Chapter Six

Two Days Before the Atero Championship

Once a year, Glatorian from all over Bara Magna gather together for the right to be called “Champion.”

On this occasion, they travel to Arena Magna in the city of Atero. Here they compete, they talk, they share news, and they discuss new battle tactics.

But this year, many who come won’t ever leave again.

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If the land of Bara Magna could be said to have a center, Atero is the settlement closest to it, and not only in a geographical sense, but in a cultural one as well. The city, as well as the arena that falls under its jurisdiction, is considered the only neutral settlement in Bara Magna. The lands in its outskirts are off-limits from territorial claim or conflict, and if one village or another sought to claim even an acre from it, they would have to secure the agreement of the other villages—something that has never happened since the Shattering and never will.

Theoretically, any Agori from any village could travel to Atero and live in peace with fellows from other villages. In fact, they probably would if not for one small issue: the larger region of Atero is crawling with hostile Vorox and Bone Hunters. Such desert wanderers are capable of warding off intrusion into the city at all times except for the yearly occasion when international entertainment dictates the villages reclaim the city by whatever means necessary.

Taskforces are sent by each participating village with Agori who will clear whatever debris has accumulated within the city and switch out materials that have worn with time. The work is arduous, but the Agori work with the knowledge that they will be treated with better seating in return. The only tribe that hasn’t participated in this custom is the rock tribe, but they had not been in the desert long enough to know it—and hopefully they will figure it out, for that would save an unlucky individual the danger of informing them on it.

Arena Magna, the magnificent arena that was the pinnacle of Bara Magnan civilization, had been built long ago on a spit of land that jutted out above the waterfall of what is now called the Skrall River. In what is by far the most dramatic of all sights in the land of Bara Magna, the six prongs of the arena reach up to the sky as if clawing for it. These tower over the mighty falls as the liquid sand flows around it, over the cliff, and into the abyss below. It is not uncommon for approaching Agori to imagine what it would be like if the Arena Magna’s spit were to suddenly come loose and plummet into the river far below.

Fortunately, this has not happened in the tens of thousands of years that the arena has stood.

A stalwart bridge leads away from the arena to a far larger spit to its side. A second bridge to the side of the river stands much further upriver from the falls. However, despite their grandeur, the bridges have grown obsolete: what was once a major water river was mostly blocked up when the Skrall installed a dam that dried the region up. Despite numerous attempts at challenging them to remove it, the Skrall were always victorious and kept their dam. Today the “river” is constituted of several feet of sand sitting on a moving liquid layer. Mercifully, it does not form quicksand, but it does flow like a lazy river, with almost impossible graduality. This makes it possible to walk on the “river” without fear of getting stuck or pulled in.

It is between these magnificent, yet useless, bridges on this spit that the city of Atero stands, guarding passage to Arena Magna some distance away — yet close enough that those foolish Agori who sleep in on tournament day are soon awakened by the uproar of the crowds. The city has long represented the tenuous harmony that exists between the tribes. If Bara Magna is lucky, it will continue to do so long into the future.

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There were still two days yet.

Kyry and another Fire Agori, Falmed, were perched on an outcropping some distance away from the main gate to the city, just within sight of the outermost bridge and with a spectacular view of the main gate. The two of them had been part of the crew cleaning the city for the event but would have to return to Vulcanus briefly in the middle of the tournament to retrieve supplies. With any luck, they’d be back in time to see the concluding matches.

Fortunately, this particular moment was a tentpole event in their books.

“Tesarans have arrived, looks like,” Falmed drawled, spying a field of green among the crowds that were lined up to enter the city. “But I don’t see their representatives.”

Kyry inhaled abruptly, grabbing Falmed’s arm and pointing.

“Look! There he is! Vastus! And accompanied by Cladra. But where’s Gresh, I wonder?”

“Not sure. He’s slated to fight in the tournament,” Falmed said, examining some notes.

“He must be arriving later,” Kyry shrugged. “And… I think I can see the Tajun Agori, but I’m not sure.”

“Not sure? What do you mean not sure,” Falmed asked, craning his neck. “Not that hard to tell blue apart from the other colors.”

“Not sure if it’s the main group,” Kyry amended. “There’s a lot of the Agori, but I can’t see Kiina, Tarix, or Vapius. Only one or two Glatorian I recognize—no-namers, really.”

“That’s unprecedented. Customarily, Agori from all the tribes come to the tournament at some point during its duration… You… You don’t think they’re still reeling from the Bone Hunter attack from a few weeks ago, do you?”

Kyry looked straight at Falmed, “I wonder…”

He returned his gaze to the action.

“Still, it would be highly unprecedented for them not to send anyone,” Falmed returned to his notes. “Tarix is the reigning champ and second-favored winner this year. Highest favored if the Skrall don’t turn up. You’d reckon Tajun would at least want a shot at it.”

“I was told some Tajun villagers are actually starving.”

“I told you that.”

“I have to say, I’m pretty concerned about this, Falmed. If Tajun gets too hungry, they’ll start challenging the rest of us for what we have.”

“I know. Let’s just hope the Water Agori pull themselves together and actually beat the Bone Hunters rather than folding to them.”

“I agree. Hopefully… Falmed, look!” Kyry gasped. He stood straight up. “It’s the banner of Vulcanus!”

