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The Test
Jerazel looked up to the crowd. Were all of the Ralians insane? They were screaming their heads off and chanting in unison expecting nothing less than the best from him tonight. He was to be performing with some idiot they called Leig. Where they had dug this guy up from he had no idea. Leig was standing on the other side of the sunken stage, about thirty feet away. He was a monster of a man, almost seven-foot tall and not an ounce of fat on him. He looked dangerous, he looked dangerous, and he looked stupid. The brute was dressed in nothing more than a few ratty leathers he must have taken from the butchers' block. It smelt about that bad too. He had long dark hair that was tied up into several spikes on the top of his head. Every inch of his exposed skin was covered in either tribal markings or scars and it all gave him a very deadly, sinister look. The lack of most of his teeth, however, gave him an even stupider look. Despite his bulk, this would be quick and easy…again.
The crowd virtually erupted when the fight master gave us the signal to come forward. Leig was almost foaming at the mouth as he stared at the smaller man. Jerazel was a well-built man, standing at about six foot tall, and was very out of place. He had been captured during a raid on a nearby village one winter ago and was supposed to be long dead by now. The custom in Ralian was to send each prisoner to the 'pit' to fight for the enjoyment of the soldiers that had captured him. The rest of his countrymen had died within the first two weeks of this sport season, but he had insisted of racking up quite a win streak. When they had captured him they knew he would be one of the best that the puny village had to offer. He had been found with his back to a wall and almost a dozen dead soldiers at his feet. It had taken a hostage situation to get him to surrender. The Ralian soldiers had found a pretty young woman in the village and had held a knife to her throat until Jerazel had decided that they were serious and laid down his sword. He had told them something about how he was marked as a true defender of Glayshe, or something like that. But they had laughed at his claims, considering them the boasts of a beaten man trying to worm his way out of trouble. It was becoming apparent that these were not boasts.
The crowd watched eagerly as the combatants drew the stones that would decide what weapons they would use. There was a fevered cheer as Leig drew his favorite weapon, a club with long and deadly sharp spikes attached to the end. The crowd roared with laughter and the betting began with at a furious pace at Jerazel drew the stone that was marked with the symbol for knife. Despite the obvious disadvantage, Jerazel just stood in the center of the pit waiting for the beginning. Leig, always a crowd favorite, began strutting around, yelling to the fans and smiling as they yelled back to him. The betting in the crowd continued for several more minutes until suddenly a gong sounded that signaled the beginning of the match.
The gigantic marauder let forth a might battle cry and charged the smaller man. Jerazel easily rolled to the side to avoid the vicious attack and turned calmly to face another charge. The brute took a few more strides and then turned to face the quicker man with a murderous glare in his eye. It was apparent that he had hoped to kill the upstart straight off and gain the bragging rites for the act. The giant roared one more time and leapt high into the air, swinging his club straight down at the unprotected head of the brat. Jerazel calmly took two steps to the left and made a quick gesture with his hand. Leig landed hard where the other man had just been standing and turned to face the runt that had evaded him again. He looked at the man and couldn't understand why he was smirking now. It was then that he noticed a sharp sting in his chest. He looked down and could barely comprehend what he saw, the dagger was planted up to the hilt in his breast and his blood was just pouring out. He looked up at his killer and took a couple of steps toward him and promptly fell onto his face in a spreading pool of his own blood.
The crowd erupted once more as those that had bet on the giant screamed curses at those who were trying to collect on their bets. Several people were attempting to come down into the pit to kill him them selves and were only being stopped by the guards of the man who claimed to own the small man. He was almost upset by his victory. While it meant that he would keep on living, it also meant that he was still a slave. He had decided, not too long ago, that if he were not rescued soon he would just let one opponent win. The week he had given for his rescue was up tomorrow and it looked like nobody would come. He felt no anger, just hope that his god would forgive his cowardice.
Time passed and the slave master chained him once more. He was led to his small cell where he would eat a meager meal and sleep on the stone. This was living. The rats in the cell weren't much for conversation that night so the prisoner laid on the floor in the hopes he would die quietly in his sleep. He would have no such luck. Dawn spilled through the door as the slave keeper came in to take him to the pit. Today would be his last fight; he was determined to make it a show people would not soon forget. He climbed to his feet and relieved himself on the floor. He had had to lie in that for the last few months, he was looking forward to today.
They took him to the pit. There was already a large crowd and the fight wasn't for a couple more hours yet. He wondered who it would be tonight. Perhaps they would decide it was fair for him to fight a wild tiger or something equally fun. The other combatant was nowhere to be seen. It was probably better that way. He would have decided that the guy was to dumb to win and killed him just on principal alone. He spent most of the day in meditation, and when the time grew close he was prepared for what he must do. He stood and faced the gate his opponent would use. He waited as the crowd grew quiet and still no one came to face him. Finally the gate opened and a lone, naked woman came out. She looked around panicked at the crowd above her and then looked at Jerazel. A hint of recognition entered her eyes and tears well up onto her cheeks. She was the one they had used for a hostage. Jerazel began to scream at the guards and the spectators. He could not fight her! He could not ask her to kill him only to be forced to fight again. He was trapped in the worst fight of his life. The bets began and he ran as close to her as he could before being stopped by a pair of guards. He franticly tried to tell her to run. To do whatever she could to escape, but it was no use. The tears rolled freely down the woman's face as she began to comprehend her doom. She turned and tried to open the gate, but it was now locked and just then, the gong sounded.
The weapon master came forth, and without waiting for the two to choose, dropped two swords to the ground and left the pit. He was trapped in the most cunning trap he had ever faced. He had been training to join a very honorable knighthood when he was captured. He had hoped to become one of them soon. He had lived his life under the codes of honor and chivalry that they had set forth and now he had to betray those very codes no matter what he did.
Should he allow this woman to win, he would be damning her to a life of rape and torture. If he were to kill this woman out of mercy, he would have done harm to an innocent. He was trapped. The crowd began to jeer him and throw stones into the pit. Everyone had known of his doom. They had only come to watch his soul be ripped from his chest.
Finally, he lifted the sword he had been given and approached the woman. She was still crying and staring at the blade in his hand while he came closer. He knew at that moment, that even if he had decided to let her kill him, she would not be able to do it. He felt like screaming, was this his hell? Then finally he reached forward and took the woman's hand in his and knelt forward to kiss it. He brushed her hair back and motioned for her to walk to the gate on the other side of the pit. She looked up at him with hope and walked past him towards the exit. The slash was clean and painless. A tear rolled down his cheek as the woman's head fell from her shoulders and her body fell to the earth. The crowd roared with delight and the slaver came forth from his gate to claim him. The guards with his chains were grinning at the man. He was beaten. The weapon master approached his to reclaim the sword and the man stuck out with great accuracy. Three men were dead before the first of their bodies fell earthward. Several other guards leaped to attack the stranded warrior. His sword flowed through several attack patterns. He cut flesh as if parting air. When the haze of battle cleared from in front of his eyes, nine men lay dead at his feet. The gates were quickly shut and bolted and the crowd grew still in wide-eyed astonishment. It was then that, with a final prayer to the gods and a prayer for the woman he had slain, the would-be knight turned his blade on himself and the world swam away in a bright flash of light.
Jerazel awoke in a small chamber filled with arcane carvings. The knighthood's chief healer crouched near him.
"Brave Jerazel," intoned the cleric, "you have passed the test of knighthood. You are now one of us. You did what you had to do to save the woman a life of torment. While her death was a sin, her life would have mocked the gods. We created that world to test you. It has been a dream. We have seen that your honor and sense of obligation are pure. Rise and join us Sir Jerazel."
The End