Gauntlet

Ripped from her earned comfort, San joined her cellmates once again in the dungeons, waiting for their opportunity to get out of this hell. But a nervous excitement crept through the air as this would be the last fight before being released. If no one died, they could all be freed. Matilda and Tyson could go destroy abusive orphanages and build their own, Marko could rejoin his parent’s farm, and San could look for her wizard.

♮

Continuing their training for the next few days the prisoners spent their time until the final bowl of plain rice and beans were served under a slot in the door. Everyone had a look of disgust on their face, well… everyone but Matilda, who continued to scarf down whatever she was served as Tyson told the group she was often given nothing for days on end in her years at the orphanage, so she had no excuse to be a picky eater. That, and after having her tongue removed, it changed the meaning of food into fuel as taste and texture didn’t matter, only if eating it would make her strong. The other three members of the party though missed their victor’s feast. Each day they were served plain rice and uncooked vegetables, the flavor got increasingly more bland,

After they finished their meal, an hour seemed to rush by as a guard led them down the torch-lit hallway for the last time. Equipped and warmed up by striking scarecrows stuffed with straw, the group thought they were ready, but they couldn’t have been more wrong.

Their bobbing view of what lay ahead in the arena was surprising. A middle-aged woman with white streaks running through her hair against a dark complexion, dressed in a lime green cloak, she was waiting alone.

“So, she is either the last of her group and desperate for freedom, or she’s incredibly powerful and doesn’t need a team.”

Marko gulped.

“Our best chance is to rush her, there’s only one of her and four of us, we just need to be quick, take her out, and we’re home free.”

The group nodded in agreement as the gong chimed the beginning to their end.

Immediately the witch raised her left hand, pinching her middle and ring fingers down by her thumb, and with a flicking motion, letting go toward Marko who had already begun his sprint. A head on a gale-force wind hit him like an impenetrable wall, sending poor Marko flying back high in the air, screaming as he face-planted into the stone floor below.

San and Matilda were only halfway across the arena when the witch raised her hand again, preparing to fire.

“Tyson, get ready to jump!” San yelled as she tried to make some distance between her and Matilda

“NOW!” San called out as she ran, ever closer with her dagger in hand. As Tyson shot off from Matilda’s back, sending the strong girl skidding across the floor, at least she was able to block knowing what would come. The witch was taken off guard by the flying body with swords drawn as she quickly had to take her target off the sprinting San and onto the falling Tyson. A meter before Tyson was in striking distance of the witch’s outstretched hand, she simply flicked her fingers as she had before, the wind whipped out at point-blank range.

Tyson looked like a kite in a hurricane the way his light body went soaring, smashing into the far wall, cracking the stone as his body dropped, but luckily, it was over. San was able to close the gap, striking the witch with the end of her dagger, the force knocked her down as San cradled her head pretending to drive the dagger in deeper.

“Play dead, I’ll come for you tonight,” she whispered, quickly cutting her own arm and wiping her blood on the witch’s robes so they had no need to inspect her corpse.

The roaring crowd honored San the loudest they had ever done before, but she didn’t feel like she deserved their praise, looking to see her fallen comrades, the only one conscious being Matilda, but she still seemed worse for wear.

Two guards came, dragging the witch’s bloodied body off the area and out of sight, as more soon showed up to check the others. The worse off being Tyson. After taking such a fierce blow at such a close range, the impact of meeting the wall collapsed one of his lungs while causing severe damage to his spine.

Matilda and Marko got off scot-free with only bumps and scratches, and despite this, they couldn’t wipe the grin from their faces, as everyone but San was taken on stretchers to the medics chambers, guzzling the painful potions like it was ale at a feast. The doctor instructed that for damage as bad as Tyson’s, he would have to wait a few days to be fully healed but that was still nothing short of a miracle as San had her wound sealed with the steamy solution poured across her arm.

Three towering armored men burst open the door followed by one warlord. Flint himself was gracing them with his presence. Using a heavy battle axe as a walking stick, he looked down at San the way a child would view a small insect.

“You’re strong,” the man of few words stated.

Unsure how to respond, San stuttered out a “thanks.”

“Join me,” he commanded, “every night you will sleep in the room given to victors, you will feast on the finest food, and yearly get paid your weight in gold,” he smirked, knowing his offer was too good to refuse. Unless you had a conscience.

