Chapter One

The gladiators stood in the arena, their bodies held low as the glint of their blades danced around the open space.  Accustomed to the blood-lust of the spectators, the two warriors had ears only for the scuff of their enemy's foot or the way a breath hitched when caught in surprise.  As though both waited for some signal, the two kept their eyes intensely focused on each other's gaze, measuring the gall of each potential move.  The breeze carried small particles of dust into the fighters' faces, but their sheens of sweat collected the dirt and halted its brief flight.

Unblinking.

Suddenly, the smaller of the two darted forward.  It was only too obvious to the audience that the less seasoned warrior was a female and likely the loser before the fighting even began, but she was equally determined to prove her opponent wrong.  A slash upwards with her blade, a quick step to the right from her male counterpart, and the crowd roared in laughter.  Mocking went unheard by the couple as well, and the circling started again with even more apprehension.

The match had gone on for awhile now, so every twitch of a finger or fall of the blade had the other uneasy, and each was as equally determined not to be the one to break.  However, each also knew how wearisome waiting could be.  Thus, the male gladiator finally fainted a forward lunge, but the smaller fighter recognized it for what it was.  She quickly twisted her body and swept beneath him by scraping her arm and legs into the dirt.  The full body slide was sure to grind dirt and weapon remnants into her skin, but such rashes were hardly worth noticing when lives were quite possibly on the line.

The crowd roared raunchy things as the male gladiator thrust his large knife downwards. It hardly missed the woman's shoulder, sliding against the chain mail and sinking into the hard ground with a the noise of metal on stone.  To quickly remedy the miss, the larger warrior's fist came down instead, pinning his opponent's shoulder to the ground.  Heat could be felt from either body as he leaned in, and from the spectator's view, private taunting was taking place.  This spurred the crowd even more, and someone even threw a half eaten roast leg at the two below.

The woman gladiator, however, only heard two words quietly uttered between his grit teeth: "Play along."  She didn't have time to ask or even question her ears.  The man turned his blade around and pounded its hilt into the skull of her forehead. Despite the helmet covering the spot, his hit was angled enough and hard enough to knock her unconscious. 

The crowed jeered its approval.  Those who weren't on their feet leaped up, and laughter rang into the sky.  The smell of dust and sweat and turmoil didn't phase any of them as the announcer grinned and gave the verdict.  No sooner had the pompous man spoken his last words, than the victor gladiator was gathered by three guards.  One of them kicked his feet out from under him, while the other two grabbed an arm each.  The gladiator was seasoned enough to know how pointless fighting it was, and so he let the demeaning actions take place.  In this world of blood lust, his only other option as a knife between his ribs.

As the guards continued to carry the bulk of his weight, the gladiator felt a strange sense of calm as his world blackened beneath the arena doors.  The noise of the crowd was immediately hushed and although he could still hear the dull thunder of their voices, he could no longer make out specific words. His heart rate maintained its rushed pace, but the beats were firmer and more mechanical.  The sweat on his face dampened his skin instead of rolling off of it, and his muscles no longer pulsed with anticipation.

The guards were eerily silent, but paused half way down the first corridor to allow the gladiator to get back onto his feet. As he did so, more guards closed in on the group for security's sake.  A metal collar was latched onto his neck and cold cuffs around his wrists.  His arms were unceremoniously pulled back, and a chain tightly connected the back of his neck to his arms at the small of his back.  Today the binds were pulled extra tight, and the clinking of each chain striking another reverberated off the stone walls.  Even his blade was ripped away from his side and tucked into one of the guard's scabbards.

Today was the day.

He tried to contain his excitement as the guards led him down hall after hall. Instead of walking into the room of cells, he was marched beyond the door without a glance.  There was no care about his outward appearance, smell, or discomfort as curtain after curtain was pushed aside.  Finally, the parade halted at a large oak door. The door was heavy and emblazoned with an all too familiar crest.  With an air of annoyed formality, one of the guards broke the silence.

"If any attempt is made at the life of our lord, you will be put to death immediately and without question.  Is this clear?"  The guard's eyes flicked towards the warrior in a sidelong glance, but the victor nodded his head acutely... just enough to legitimately answer the question.  There was then some hesitation before one man stepped forward and pushed on the heavy door.  It swung open silently as though disapproving of what would take place.

Once the door was open though, the splendor inside was noteworthy.  An exotic fur or two was cast carefully on the floor, and marble bowls graced the mahogany tables.  Anyone who didn't visit the room regularly would likely think the king himself stayed here, but the gladiator didn't let it phase him.  Instead, he was more interested in the man sitting behind a table and enjoying his meal of pig roast and boiled potatoes.

