Blood and Rain

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The crowd was alive and in a roar of excitement, and when the female warrior cut the man, Persea found herself instinctively gripping onto Malika's nearby hand. Though she knew not to outwardly show her closeness to her slaves in public, it was a notion quickly forgotten by the fear of watching the fight.

[Rhindeer]

Yasmin felt a laugh bubbling up in her chest at the man's question because no, she didn't want to die, and that was precisely why she was so desperate now, because she had to fight that much harder with her vision inhibited. Another time, and she was all about giving the crowd their show, for this was as much about surviving as it was performing, and popularity was as important as success. That time was not now.

But then he said her name, and her blood ran cold.

He knew her name.

And his voice didn't sound so deep and unfamiliar this time.

Agrian?

She only hesitated but a second, but it was a second that cost her.

She had time enough to twist and block her body with her own shield before his rammed into her, the force of his blow knocking her to the ground--which was perhaps better than the alternative of a shattered sword arm if she hadn't turned. She landed heavily on her injured left side and clenched her jaw to keep from crying out from the fresh, sharp wave of pain, but this time she'd managed to keep a firm hold on her sword. Why did he have to open his mouth? Why did he have to help her? Why did it have to be him, her mentor, the one person she had, foolishly, allowed in past the apathetic barrier she kept between herself and others?

Yasmin scrambled backwards and struggled to get up, real pain finally breaking through the exhilaration of combat and making her unsteady. She held her shield up to defend against his blows, and struck with her sword where she thought she heard his footsteps. "What are you doing?!" she called back.

Maybe it was blood loss; maybe her wound was worse than it felt, for she couldn't see it well enough to judge. But none of this made sense. Agrian knew only one person walked out of this arena, so why would he do this to her? Why would he identify himself? Why would he help her? He knew she hated to kill! So why would he make this harder for her?

If she didn't think, she could do it. She could go in accepting she had to kill, and accepting that she might die--and even though the thought scared her, she could steel herself to that inevitability.

But for him to identify himself? So she knew she might have to kill her mentor, or be killed by him?

Both options scared her in a way no previous matches had.

[Lion]

"I'm trying to save your life!" he growled again, this time making no effort to disguise his voice and his clear displeasure at having to fight her.  "Stay on the ground, stay there!"  He stepped around her and kept his distance where she sung her blade.  He tried to find an opening where he could intervene, to sit on her or kick her sword away, or something, anything to keep her down.

[Rhindeer]

Yasmin shook her head in disbelief. "What? No...you can't, you know you can't!"

Hakeshna, there was no doubt it was Agrian now, and out of everyone here, he was the one Yasmin trusted the most. Even so, that trust only extended so far in that it only existed outside of the arena. Slaves didn't just walk out of the arena alive; it was a battle to the last one standing, and mentor or not, she had seen brothers tear each other apart. There was no saving anyone!

At the same time, she didn't think he was lying, because he had no reason to--and because every action he'd taken in this battle so far supported his claim. He could have killed her if he'd wanted to.

Her head spun, every instinct screaming at her to get up and fight, that she would die if she didn't, that it was a trick (no matter how little sense it made!), but in trying to scramble upright again, she stumbled and fell backwards onto her bottom--and made her decision then. She stayed there. Her fingers tightened on her sword but she held still, body tense and trembling with the effort it took not to lash out and all too aware that putting her faith in him now might end with her body being dragged out of here.

[Lion]

No, he didn't have a reason to save her either.  But perhaps one might assume that Agrian had had enough of killing of acquaintances and friendss in the sands of the Arena, and for once, he wanted to make a difference.  That guess, truly, lingered in the back of his mind.  Yet Agrian knew even he could not be so sympathetic.  His actions here, surely, would have repercussions, whatever they may be.  And something in him could not kill Yasmin, even if he wanted to.

When she failed stand, the crowd roared and half-gasp in astonishment, and raised themselves in their seat to watch as Agrian carefully stepped forward, gruffly kicking away Yasmin's scimitar and he thereby stepped over her, letting the steel of his blade run along the edge of his shield, letting it sing and held it before her, steadily.

"Don't worry.  You'll be fine," Agrian said with certitude, though the way he stood over her, he was poised to kill her.  Then he cut his eyes up to the Shah, looking at her challengingly, awaiting her order.

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When the fight stopped, only then the Shah thought to breath and dropped her sudden hold on Malika's hand.
"What?" The crowd was frantic. "What is going on?" She turned to her guards for questioning, and also to Malika. "Why did he stop fighting? Is it over?" She could only hope so, it was extremely difficult for her to remain indifferent at the sight of blood and death.

