Chapter 13: Chapter 12: The Tournament Grounds

-----The Gunslinger-----

“The first round has officially begun.”

As the fighting began to break out, Clint was glad he had chosen to remain hidden a distance from the podium. While he hadn’t predicted that the Tournament Commission would pull something of this level, his sense of danger had never let him down before.

He spent a moment studying those who had chosen not to immediately flee the podium and stay and fight. They were idiots, in his opinion, but an idiot with a weapon in his hand can sometimes be even more dangerous than a clever one. Only one fighter in the crowd stood out to him as noteworthy – a wild looking man with long, braided hair and wearing an open-chested fur coat. He was wielding a gnarled wooden staff, which probably wouldn’t have been impressive in anyone else’s hands, but in his was something fierce. Holding it at its center, he struck both ends as if they were two separate weapons, using them to disarm, trip, or otherwise disable his opponents. And once rendered defenseless, he mercilessly struck them across their head. In the short time Clint was watching, the wild man knocked out – or possibly killed, it was hard to tell from this distance – two foes, and forced another two to retreat from him.

That’s one fellow that Clint would have to keep an eye out for. He briefly considered trying to take a shot at him from here, while he had the advantage of surprise, so he wouldn’t risk encountering him later in a less advantageous situation. But he discarded that idea quickly. Drawing that much attention to himself this early was a likely way to wind up with a bullet in his own head.

Though there was one competitor somewhere around here that he wouldn’t mind taking that risk for. It was time to go for a little walk and see if he could locate him.

He moved along the edges of the tournament grounds, keeping himself close to wall, careful not to expose himself to fighters moving along the pier. A short walk later, he spotted another one of the podiums. He took a spot behind a nearby building where he could get a closer look.

He’d expected he would see more fighting going on here, but what he saw was kind of strange. Weapons were scattered all about: swords on the roof of a nearby shack, a staff and a mace embedded into the side of one of the towers, a spear balanced precariously on top of a post. The fighters that were still around were busy climbing to retrieve what were presumably their weapons.

Clint watched the scene with great curiosity. He wondered what could have happened here to cause this mess. Something he would hopefully avoid.

He was getting ready to move on when something came crashing down onto the pier. A large man had plummeted from the sky – a giant with a head of hair like a lion’s mane.

The Whitestone convict. Clint’s primary target.

“Ah! He’s not here either!” yelled the convict, his voice booming and harsh. “That man who looked at me with such righteous hatred! Where is he!?”

His dramatic appearance and shouting obviously drew the attention of the other fighters. Three of them who had recovered their weapons started to circle the convict: an older man with a longsword, a woman in a helmet wielding a spear, and a shirtless man holding a metal staff. Clint crept out slightly from him hiding spot and hovered his hand over his holster.

“Gah! I bet he already fled across the water! After all that big talking! He doesn’t even come find me to back up his words!” The convict only then seemed to recognize the fighters surrounding him. “Hah! Maybe there is at least a little fun to have here. I doubt it’ll be as fulfilling, but it’s been far too long since I’ve killed anyone. You all will do as an appetizer.”

Clint focused, blocking out all other distractions. It would be tough to get a clear shot while the convict was fighting, but such a conflict might also leave an opening. He’d watch the battle play out and take the shot the moment an opportunity presented itself.

The older swordsman and the woman with the spear both attacked the convict head-on, striking towards his chest with an overhead slash and a forward thrust respectively. The spear the was caught in the convict’s right hand, but the sword slash was left unguarded. It cut across his chest, slashing though his ragged excuse for a shirt. But the convict didn’t so much as flinch from being cut.

He pulled the spear forward, tearing it out of the woman’s hands, and then, while holding it by its point, he swung it like a bat. The shaft of the spear hit the side of the woman’s head, and her helmet crunched. It was dented so much that her whole head started to look concave. Her body wavered on its feet for a moment before dropping to the ground.

The shirtless man appeared behind the convict and struck him in the back of the head with his metal staff. Again, the convict didn’t seem at all bothered by the attack. Instead, he reached behind himself and grabbed the shirtless man, his meaty palm wrapping completely around the man’s face. He flipped the man over his shoulder and slammed his face into the ground.

The swordsman, realizing just how outmatched he was, turned and sprinted away. He was pretty fast, and it looked for a moment like he was going to get away. But the convict chucked the limp body of the shirtless man in his direction, launching it like a throwing spear. The body took the swordsman’s feet out from under him and caused him to stumble.