The gray haired man glanced up only briefly, placing his fork down before reaching for a rag and daintily dipping it in a small stone bowl of water.  As he lifted the rag to wipe at the corner of his mouth, he stared the gladiator down with  gray-blue eyes. The skin under the lord's eyes folded onto itself and yet... he had the look of a very astute and well-kept man.  He didn't speak for some time, and the guards kept their tight circle around the warrior as everyone waited with abated breath.

Finally, the grizzled man spoke as he folded his hands onto the table's edge.  "So I hear you've won you're 50th battle.  As you know, this warrants you your first reward."  He lifted his finger as though reciting something he knew by heart, locking eyes with the hardened man in shackles.  "Upon your 50th victory, you will be permitted one item for a day under the agreement that the item in question will not bring harm to anyone associated with the arena.  This item will be removed from your presence when the sun sets, and the lord has complete authority to deny any request."

The lord then waited for a few more seconds as though testing the veracity of the gladiator's bravery before adding, "Think carefully.  What do you wish to make use of for the day?"

The gladiator had been anticipating this day for quite some time and he had the scars to prove it.  Like most victors that ended up standing here, the item of his choice was clear on the tip of his tongue.  "The one I defeated," he attempted casually, as his eyes betrayed his lack of emotion.

The man at the table hitched his brows in slight surprise as he leaned back in his chair of privilege.  "An unconventional request," he said as though he expected an explanation.  Everyone in the room felt the tension in that curiosity, and even the cup of water on the table shivered.

However, the warrior was well aware of how this game was played, since so many close friends of his had been enslaved by the very same lifestyle.  Every year the guards 'recruited' innocent people with promises to take care of their needs, a lord rewarded victors in order to keep people fighting through the seemingly impossible, and gladiators died at the hand of someone (lord or opponent)....  or were released when they were too feeble to be a concern.  The ability to reward victors was an essential key in minimizing suicides or attempted runaways which resulted in death.  It was this necessity that kept the younger man bold.

He gave a slight tilt of head so that the shadow of his helmet obscured his eyes.  "Yes, my lord," he said with as much humility as he could offer.  "Companionship is important for keeping the mind alive, and half the battle is fought through ideas and wit."

The old man seemed to take the request a little more seriously then, his own ideas and thoughts turning in his mind like the wheel of a grinding stone.  He cast his gaze into the fireplace nearby and rested his still folded hands against his stomach.

"Why her?" he questioned, unwilling to agree so easily.

The fighter was ready for this question as well, and despite the elder's attempt to throw him off, this mental battle -was- easy for the warrior.  "She's a warrior, like me," he said, watching the lord's aloof gaze.  "We have similar interests and occupations.  It would be simple for us to hold a conversation worth my while."

The guards behind him shifted their weight, the scratching of their boots obvious against the gray rock.  The lord refused to move his gaze however and pressed onward.  "Will no other gladiator suffice?"

This was a question the younger man had -not- expected, and for a moment, the sweat on his brows increased.  However, he kept his voice as steady as it had been before.  "Any captive will suffice.  However, someone I've defeated might be more willing to talk through words instead of fists.  I would not want to defend myself against someone determined to get an upper hand before our first battle."

The answer seemed to please the lord and he finally took his gaze from the fire.  "Most winners prefer a bath or a good meal... perhaps even some liquor. Are you sure you'd rather have companionship?"

The warrior locked eyes with the older man.  "I do," he said resolutely.

Instead of answering, the lord abandoned his relaxed pose and pulled his plate closer, grabbing the fork he had set down earlier.  As he pushed his utensil past the pucker of the potato's skin, the gladiator felt firm hands grip his arms.  Before the lord had even torn a chunk from the spud, the young man was forcibly turned and marched out of the elegant room of power.

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Once in his cell, the young man had been released from his shackles.  He now paced the well-worn path on his floor, noting how compact the dirt had become.  He could hear the next battle taking place above his head despite the depth of his room, and his fists tightened next to his hips.  The world was constantly in throes of madness and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his sanity.  Would the lord respect his request?  Or had the silent departure been his denial?

He took a moment to recall his reason for being here so that he could calm down. Feeling the way his heart pounded against his chest plate, he sat against a wall slowly, bending his aching knees and reaching up to remove his shoddy helmet.  Even the thick air against his scalp offered immediate relief and he could smell the dirt from the arena which had been trapped in his hair.  His heavy eyelids fell until he could see the back of them, and he pictured his wife as he had last seen her.

Despite her pale skin, she was as beautiful to him as ever. Her long chestnut locks graced the pillow around her head, and her green eyes stared at him in fear.  He could still feel the way her skin had quivered under his hand when he caressed her cheek.  "Everything will be alright," he had whispered to her, leaning in to tenderly kiss her forehead.

Her breath had shaken at the promise and she had lifted her arm to cup the back of his neck when his lips parted from her skin.  She sought his eyes and her question was whispered with the goal of keeping it from their child's ear.  "When will you return, Eli? We have a child to take care of, and he's a handful just like you."  She smiled gently as she tried to make light of the situation, and Eli had only been able to return a strained smile of his own.