[Ivory]

Malika missed the hand in hers as soon as it was withdrawn, for she needed as much comfort than her mistress.  Not pressing the matter, however, she peered down at the scene before them, with a mixture of fright and hope on her face.

"Mistress, I think he's looking at you," she murmured, tearing her gaze away from the gladiators to address Mistress as her heart sank and her stomach flip-flopped.  "I think he wants you to give the command."

Oh, poor, gentle Mistress!  Malika's thoughts flew to every conversation she had ever had or overheard about the sport, trying to think of a way to save the woman down below...and Mistress from having to make the decision to execute her...but if Mistress did save her, would her own Master simply kill her for her poor performance?  And the other gladiator, too, would be punished...

Her lower lip trembled slightly as she lowered her eyes to the floor.  This -- an execution -- was not something she wished to see...

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The crowd was still stirring as Persea stared down in dismay. Oh, what she would not give to inquire to her High Priest now what she ought to do. But as it were, she was by herself here, and the only true person she trusted was the slave she should not. But Malika, a slave more like her sister, was still seen beneath her, and the Shah was meant to know, and make these decisions on her own. It was ingrained in her mind as was the proper way, but still she hesitated, staring down at the helmeted man in the sands below-

and it didn't take long for the death cries to begin to chant through the crowd. And the writhing serpent of people's voice hit her like a wall. She felt as if she were being squeezed, and once she found herself, placed back on her mask, she went to the only  emotion she had ever seen her father hold so astutely before the masses- anger, for no one would defy a Shah who commanded under wrath, lest they themselves fall beneath it.

So in a gaze like her father's, she stood up proudly beneath the shade and stepped out into the sun light, only briefly enough that the gladiators, and all men and women of the arena could see- as the roars of death demands pounded inside her ears and shook the stadium. If she had learned anything from her father, and from the High Priest, it was to appease the masses- for none could be wrong in a group, and it was never wise to anger those around her.

But even as she might have hesitated before, she knew what her job entailed- and the idea of sentencing the female warrior to death made her fearful, as a sense of dread chilled her stomach-
But she wasn't in command here- not when her popularity depended on it- for losing face in front of her people so early in her reign when there was already talk about her gender working against her-

Well, that only cemented what she had to do-
and so with a gesture of her arm, she commanded the gladiator to kill.
And the crowd approved, as the call for blood rose higher and the stands, shaking as all men and women were stomping their heels.

[Lion]

The time between the moment he stood over Yasmin to the moment he waited for the Shah to respond to his motion seemed an eternity.  The crowd's raucous cries gradually grew louder in volume and intensity.  They wanted blood and they would have it one way or another.  He heard his heart pounding in his ears, felt the blood steeping down his thigh and down into his sandal, dripping even onto the sand.  He heard the droplet, sounding like the pounding of a drum.

And when the Shah looked down at him, after the eternity of consideration, he kept his sword pointed down toward Yasmin and looked at the Shah straight into the eyes, his own darkened by the shadows of his helmet.  Then silence abruptly fell onto the crowd for the briefest moment when Agrian's blade soon pointed up at her stand, directly at the Shah, holding it there for several seconds. 

He broke his gaze to the Shah, deliberately turned his back on her and began walking toward the opening portcullis on the other side of the Arena.

[Rhindeer]

Don't worry? Don't worry? Yasmin stared up at him as he stood over her, poised to kill, and felt anything but fine. Her hand itched for her sword, but she dug her fingers into the sand instead and kept her eyes fixed on Agrian, blinking only because her eyes were still burning and watery. Her pulse pounded in her ears as the crowd's roar rose to a deafening pitch and she knew what came next, knew their frenzy meant that the Shah must have given her command. Her breath came now in fast, short bursts, sweat trickling down her brow, even though she tried to keep a brave face.

Agrian had a plan, right? He had something in mind, right? Otherwise he wouldn't do something so strange! But she couldn't make a guess as to what that was and felt like a bloody fool--a bloody dead fool!--for listening to him when they both knew there was no way out, and now she had no sword, no defense, and would die on in the dirt rather than on her feet.

When he lifted his sword, Yasmin hated herself for it, but she looked away and grit her teeth, prayed the blow would be clean.

The sword's strike never came.

And the crowd's excited roars turned to at first hushed silence, and then confused, outraged calamity.

Alarmed, Yasmin looked back up, only to find Agrian was gone, striding for the portcullis. Just like that. Her breath caught and for a moment she felt not relief but shocked numbness--because no one just walked out. No one did that.

He had just doomed them both, and made her an embarrassment.