The convict pounced, clearing the distance between him and the swordsman in a single mighty leap. He spun through the air she he got close, and used his momentum to lash out with a flying kick. The kick struck the swordsman square in the back, and caused his body to bend backwards like a piece of bread folded over a sandwich. The continued force sent his folded body flying forward until it crumpled against a post.

As this fight – if the slaughter in front of him could even be considered a fight – played out, Clint waited patiently. Just like in a quickdraw duel, getting the drop on someone with a shot from a long range required being absolutely sure you had your angles straight. Because if you missed that shot, now you’ve given away your location and are vulnerable to attacks coming back your way. And based on the speed and brutality that the convict had displayed, that could end very poorly for Clint.

So he ignored the first impulse to draw, and then the second. And finally, the moment came. After the giant’s kick impacted the late swordsman’s back, he lingered there in the air for the second it took for his feet to come back to the ground. Clint could tell exactly where he would land, exactly where his head would be at that moment, and exactly what angle he needed to fire at to make that shot.

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Clint drew his revolver and fired. The shot rang out across the pier.

The convict finished touching down for his jump. And then just stood there. Clint wondered if he had somehow missed a shot for the first time in recent memory.

Then the convict reached up to his forehead, and pulled something that had gotten lodged there. Clint’s bullet, he realized. A small trickle of blood ran down from where the bullet had impacted.

Well, that really puts a damper on my strategy, doesn’t it? Clint thought. He imagined Percy would get a good laugh at learning how his ‘shoot ‘em in the head’ tactic had failed right out of the gate.

The convict looked around, and Clint ducked back behind the building. He wasn’t sure what the plan was now. There were still five shots in his revolver, but if they each did as little damage as the first, it might as well be empty.

He reached into the pocket where he had stored the starting briefly. Please find a spot where you have a view of one of the four podiums set up along the pier. More about the competition will be explained there. Until the ceremony, you are not to engage in any combat with the other competitors. Commission representatives and official spectators will be watching for troublemakers, and they’re not afraid to disqualify people for breaking the rules. You can bring anything you can carry with you inside, including weapons, enchanted gear, food, and so on. No carts or pack animals, though – you have to be able to carry it. If you are carrying anything capable of destroying more than a 300-foot area of space, we ask you to inform a Commission representative so special precautions can be taken.”

300 feet? Cai wondered what his opponents could be carrying that could do that much damage. And how often that came up that they needed to make a special note of it.

The attendant continued. “Once inside, you will not be able to leave until you are eliminated or a champion has been declared, so if there are any supplies you are missing, you are encouraged to back out of line now and go retrieve them. The combat within the tournament is often deadly, and no medical attention will be rendered to your injuries by the Commission while you are still actively competing. Once you are eliminated, a good faith effort will be made to treat any injuries, but no guarantees can be made that lethal injuries can be remedied. By entering the tournament grounds, you are accepting that you might die. Be sure all your affairs are in order. Are you ready to proceed?”

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Hearing it all laid out like that, Cai was hit with a fresh wave of nerves. Nonetheless, he nodded.

The attendant gestured for him to proceed. “Welcome to the Tournament Lyris. Good luck.”

Cai passed through the gate. In his mind, he had imagined the tournament grounds as a kind of raised arena surrounded by spectator stands. Instead, it looked more like a port town. There were a number of small, single story buildings that followed a concrete path along the shoreline. A series of wooden piers stretched out across the water, occasionally dotted with what Cai took to be boathouses. But the thing that drew his attention was the island in the distance.

Though the island was quite a distance out to sea, making it difficult to make out details, there were two things Cai noted: one, the island was quite green, hinting at dense foliage, and two, there was a mountain right in its center.

How had he not seen it before? Had the wall blocked the view of it? It was tall enough it should still have been apparent as he’d been coming down the road towards the tournament grounds.

He was still trying to figure it out when Ju-Won called out to him. “Is everything alright? It took you a while to come through the gate.”

“Uh – yeah. Everything’s fine. Just got distracted.”

“Then let us find one of the podiums. In don’t know what this opening ceremony will consist of, but I feel we best not miss it.”

As they made their way across the piers, Cai looked over the other competitors. They were as diverse as the regions they represented. Tall and short, men and women, muscular and thin. Some wore armor, others were simple clothes, and still others were dressed in flamboyant fashions. He spotted swords and spears being carried, guns in their holsters, and some strange objects that gave off the faint glow of Lyris enchantments.

But nowhere did he spot the stranger in the blue hood. The whole reason he had come all this way, and was putting his life at risk. Perhaps it was for the best. If he ran into the stranger now, even the threat of disqualification might not be enough to stop him from attacking.