"As soon as I'm able," he reassured her as he got to his feet.  The feeling of her hand leaving the back of his neck was quite possibly the most painful one he had ever experienced, but he knew that his path was a necessary one.  The men hired by the lord to recruit new fighters had been waiting impatiently outside the house, and Eli had wanted more than anything to spare his wife the sight of them.  Thus, his departure was abrupt and unprepared.  As he walked through the door of their bedroom, he took one glance back and still noted the fear in her eyes.

It was a look he would never forget, and he still hated to this day that he had told her those lies.  Although he wanted her to feel secure during his absence, he knew that she expected to hear from him and depended on him to return home as their provider.  He had lost count of the days long ago, but he knew he had been away from his wife and child for at least 800 days.  Not knowing how she was handling her illness, Eli drove forward every day with the belief that she was alive.

The arena training had been brutal and quick.  Lords wanted to turn a quick profit without spending time feeding fighters and training them.  Instead, everyone forcibly recruited was thrown into the 'Pit of Hell' and made to fend for themselves.  Without any weapons or armor, men and women in the pit had to defend themselves against he assault of two veteran gladiators. With only a slim chance of striking back, the ultimate incentive was simply to survive.  If a person survived the beating, he or she was then placed into a cell which would become his or her place of rest for several years.  Only survivors' thirsts would be quenched until they were able to stand on their feet of their own accord.  When this happened, the new fighter would be fed, bathed, and armed.

Once health was naturally restored to the new gladiators, they would take turns fighting each other in the arena. The first battle was always the worst.  Most men and women didn't have the natural urge to kill each other or even harm one another.  They'd dance around the ground uncertainly, letting the rage of the spectators fill their ears and rise the hairs on the backs of their necks.  There's something to be said of such an influence however, and usually someone would strike out with whatever weapon they had been given.  Everyone had a strong motive for getting out of the arena, so it was usually the stronger motive that lashed out. From there, instinct would take control and the whole skirmish became about defending one's pride and life.

Most of the time, a first battle showed absolutely no skill. Both knew that if a resolution was not met, an older veteran would be released onto the field.  Furthermore, the warriors released into the fight were ones who -wanted- to be there and enjoyed the thrill of dominating the battle.  Unwilling to take the chances of definite defeat and marred by the memories of their first day under employment, new gladiators would grudgingly do what was necessary to avoid this.

The fighting would continue, average men and women became animals, and dead gladiators were always replaced.  There seemed to be no ending shortage of people who needed things or people that demanded the entertainment.

Finally, Eli heard faint steps echoing on the stones outside of his door.  He barely had time to get to his feet when the wooden frame shook under the fist of a guard.

"Keep the door clear!" the voice echoed as usual. Beady eyes peered through the small window to ensure Eli obeyed, and the door was unceremoniously pushed open.  Instead of a guard stepping through however, the young woman Eli had fought was suddenly in his space.  She seemed to be there against her will, her hands bound with rope and her head bowed against her chest. Straight black locks cascaded downwards to hide her face and her angry voice came as a surprise even to him.

"Ugh!" she grunted in frustration just as the door was shut behind her.  "Why am I here?"  The guards ignored her question and instead spoke once more, interrupting the click of the lock. 

"You have until sunset to enjoy your... prize."  There was a bit of hesitation in the sentence as though the guards were bemused and soon after, the heavy thuds of their boots were heard disappearing down the hall.

It was a strange feeling for Eli to have the company of someone he had defeated in the arena.  Hardly able to feel self-conscious about his confines, he instead focused on the small welt of her forehead.  Wincing slightly at the sight of it, he wondered at the fact that the guards had removed her armor and her weapon.  This put quite a dent in his hopeful spirits, but he tried to ignore that crushing sensation.  Apparently, too, she was finally realizing the situation she was in.  She didn't seem to recognize him without his own helmet and without the dust in her eyes, but she realized she wasn't in a cell by herself.

"Why was my room taken away from me?" she asked in confusion, lifting her head for the first time. Eli could see the discomfort in her blue eyes, and it was too close for comfort to memories of his wife's fear.  He quickly tried to dispel her worries, muttering quietly as he stepped nearer with the intent of removing the rope around her wrists.  The blue paint on her cheeks wrinkled in dismay however as she saw him draw close, and the moment he extended his arm, her knee rose just as quickly.

It caught the heel of his palm with astounding accuracy, and he quickly pulled back.  "What the heck was that for?!" he exclaimed, anger replacing his concern.  He held the bruised hand with his right, massaging his palm and trying to remind himself to keep quiet.

