponent deftly ducked under his wild haymaker and delivered a counter crushing blow to Dungar’s foot with his mace.

The momentum of the fight took a serious turn as Dungar felt his body go crashing to the ground; his foot in implacable pain. As he tried to get up, the imbalance of his body made his movements slow and predictable and he quickly received another mace blow to his chest sending him right back to the ground. His mind was disoriented and his lungs were breathless, it was all he could do to roll out of the way of the crushing blows of his opponent’s mace.

As he dodged another swing and the mace crashed into the ground, Dungar took his opportunity to retaliate. He grabbed the handle of the mace just below the head as the gladiator went to pull it back. Using his opponent’s own strength to get him back in his feet, as well as net him a bit of forward momentum, Dungar used his good leg to support himself while using his other leg to drive his knee into the gladiator’s gut. The man recoiled backwards, hunched over forward with his hands clutching his stomach. The mace now in his hands, Dungar finished his adversary off with an upwards swing of it right into the man’s jaw.

Three bodies now littered the arena. It was far from a bath of blood, but Dungar certainly had enough of the stuff on him. His chest ached from the blow, and he leaned heavily to his left side due to inability to put much weight on his right foot. His confidence and ferocity had waned, but his life was on the line, and he was not going to let Herrow beat him regardless of how many henchmen she had to hide herself behind. At least that’s what he thought before his next opponent came out.

The next gladiator that walked out of that gate was nothing that Dungar could have possibly expected. It was a tall thin creature, at least nine feet high at the head, but the strangest part of it was how thin it was. Its chest had to have been almost four feet long, but it was only about as big around as Dungar’s leg. The limbs that protruded from it offered a matching description; long and skinny. The face was the strangest of all though. Its eyes consisted of thin glowing red slits and its nose was long and sharp not unlike a beak. Its lips were all but nonexistent, simply thin folds of skin curled into a deep, ingrained frown where the mouth would be. The unnerving visage was capped off by patches of long strands of silky white hair that flowed shabbily down all sides of the creature’s head.

Slowly and gracefully it walked towards him, it’s incredibly long legs taking enormous strides, before coming to a halt in front of him.

Clouded by pain, adrenaline, anger, and desperation, Dungar looked the creature up and down with contempt.

“You think you’re tough, skinny?” Dungar bellowed. “Let’s see what you’re made of!”

He reared the mace back, but before he could swing it forward he was knocked off his feet and several paces to his right by a punishing right hook from the creature. Dungar sat up from the ground rubbing his face just in time to see the creature effortlessly pick up the body of the gold-clad gladiator with one hand and begin swinging it around like a mace. It was truly horrifying.

It was all he could do to dive and roll and limp and do any movement within his power to avoid the constant slamming of the 180 pound body against the ground all around him. However, a man of Dungar’s size and in Dungar’s condition could only be so agile. The beatings he had endured over the last few days coupled with the physical exhaustion of pushing his body in the ways that he had been today and the night before had heavily sapped at his once tremendous vigor. A half step too short or a half second too late and he would inevitably find the battered remains of his former opponent crashing down upon him. And surely that is what happened.

Reality slowed to a crawl for Dungar as the full force of a fully grown adult male being swung by an even larger creature impacted his body. He felt the impact, but there was no instantly registered pain. Just the feeling of his body involuntarily seizing up as his legs continued to move in one direction while his body moved in the other. He could not cry out in pain, he could not reach out to brace his fall; he could only experience the ride as if he were simply a passenger in his own body as it experienced the physical punishment completely separately.

When Dungar’s body impacted the ground was when time sped up to its normal rate for him. It was as if pain were a white hot molten liquid that had suddenly washed over his entire body. He could not articulate where he hurt, he could not even articulate what kind of hurt it was, all he knew was that he was in pain and all he had the physical capacity to do was to lay there and pray for the molten agony that currently enveloped him to cool.

His animal of an opponent now loomed over him menacingly before delivering a crushing punch into the side of his face. But Dungar didn’t even react. The blow of the punch was simply a small extra bubble on the surface of his molten lake of misery.

Satisfied with his decimation of Dungar, the creature reached down and picked him up, holding him high for the arena to see. Dungar wasn’t sure if it was the bright sunlight shining on his face that reignited his burning desire for life, or if it was the roar of that crowd of horrible people that he hated so much, but at that very moment he decided he’d be burned if he was going to let some twiggy bird thing be the instrument of his undoing.

He grabbed the gladiator by the hand it held him with and sunk his teeth as far as they would go into the meaty area just below the thumb. His opponent jerked and screeched but his teeth held firm until the chunk of flesh his teeth were latched onto was torn loose from the creature’s hand.

Dungar spit out the chunk of meat he’d just bitten off before he grabbed the closest item he could find, which was the small round shield from his first opponent, and smashed it as hard as he could against the tall thing’s knee.

With a chunk torn from its hand, and a thoroughly shattered patella, the gladiator fell to its one good knee leaving it eye level with Dungar. In a last ditch effort, the gladiator threw a final swing at Dungar’s face, but Dungar effortlessly caught the fist in his hand.

His blood was pounding, his muscles were all but completely exerted, and his legs were about to give, but Dungar stood strong and firm with his opponent at his mercy. With his free hand, cool as can be, Dungar reached over and seized a massive fist full of the creature’s patchy, silky hair, and catapulted the creature’s head towards his own so fast that the resulting head-butt echoed throughout the stadium.

The long beak of a nose on his opponent was utterly obliterated and the eye socket where impact was made was completely shattered, the eye totally liquidized. As the creature’s limp body fell to the ground, several teeth could be seen spilling out of its mouth.

Dungar stood stoically in the center of the coliseum. His clothes were ripped and torn to shreds; his hands and face were coated in the blood of his enemies. His chest heaved up and down as he struggled to satiate his body’s heavy desire for oxygen. He knew that as soon as he moved a single muscle, his body was going to give underneath him.

“Bring out the next challenger.” The bored voice of Herrow rang out.

Dungar strained against his body’s desire to give up, but it was no good. He fell to his knees. His vision was blurry and the world was spinning. He couldn’t even make out the cheering of the crowd anymore, everything sounded like it was underwater. He closed his eyes trying to regain his senses, but his equilibrium was shot and he keeled over backwards as a result.

When Dungar opened his eyes again he saw the figure of his opponent looming over him. But for some reason he looked vaguely familiar. As Dungar struggled to focus his eyes, his opponent leaned in closer to his face. That’s when Dungar clued in.

He was face to face with the yellow cat-like eyes and long, sharp snaggleteeth of a Sharley.