"You should take it, you know. It may come in handy."
Stiffening, Kaz glanced around. He recognized the voice. The only time he had ever heard it was in a dream.
It was the voice of the gray man… but he was nowhere to be seen.
Without really knowing why he did it, Kaz turned and took the medallion. Even with his wrists banded together, he managed to place it around his neck. A warmth spread through him. Scurn nodded, then stepped back. Anticipation was evident in his eyes, anticipation and perhaps a little envy. Someone else would have the honor of killing Kaz.
There was no sign of Honor's Face. The axe Scurn wore was one of the service axes that the guard issued to its members. Of course, Scum would never risk an excellent weapon such as Honor's Face for the mundane tasks of the guard. Likely he planned to use it in the circus or in battle. Unlike the medallion, he had no intention of giving it back to its original owner even for one last battle. Scum's sense of honor went only so far.
Another roar shook the colosseum, followed by more foot stomping and clapping. Whatever match had been going on had now ended and, from the sounds of it, Kaz suspected that one of the combatants had suffered a fatal defeat.
We might conquer the world a little faster if we didn't keep disposing of our warriors in the arena, he thought with disgust. That made him think of Raud, which in turn made him think of Polik, who was probably in the audience already.
"Let's get this going," Kaz snarled, holding out his hands so that the jailer could remove his bracelets.
"That's the spirit!" chuckled Molus. He released Kaz. Ganth and Hecar were also freed from their bonds. None of the three were taken to the barred area, which was as Kaz had hoped. Again, minotaur habits worked to Kaz's advantage. Since his father and Hecar would follow Kaz, Molus and the others saw no sense in wasting time locking them up. With half a dozen guards surrounding them, it seemed unlikely that the pair would be able to try anything while Kaz was fighting in the arena.
Of course, with a distraction such as he planned, the guards would be too stunned to react immediately when their prisoners attempted to escape. Everything counted on the minotaur race's penchant for routine.
Had Kaz been of another race, say a human or elf, he would not have been as fortunate. Rarely were creatures of other races, with the exception of ogres, brought to the Great Circus. The smaller arenas dealt with the other races and usually allowed no chance of escape. The Great Circus was for the minotaurs almost exclusively. The few outsiders who fought in it were watched closely, since it was known that only members of the chosen of Sargas were truly honorable.
"They've cleared the field," Molus announced. "Move on, Kaziganthi. It's your time."
With two guards flanking him, Kaz walked out onto the field. In the stands, a sea of black, brown, and white forms, with a few other colors sprinkled here and there, watched and waited.
At first there was silence. Generally it was so when criminals were brought out, for a minotaur who had dishonored himself was only half a minotaur in the eyes of his fellows. Then, perhaps because of the medallion hanging from his neck or the fact that at least some in the crowd had recognized him despite the many years, a murmuring arose. It grew in intensity and by the time Kaz and the guards reached the bloodstained center of the arena, it had risen almost to a cheer. In fact, there were more than a few who were indeed cheering… for him.
From another entrance, more than a dozen warriors armed with a combination of swords, axes, spears, and nets appeared. They marched toward Kaz, each of them sleek gladiators in…heir prime. They were not champions of high rank, but definitely seasoned warriors. There were at least five females, but Kaz did not discount them. Helati was a prime example of what a female warrior was capable.
So it was to be combat against overwhelming numbers. Kaz estimated sixteen warriors. That meant eight would do battle while the other eight surrounded the circle where Kaz would fight. If one of the first eight died or was unable to continue the combat, another, designated earlier by lottery, would enter the fray. Warriors would continue to join the struggle until the criminal was outlasted-and dead. There were variations on this, but for the Great Circus, this was the accepted system. Hecar had been given a lesser risk only because they had wanted him alive as bait.
As the warriors began to surround Kaz and his escort, one of the guards handed him a much abused short sword. Kaz grunted, but did not otherwise protest. His weapon should have been better, but he knew not to expect otherwise. Polik and the high priest wanted to take no chances.
Thinking of the pair, he quickly scanned the crowds. The emperor was usually seated in a box at the center of the longer side of the arena. His box was higher than most other seats. Beside him would sit Jopfer and members of the Supreme Circle.
Sure enough, the box was occupied. Kaz squinted. Polik was there, a little heavier and wearier than years ago, but otherwise hardly changed. He still bore the physique of a champion, but Kaz could not see how he could have won every challenge he had faced in all these years. The emperor was clad in an elegant robe of brown and red and wore a crested helmet that was obviously used only for ceremonial purposes.
It's true, then, the prisoner thought. The warlords brought Polik in because he could be managed, and the high priest and circle kept him in for the same reason.
Polik was not looking at him, but was arguing with another minotaur, an armored figure that Kaz guessed was a member of the circle. He was tapping his chest again and again. It took Kaz a few moments to realize that Polik was complaining about the medallion. Even from so far away, most would recognize it as a symbol of a high-ranking champion. Those who still recalled Kaz would likely also remember that he could have challenged Polik if he had not abandoned the circus. The emperor did not like to be reminded of that.
The emperor pointed at Kaz, then at the warriors. The minotaur beside him shook his head, but Polik was adamant. His companion signaled a guard. A few quick words were shared, then the guard hurried off.
Horns blared. Kaz glanced to the side and saw a herald walk out. They were about to announce the battle. Not caring what the herald was going to say, he continued looking around. Polik and at least three members of the circle were in the audience, but the only representatives of the priesthood were Merriq and a pair of lesser acolytes. Of Jopfer there was no sign.
His target would be Polik after all.
"Wake up, you fool!" whispered one of the guards. "Or are you planning to just stand there and let them run you through?"
Kaz snapped out of his reverie, realizing that the herald had finished and the warriors were readying themselves. Once they were all in place, eight surrounding Kaz and the other eight forming an outer circle, the guards backed out of the way and returned to where Ganth and Hecar were being held.
Kaz had only a moment. He had to dispose of the weapon, distracting his opponents at the same time, then summon Honor's Face to him. Only Honor's Face, with its magic, could do what Kaz desired. Only the axe could fly as straight as he desired, and end Polik's reign once and for all.
Another horn sounded. The gladiators paused, clearly confused. Kaz was also confused. The new signal commanded the gladiators to retreat, which they undertook in slight disarray.
Yet another horn sounded. This time, no gladiators paraded out. Instead, a gate to the side opened. The minotaur's eyes widened. He knew what the gate meant. Someone had made a change in plans. Kaz no longer faced warriors.
A roar echoed from the corridor behind the half-open gate. Instead of gladiators, Kaz was to fight an animal.