She nearly spit the idea right back in his face, frowning at him with no hint of fear.  "You tell me?  Why the heck was I brought here and my armor taken away from me?"  The second part of the question was a good one, and unfortunately Eli didn't know the answer.  He nodded his head towards her hands and hissed gently through his clenched teeth.

"I was trying to remove the rope," he informed her.  She blinked a few times and her countenance fell with the expression of someone out of her element.

"But why am I here?" she insisted.

With a quiet sigh, he stepped back and rested his lower back against the wall nearest the battlefield.  He knew that his intents were  a long shot and with every passing moment, he wondered if he had made the right decision.  Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and trying to gather his thoughts, he carefully added:  "We're going to escape."

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I feel like this really fell short towards the end, as the writing style didn't match the beginning. I tried writing this in parts, and as the day wore on, I became interrupted with more and more things around my house.  It's really hard for me to write when noise goes on around me and unfortunately, I'm hardly ever blessed with a quite household.

However, it's a story I've tried writing before and never had much luck with.  I'm glad to at least get this much down even if I'll need to re-write it later.  I'm afraid there are many parts that make little sense or probably aren't very 'realistic' given the time period I'm trying to portray.  These will require some research on my part in order to fix though.  I also need to work through some of the details such as government and politics, a 'world' history, and the way arenas are operated.

Another thing I need to do is look up more synonyms for warrior/ fighter/ gladiator... LOL

Anyways, the gist of this story is that Eli and the female gladiator work together to escape the arena.  During their escape, they end up fighting with a number of people and even end up killing the lord's son.

Not willing to let these fighters spread information on how the arenas are run, and also seeking revenge for his son's death... the lord puts a heavy price on their heads.  Groups of men are hired to track the two gladiators down and kill them.  However, the woman gladiator has an ambition of her own: she wishes to assassinate the king so that the arenas can be put to an end.

Somehow the two end up inexplicably tied and each feels obligated to help the other.  While fleeing the lord's revenge, they must find Eli's wife and then create a plan for gaining access to the king.

I would also like to apologize for any grammar mistakes I made in advance. I did try to read over it once or twice, but it's difficult to catch mistakes when looking at a block of text and also being distracted by people around you. XD

(Oh, and thank you Lazarus!!!! O.o)

I liked this but you are right there are some things that don't fit the period. I don't think that this type of gladiator arena existed by the time chain mail was invented but I could be wrong.

Also, if a commoner is in the presence of or being spoken to by a high born person, it was customary for the commoner to remove their hat or helmet, and required if they were a slave.

I could give more notes but I will not go that far into depth after only reading one chapter.

I'm going to give you some advice. There is absolutely nothing preventing you from completing a novel and trying to become published. Spend some of your free time during the school year exploring the talent that you have and dreaming up THE epic story. When summer vakay rolls back around tell your loved ones that you will be disappearing into another room of your place for 8-14 hours a day and that you do not wish to be disturbed but you will come out from time to time and take some breaks.

Basically lock yourself in that room and make writing your full-time occupation until you have the entire rough draft. Get some trusted friends to read it and give you notes. Take the notes and do a 1st rewrite. Get a second round of notes and do a 2nd. At that point, you might have something that a publisher will take seriously.

Your writing skills are just as good as some published writers that I have read.

thephantombrain : Wow! I honestly wasn't expecting such an insightful response, and I want to thank you very much, from the bottom of my heart.

I do know there are MANY details that need to be worked out though... trust me. haha.  Also, I wasn't so much trying to fit it into an exact era, but it'd definitely be easier to write if I did. I was at first thinking of setting it in a fictional time and a fictional place, but doing so would require a lot more work I think..... Before I wrote this, I thought the exact opposite would be true.

Good catch about the helmet though.. that didn't even occur to me.

I've never thought about just locking myself away and writing for that many hours straight, to be honest.  I've shown myself through vizzed that I can EASILY write 15k words in the span of one day, and that's WITH a million distractions and not ever just working straight.  I'm amazed to think of how much I could accomplish if I took your advice. I never knew writing so much in so little time was possible until I started participating in the TdV's or just getting excited about sharing my work.

So far, at this moment, I've been STARTING a lot of things.  I don't have the intention of finishing most, but my purpose is exactly what you state: I'm trying to explore a lot of options and writing styles.  I don't want to seem like someone who starts something and then stops it, but doing so is helping me learn much about myself as a writer.

For example, I've learned that I move way too quickly through scenes.  Something that I imagine taking up a larger portion of a novel, I describe in a few thousand words.  I need to learn to space that out without boring the reader or being ridiculously nit-picky.  I've also learned that despite how LONG it feels I've written it.... once I hit that submit button and re-read it... things don't seem as drawn out as they felt while I was writing them.

This helps me put things in perspective so that the next time I write something, I can work on those areas.

As for my writing skills... *blushes * I can't say that I agree. Not to put myself down, but there are TONS of absolutely... .phenomenal and breath-taking authors out there....