This will be where I post explorations into the story that might or might not make it into the book. These are events that I wanted to explore and see where they lead but they might not fit well into the story line.
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The sand was still warm even tho it was long since the sun had sunk below the rim of the arena, in midday the sand would be almost unbearable burning at the warriors feet as they walked to the center. Many of the fights took place at night under the light of the ten giant lanterns that surrounded the arena floor, to escape the heat and also to allow the farmers to finish their work and come to the fights to bet on their champion.
This night the bets would be high for both men, for both had built legends with the death of the fighters they had faced in the past. The fighter from the Lords camp had fought in over thirty head to head duels, his body showed the many scars of his ten years in the service of the king. Arrin had heard the many tales of the kings champion, he had heard of his legendary duel with Alexandros the greatest arena champion ever to hold the title, but Arrin had forged a legend of his own and earned his right to challenge Carndal for his champion’s title.
Twenty two men had fallen under Arrin’s blade on the arena floor, twenty two men fought for their lives against the demon unleashed. The blade called for blood this day and Arrin would not fight it this time, he would need the demon and all its strength to fight this man. Here and now he had the chance to put down the last barrier between himself and the king.
At first Arrin could feel his body jump into action and his mind would race the speed of the blades calculating the next move of his possible killer. Slowly the feeling would leave first the grip on the sword then he would no longer feel the pang of steel on steel as the blades met. His arms would become as feathers dancing in the wind needing no direction from Arrin, as if they knew the dance themselves. Slowly it would become as if he were a spectator watching the battle unfold in front of him, the blades whirring back and forth in front of his eyes.
The first feeling of the demon inside would come in slight movement’s of the sword, more aggressive movements. Then Arrin could feel the difference could feel the extra strength and could tell that the blade was no longer being directed by his will. The voice was always last to come, and only as the battle began to become frantic, when the blades were almost moving to fast to see, and surely a killing blow could not be far off. At first the voice would not speak to Arrin he would recite the battle and command the movements of the swords with a will of iron.
The first time the demon had spoken to Arrin it had chilled his bones, it had been agaisnt Goris the champion of the city of Kairthon one of the biggest cities in the region. He had been fast and agile, every move perfectly timed and well aimed his balance never in question. It was only the third time the demon had bothered to join in the fights. When he spoke his voice was broken as if it were dry and had gone unused for a long time. “ He is good, I think that I will play with him”
The fight had lasted almost 15 minutes, an extraordinary amount of time for a fight with swords. The demon had taken Goris a piece at a time, first taking away an ear that flew to the sand and gasps went out from the crowd as blood sprayed from the wound. It should have ended then with Goris staggering in pain, but the demon wanted more, and piece by piece cut by cut Goris was dismantled. By the end Goris was barely able to stand and the demon gave him no sympathy, bleeding from multiple wounds that would kill him if left un attended, the demon swatted away the blades as if they were swung by a child. The killing blow was swift at least, as if that were some comfort to the dead, or to Arrin for that matter.
Fourteen times since, the demon had come out to play and each time Arrin fought to hold him inside, to no avail. But this time the demon was free to play, for this time there could be no loss, for this battle meant one of two things, either death to the king or death to the demon, both were welcomed ends.
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The blade was still gleaming with blood, some of it had dried giving it a deeper red color that dulled the reflection of the sun making the blade look as if it was glowing blood red. The man stood there with bodies laid low by that very blade littering the ground highlighting the path he made to his final goal. The chariots sole living horse lifted its head and let a whiney out that broke the silence that had set in with the final cries of the man who had stolen everything from Arrin.
Twelve years had passed but the pain had not subsided to quickly, still gnawing at Arrin’s sanity even after the death of his last living enemy. So many had fallen under the blade in his hand, so many had fallen. Was the world a better place now without the evil that these men brought to the world, could destroying that evil ever make right the lives that were lost in search of these men?
Arrin wondered if he could still recall the number of people who had stood before him and died in his wake. The number was above 300 now, most of them in open battle in one of the three battles he was now a veteran of, but some had come by mistake a chance arrow, an unlucky punch, and 29 of them had come in the arena where he had learned his skills and worked tirelessly earning himself the name that now echoed across time and was feared by all those who knew they would one day face him. He remembered the first time he had heard it whispered, it was a little boy sitting on the shoulders of his father just after his 15th arena fight. “Dad isn’t that the warrior from the arena?” his eyes were full of awe as if he was seeing a god in human form. As Arrin walked past the boy he dared not look into the eyes of the innocent child in fear that he might see what Arrin had felt his whole life, that the warrior inside was not the same man that walked here now, in battle a demon was born. As if the boy had read his mind he whispered one word that spread thru the growing crowd like fire and before he had reached the arena gates the entire crowd was chanting that name, “Blood Storm”.
The name had no meaning to me at the time, but over the months I spent in the pits of the arena training myself to the very limits that my body would allow I would hear stories the tales of the Blood Storm. Most were far off, telling grand tales of my fight against dragons and evil kings, some tho were closer to the truth and one even guessed my place of birth. I grew to enjoy these tales and gave no hint to either the truth or the lies, only one other man knew the truth of my life, and I hoped dearly that he would hear of my growing legend and know that I would not stop until I faced him and we settled the debt he owed to me.