After a few stunned moments of silence, Yasmin struggled to her feet, wobbling unsteadily at first, before she collected her sword and sheathed it. None of this felt real. It felt crazy. Clutching her bleeding side with her free hand to hold the wound closed s best as she could, she staggered after him.

"Have you lost your mind?" she shouted over the crowd's roar as gained ground behind him. "What are you doing?! You could have lived! NOW what? They're gonna kill us both now, Agrian!"

But stupidly, she followed him, because this went completely against the script, completely against everything she knew about fighting here. If he knew where to go from here, that was good, because right now she had no sense of direction--and that scared her almost as much as the certainty of death and killing. At least both those things were guaranteed with no surprises.

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The sword, wait what!? Did he just point his sword at her? And what was this cold feeling in her gut? She swooned, and found herself leaning into her throne just in time to catch herself before she made a scene. She was dizzy, the moment had been intense- and both fighters were leaving the scene.

It took her a few minutes of blinking to realize what was going on, even if she herself did not fully digest it as the crowd was booing and roaring from the scene.
The fighters just left. They just left the arena. And they ignored her command.

The slaves ignored HER command. And with this new impotent rage, she fixed her seering gaze upon the two of them as they left.

"Get the names of those two slaves and bring them to me. This fight is over. We're going back to the palace."

[Lion]

Agrain walked resolutely, intent on leaving the rancorous cries of the crowd behind him, to face whatever it his was his actions would result in.  It was more than likely he would die as a result of his defiance of his Shah's command, but something inside him told him he was more than ready.  And Yasmin...if she would die, it would not be by his blade.  Habib would be unhappy of course.  The fat little Essyrni man he called his Master would not be happy at all.

He heard Yasmin running after him and he didn't turn to look at her, taking his helmet off only to give him some reprieve, and let his head cool from the heated sweat that coated his face.  Beads of it lingered on his brow and the tip of his nose before it fell off in the coolness and safety behind the portcullis.  "No," he said, with mild confidence.  It projected more in his voice than he actually felt.  But if he could abate her own fears, all the better.  "They're not going to kill us.  They'll punish us to be sure.  But they won't kill us," he said softly.  "At least right away.  I wasn't going to let that...that..."

He had no words for the Shah, biting back his rage for the time, and sighing to cool his temper.  "I wasn't going to kill you.  Least of all her her orders.  Don't think anymore on the matter.  Go to infirmary and clean up your side before sand gets further in it.  Then get some rest.  Something tells me we'll need it."

As for him, he tried his best to push his anger aside, for he knew it was only a matter of time before Habib would come running into his cell and demanding to know what happened.  He retired to his cell, having dressed his thigh himself and cleaning up.  He slept quietly in his cot, or as quietly as he could sleep after what had just happened and just as he figured it, almost exactly on the dot, Habib hobbled in with two guards at his back and kicked up Agrian's door.

He sat up, looking at the man who had the very heart of a gale raging in his eyes.  "What the hell was that!?"

"What was what?" Agrian said with exasperation.

"Don't give me that, you sweating pissant, bleeding like a stuck pig!  WHAT WAS THAT.....THAT DEFIANCE OF THE SHAH!?"

"I was...trying to make a point."

"And what point was that?  Trying to get you and me flayed before the entire city of Essyrn!  Well, I'll tell you what was the result of your little point," Habib snapped.  "You're going to put on your best rags, clean up, and get your ass to the Palace.  That's right...the Shah wants you.  And I'm going to give her your head on a platter."

Agrian was mildly surprised, but he tried not to let his face show it.  He climbed out from the cot and grabbed a cloth to drench in the water basin beside it and dabbed his brow with sweat.  "What for?"  he asked dryly.

Habib looked like he was literally about to explode.  No doubt the whip awaited Agrian upon their return to the Colosseum.  After all the stout little pig could only take so much of Agrian's tongue before he snapped.  "Now's not the time for being a smart ass.  Now hurry.  Ilvan, Ioris, help our 'gladiator' here pack his things nice and tidy.  You're going to be respectful, Agrian, that's right.  As hard as it might be for you.  You're going to be respectful and polite, and show proper fealty where it is DUE!  Oh, and don't think you're the only one going about this alone.  Your little friend is going along too."

[Ivory]

Malika glimpsed Mistress move up to the railing, and she knew she had given her sentence -- and, for a moment, there was only silence, and Mistress all-but stumbled back into her chair.  Malika was on her feet in an instant with a glass of water in hand to refresh her mistress -- but it wasn't the heat that troubled her.