“You attracted some fans,” Ju-Won commented.

Behind them, Tenner and his two goons followed their steps. They trailed too closely to think they just happened to pick the same direction.

“I may have exchanged a few words with them outside the gate,” Cai admitted. “But we were warned that fighting now would lead to our disqualification, so I don’t think they will attack. Yet, anyway.”

Ju-Won nodded. “We should be alert just in case.”

They found one of the podiums on a raised white platform right at the water’s edge. It was flanked on either side by wooden towers with flat observation decks at the top. Other competitors had already gathered here, and as Cai and Ju-Won found spots near the podium, Tenner and his followers took positions right behind them.

“Quite the nuisance,” Ju-Won said. “You certain we can’t deal with them now?”

Cai looked up to the top of one of the towers. He thought he could make out a person looking down on them from the observation deck. “Unfortunately. We’re being watched even now, I’m sure.”

They settled in for a wait while more tournament goers filed in around them. Cai wondered just how many competitors were in the tournament overall. There were almost two dozen now gathered around this podium, and there were supposedly three more of these podiums around the tournament grounds. If they all had a roughly equal number of people, that could mean as many as one-hundred competitors.

Their wait finally came to an end just as night was beginning to fall. As the sky grew dark, two lights appeared from the top of the towers and shone down on the platform. When the lights met, two figures appeared. They were semi-translucent and twice the size of regular people.

Cai recognized one of the figures – it was the Officiator he had met in Sallis Station. The other was a woman who wore the same coat.

“Right, let’s get this over with,” the male Officiator said. “I’m Officiator Macken.”

“And I’m Officiator Glenda,” the woman added. “And welcome, one and all, to the Tournament Lyris!”

-----The Gunslinger-----

“And welcome, one and all, to the Tournament Lyris!”

Clint watched the display from his vantage point on the other side of one of the towers. The attendant at the gate had told him that he needed to have a view of one of the podiums, but didn’t say anything about him needing to be in view as well. There were a lot of toughs gathered around the platform, all looking like they were itching to draw their weapons. It’d serve him well to keep his distance should the sparks start to fly.

Before he had taken his hiding place, he had tried to talk to some of the other competitors to gather information. In particular, he wanted to learn about Whitestone’s champion. They’d already been at the top of his shit list, but after hearing Laura’s story, he was even more determined to put a bullet in them.

From what he gathered, Whitestone had sent a convict as their champion this time. There was no low they wouldn’t sink to. The man he was looking for was supposedly gigantic, with hair like a lion’s mane. Sounded easily distinguishable. Unfortunately, nobody around the podium he had picked matched the description.

“There are a couple of things we got to go over before we get started,” the projection of Macken said. His voice seemed to emanate from somewhere atop the towers. “First – in case it isn’t obvious – we’re the authorities here. What we say goes. Now, personally, I prefer to be hands-off. I will get involved if I have to, but if you force me to, you’re probably going to regret it.”

The projection of Glenda laughed nervously. “What he means to say is – we’re here to make sure everyone fights fair, follows the rules, and doesn’t bring any harm onto the civilians acting as observers; they’ll all be wearing jackets similar to ours, so they are easy to identity. As long as you keep all that in mind, you shouldn’t have any issues.”

“And while me and Glenda are then ones who are running this tournament, we’ve got eyes everywhere, and the other Officiators will be close by in case they need to step in. So if you think you can get away with something just because I’m not directly looking your way – think again.”

“Uh – yes, that’s true. But again, that’s all to ensure fairness in the competition.” Glenda had gone from excited to uncomfortable in record time.

Their back and forth didn’t do much to earn confidence. Clint already had a little experience with Glenda, and knew she was incredibly powerful, but not necessarily on the ball. And this Macken fellow looked more like one of the drunks who’d start a fight with the bartender for trying to cut them off than any kind of authority. Hopefully the other Officiators – wherever they were – were more reliable sorts.

Or, barring that, they were the type to look the other way as Clint tried a few dirty tricks of his own.

-----The Devout-----

“But again, that’s all to ensure fairness in the competition.”

Gulliver was only paying half-attention to the projections of the Officiators. His mind was focused on the only thing it could be since arriving at the tournament grounds: the scent of a fiend.

It was right of the bishops to send him here after all. Even before reaching the gates, the scent of fiend had been apparent in the air, and had only grown stronger since approaching the piers. Someone in this tournament was bound to a fiend – a based on how foul the stench was, it was a powerful one.