Falmed’s head snapped up from his notes—then upon seeing what Kyry did, he leaped to his feet and whooped.

For a few minutes straight, the two of them cheered and clapped at the train of Fire Agori as they ascended into the city.

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From the procession, a movement in the corner of his eye caught Ackar’s attention. The Glatorian leaned over to Raanu.

“Am I mistaken, or is that Kyry?”

“Yes,” Raanu rolled his eyes at the overexcited villagers, who were now jumping up and down and flailing their arms. “He’s much too old for this sort of thing.”

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Kyry laughed as he turned to take his seat again. “I think they saw us,”

“Oh, they definitely saw us,” Falmed grinned. “I think Ackar was pointing at me.”

“Hey, you know what?” Kyry whirled, “I didn’t see Crotesius. The Cendox V1’s normally just behind Perditus’ Thornatus V9. Thornatus was there. But the Cendox wasn’t with it. And I think he was the favored winner this year in the vehicle division.”

“That’s strange,” Falmed scanned his notes. For a moment, he was quite taken aback. Then he flipped the notes so they were right-side-up.

“Oh, I think Crotesius cancelled. I don’t think his vehicle was in as good condition as he’d been hoping. Come to think of it, I seem to recall him helping clean up around the city.”

“Cancel for the tournament? Talk about uncharacteristic. It’s the same thing as Tarix—he won last year and was favored to win again. Really bizarre. May not bode well for the Tournament.”

“I know.”

“What other vehicles are slated to turn up?”

“Let’s see… Kaxium V3 for sure—I definitely remember Scodonius and Kirbraz arriving a week ago to help with the cleanup. Certainly, Iconox has never been big on vehicle fighting. Oh, there’s been a rumor floating around that the Baranus V7 will appear this year, but you know how Sahmad is. And Telluris’ Skopio XV-1 was totaled when—”

“Falmed, the next group is here!” Kyry said, completely oblivious. “Iconox, looks like. Gelu and Jagrii. And… at the back, I see Gresh and Tarix beside Strakk. Oh, this will be interesting.”

“Interesting indeed,” Falmed nodded. “Well, it’s getting pretty late, and the rock tribe still hasn’t arrived. Maybe they’ll sit this year out…?”

“I won’t miss them,” Kyry said. “In fact, I actually hope they don’t turn up. Skrall aren’t very entertaining showmen.”

“Agreed. Come, the sun’s setting. We’d best head inside.”

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In this way, Atero was filled to its brim with thrilled Agori and apprehensive Glatorian. The city of Atero sealed itself up for the night, and all rested secure in their temporary residences, thinking about nothing save only the forthcoming competition.

Yet at that very moment, though the Agori could not possibly see it, something far more exhilarating than an annual tournament procession was unfolding.

Far from Atero, well to the north, a slumbering giant had awakened.

Stirring, it roused itself to action.

The warriors inhabiting it hurried about their stations, scrambling to arm.

Shields assigned. Swords selected. The commanding officer took up a mighty mace, then rejected it in favor of one that was even mightier. Thornax were distributed. Extra layers of armor were strapped on and Rock Steeds were saddled and loaded.

For just as one city had been populated in a day, another would be emptied in a night.

A mighty horn was lifted into the air and blown.

And the iron jaws of Roxtus yawned wide.

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Two miles away, a lone Vorox peered through the haze of the dusk. Though the shadows of night were stretching over the horizon, the glimmering city of Roxtus could faintly be perceived. But a muted clanging seemed to be emanating from the direction. Closer examination revealed something like a black fog was sweeping into the desert as the dregs of Roxtus were poured out.

The Vorox scrambled to cover behind a large boulder. The fog seemed to be coming closer. The clanging rang at a methodical, even pace.

Even closer they drew. Now the Vorox could see them. A sight the likes of which she hadn’t seen since the days when the planet was whole.

The Vorox made a break for it. Under the cover of night, she raced across the desert, charging at top speed on all fours away from the procession. A shout seemed to follow her as her silhouette was spotted. But by now it was too late. She dove into the sand and landed in a passage deep underground. Scrambling through the tunnels, she darted to the distant south.

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Several hours later, Malum was seated on a makeshift throne as one Vorox after another brought before him their prizes from the latest hunts. Once, these very Vorox had been the lieutenants of other alphas. But during his six long months in exile, Malum had made short work of these mighty beasts, dispatching them one after another as he united the disparate sand tribes.

Malum dismissed the beast before him with a look of contempt. The Vorox moved away, distressed as the next one in line stepped forward and presented its offering. This Vorox seemed to have raided an Agori caravan, for it presented baskets of spices, food, and armor. Malum smiled. This would do nicely.

He nodded, and the Vorox turned to go. As the next one in line was stepping up, the curtain substituted for a door was blown aside and a female scout from the north tumbled to a halt at Malum’s feet.

“Why this incursion?” Malum demanded in the tongue of the Vorox. “You know better.”

“Forgiveness,” the Vorox hissed. “But you will desire the hearing.”

As the champion of the Vorox listened to the words of his scout, his expression shifted from irritation to intrigue to actual levity.

So the great spirit of Roxtus has stirred from its sleep, Malum thought. But can Bara Magna live out the storm?