Malika outwardly gaped at the forms of the retreating gladiators.  They had defied the order?  They had refused Mistress's command?  Malika was flabbergasted -- no one failed to obey Mistress!

There wasn't much time for thought, then, as the Shah announced more commands -- and these were to her personal slaves and servants, and they were meant to be obeyed.  A cool chill of dread worked its way through her as the slaves vanished through the portcullis from whence they came.  Mistress would not like that -- she would not like that at all.

[Rhindeer]

In a quiet daze, Yasmin did as Agrian said, though she wasn't sure she believed him--and yet, they walked out of the arena and through the portcullis when she had been expecting it to seal shut again. It felt surreal, two gladiators just...walking out like that. No arrows in their back, no soldiers rushing in to stop them, even after Agrian had pulled that move before the Shah herself!

A move that she had been complicit in.

She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe just leaving like this was even an option.

While Agrian headed one way, Yasmin went the other. At the infirmary, she annoyed the healers with her fidgeting because she expected at any moment for the world to explode. But they managed to clean and stitch her side and flush her eyes, and thank Hakeshna that there would be no lasting damage. The sand had given her a minor scratch on her left eye, but it would heal within a day or two.

When passing slaves tried to talk to her as she headed down the halls to her cell, stunned by the gossip spreading through the Colosseum, Yasmin could only shake her head. Quiet wasn't usual for Yasmin, but for once she had no words. She couldn't hear much beyond her own loud thoughts as she tried to process what had happened, as she realized Agrian really had saved her life, as guilt sank in at the fact that she would have never done the same, not even for him, even though it would crush her to kill him. She would have killed him, because killing and dying were the only two options she knew.

In her cell, she set her helmet, shield, and scimitar aside, stripped off her armor, and slipped into her robes. It was hard to get comfortable on her cot with her side aching, but that wasn't the reason she didn't sleep. She was exhausted enough for it, mentally and physically, but she could only lay there and stare at the ceiling, her heart drumming loud in her ears, her hands sweaty and shaky as they lay folded on her belly. It was too easy. It shouldn't be this easy. Agrian was right; they would be punished, and even though he'd claimed they wouldn't be killed, there were punishments that might make them wish they were.

She didn't know how long she had laid there before her cell door burst open and her master burst in, red-faced and flanked by two of his other slaves. "Get up!" he snarled. "Get up right now!"

When Yasmin only stared impassively at him, her dug his fingers into her short hair and hauled her upright, smacking her across the face with his other hand. She sucked in a breath but made no other sound. The man couldn't hurt her; you couldn't hurt someone who had little left to lose. But she? She could break him. He was a large man, strong, but he had never fought in the ring. Never fought more than petty thieves. She could break him in two blows, and knowing that hurt more than any beating he gave her--because she knew it, but still had to take it.

"How dare you defy me. How dare you defy me out there! What was that? No, don't answer, I'll tell you what that was! That was a fucking embarrassment!" he spat, shaking her once before shoving her back onto her cot. She clenched her jaw as she landed, pain radiating through her side. But still she remained quiet.

"What? You've got nothing for me for once? Did that fight take your tongue and your goddamn spine? Do you realize how much money I lost today, from you stumbling and crawling like it was your first fucking time? Get the fuck up, Yasmin!"

Deliberately slow in the face of his urgency, Yasmin climbed to her feet and straightened her robes. She glanced up at him.

"Are you in league with him?" the man demanded. "Was that planned?"

"No, sir."

"Oh, no? Because you don't fight like that, Yasmin, so that's sure as hell what it looks like to me. You better hope it didn't look like that to the Shah, but I don't see why else she would summon for you."

Yasmin's breath caught.

"That's right. She demanded you be brought to the palace. So get some clothes on! Your best ones!" he added when Yasmin glanced down at her robes. "Clean your face, for Hakeshna's sake. Make yourself presentable! Go on! Move your ass!"

This was it, what Agrian had mentioned. They were in deep shit, all right. But Yasmin washed her face and sifted through her meager belongings for something cleaner than what she had on, but found what she had on was the least stained. Fastening her slave veil, since they would be leaving the Colosseum and going out in public, she stood ready for her master's orders when she was done.

"Now pick up your things. Pack up."

That made Yasmin blink. "Why? This isn't a vacation, sir."

"Because," her master said through grit teeth, "if the Shah doesn't call for your head, you won't be coming back to me. You embarrassed me today, Yasmin. If the Shah doesn't kill you, I'm going to sell you. You had it good while you had me. I never gave you the whip or hot iron. Others? Others are not so forgiving."

It didn't take long to pack, and before long, they were on their way.

To the Shah's palace.