Unfortunately, narrowing down the target was difficult. The scent of fiend was mingled in the air with a plethora of Lyris effects, sweat, gunpowder, and many things he couldn’t even begin to identify, all being tossed together by a salty sea breeze. Assuming his fiend-pacted looked normal – which given the lack of panic among the crowd seemed likely – he wouldn’t be able to identify the target until he got close to them.

Which is why Gulliver was walking around the crowd of tournament competitors gathered around the platform, sniffing the air around them, while the Officiators laid out the rules of the tournament.

“The rules of the tournament are pretty simple,” Glenda said. “You’ll be progressing through a series of rounds, before each of which we will tell you that round’s objective. In pursuit of completing that objective, you may freely engage in combat with your fellow competitors. All manner of weapons and magic are allowed for these combats – though we do ask you to be mindful of collateral damage. If you catch one of our civilian observers in one of your attacks, you will be disqualified. If you fail to complete the objective in whatever time frame is given, you will be eliminated.”

“Obviously if you die, you’re eliminated as well,” Macken added.

“Right … we do ask you to try and show mercy to your opponents if at all possible. An Officiator may step in if a competitor surrenders or is severely incapacitated. But we also understand that at this level of combat, casualties are to be expected.”

Gulliver sniffed the air next to one impressively built woman. She was taller than him by a head and had a body so brawny it could have been chiseled from marble. And it seemed to be a naturally obtained physique, as the only things he smelled from her was sweat and some kind of rose perfume.

“You smell something you like?” the muscular woman asked as she noticed him sniffing her.

“My apologies. I was looking for a particular scent.” He realized how odd a statement that must be, but didn’t know how to better phrase it.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not one to kink shame. If we weren’t about to need to try to kill each other, I’d let you sniff as much as you want.”

Gulliver shuddered.

It would seem his target wasn’t among this crowd. They must have gone to one of the other podiums. No matter. Gulliver would find them eventually.

Even if he had to fight his way through the entire tournament to do so.

-----The Arcanist-----

“But we also understand that as this level of combat, casualties are to be expected.”

Lotti tried to force her way closer to the podium, giving out a number of ‘excuse me’s’ and ‘pardon me’s’ as she jostled for position. Initially, she had taken a spot in the back, less concerned with the view than she was at not being in the center of a group of violent warriors. But all her self-preservation instinct went out the window the moment she saw the projections.

How were they accomplishing this effect? Was this being performed live and then transmitted to each of the towers, or had it somehow been recorded and was now being recreated by an enchantment in the towers? And how was it so clear? In her experience, projection magic only worked in dark spaces and required a solid backdrop. While the sun was going down, it was still far too bright for any of the projections she had seen used at the academy, and they were being created with no backdrop.

She received a bunch of angry grunts and mutters as she pushed past people, but she eventually made it to the front. The effect was just as impressive up close, if not more so. Based on her brief observation, she theorized that the trick involved the dual beams of light. One was projecting the backdrop, the other the images of the two Officiators. She wished she could go up the towers to study the source of the light. The Tournament Commission might have an entirely novel form of enchantment. Maybe they would let her after the tournament was over.

Oh, right, the tournament! She should probably be listening to what the Officiators had to say. Hopefully she didn’t miss anything important.

“Now, it’s time for us to tell you what the first round’s objective will be,” Macken said. “There’s an island across the water. You should all be able to see it from where you are. Your first objective is to reach that island. You have until morning.”

“You are free to use any method of crossing the water you choose; however, it is not recommended that you swim,” Glenda added. “There are a number of boats hidden throughout the pier. They have a limited number of seats, and their captains will depart when those seats are full.”

“There are civilian boats with civilian captains!” Macken aggressively warned. “They’re nice enough to lend us their vessels and their time for our competition, let’s not spoil it. The boats themselves are non-combat zones, and causing damage to one of the boats or harming one of the captains will lead to disqualification. Get your fighting done before you take your seat.”

“Or find your own way across! We know that those gathered here represent a diverse skillset, and we look forward to seeing some creative solutions to this challenge!”

Macken waved his hand in a gesture of farewell. “That’s it. All we got to say. You’re on your own now. The first round has officially begun.”

The lights disappeared and the images faded.

A heavy silence fell over the entire tournament grounds. Everyone was trying to process the same thing that Lotti was: this is how the tournament starts. No fanfare. No warmups. No warning. They were just suddenly thrust into the first round.

They were in the first round.

Oh, shit, Lotti thought as the realization dawned on her.

And then the chaos began.