“I appreciate the offer,” San said looking up at the giant, having to hold the gauntlet back with her free arm as clearly it was looking for a fight. “But I must decline.” she struggled to say while trying to keep her actions concealed in her tattered cloak.

The doctor looked terrified, as if San had just said please, kill me now as Flint’s smug smile shifted to a displeased frown. Spitting on San, he muttered, “weak,” before shoving one of his guards aside and storming down the hall, clanking his axe with every step.

San waited till he left, being absolutely disgusted by his action, to wipe the large glop of saliva from her cheek. Still in shock, the doctor looked up into San’s eyes, “In all the years I’ve worked here, never have I seen a winner decline his employment. Never. You must be incredibly brave, or stupid, maybe both,” he said, turning to Matilda. “Please take your friend and leave. I’ve done what I can.” He sighed as he waited for them to leave his space, swinging his arms toward the exit for encouragement where a single guard was left waiting in the hall to guide them down to their feast.

The table was filled with hand-pulled noodles, deep-fried delicacies, duck, pork, you name it, it was there. Overflowing, in fact, by the time they arrived. Before nourishing their broken bodies, Marko spotted the real reward for winning. “Look! There, that must be our antidotes.” Four pristine, vials sat on top of a regal placemat next to the feast.

Everyone took theirs, down to the last drop—except San. Only taking half to store away in her cloak’s pocket, she then joined her friends and dove deep into the feast. Luckily, at this time, the guards as well were feasting in their own quarters so they were left unwatched, despite being locked into their dining room.

San took a few bites of duck and pasta but didn’t plan to stay long, scanning the floor for something she could use. “That might work,” she said out loud, kneeling down to pick up the rotted skeleton of a mouse that had seemingly died of old age under one of the cabinets out of sight of any lazy house cleaners who didn’t bother to check.

Picking off the largest rib bone, San examined it while getting the strangest looks from her peers. “If you need a toothpick, they have some fresh ones over here,” Marko suggested, trying to hand her the tray of thin wood sticks.

“No, you twit, I’m going to get that witch,” San said, to her already confused friends.

“But you killed her.”

“No, I made it look like I killed her,” San said with a wink as she tried her bone against the locked door.

“You’re insane,” Marko cried, driving his bruised hands into his face, not being able to watch his friend get caught.

“I needed a wizard, Marko, what if this is the last one alive?” she asked as her nimble fingers made the lock click.

“But she, is a witch!”

“Magic is magic, don’t worry, I’ll be right back, just keep eating,” she said as she slipped out of her feast and back to one of the damp stone corridors of the fortress.

Finally feeling at home in what little shadow she was gifted by the dimly lit hallway, a pack of rats scurried past her feat as she made doubly sure not to step on them to say thanks for using their friend. She watched and waited as the poor guard who wasn’t eating stood at the end of the hall. He looked incredibly bored, and hungry, as his eyes left the flickering flame of his torch and went to his overtly audible stomach, rubbing it as his body followed the scent of the guard’s feast.

Seizing the opportunity, San silently snuck down his guarded hall and eventually found her way to a sealed door that had a less than appealing sign that the witch’s body could be found there. Crouching in the pooled blood outside the door, she tried her hand at lock picking once more, fidgeting as two men’s shadows hit the wall in front of her from their torches as they were turning a corner. The dark silhouettes growing smaller but closer, till she heard a satisfying click and quickly opened the door, trying her best not to make a splashing sound with her feet, and slowly shutting herself into the smell of hundreds of rotting corpses.

It was pitch dark and even if she could see, San’s eyes were watering from the stench. As the sound of buzzing fly wings and screeching rats puddled around her feet, San was moments away from leaving from an upset stomach when out of the pile, a ball of light rose, illuminating the disgusting space.

The witch, equally grossed out was seen in a relaxed position like she was laying on a cloud, shielding her own eyes from the bright light she had created. “Oh, I thought you’d never come,” she swooned as she slowly climbed down to San. “My hero,” the witch said chuckling to herself.

Reaching out to shake her hand the witch said, “Call me Alizar, Mrs…?”

“San,” she mumbled pinching her nose with her still unarmored fingers, reaching out with the gauntlet to shake her hand,

“Oh, this is fascinating, isn’t it,” Alizar said, turning and twisting the gauntlet, swiping her hand in the air as the light swooped closer.

“You can look for as long as you want, maybe even get this thing off, later, for now, I need to get you out of here before anyone notices.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Alizar asked as if she knew what was in her pocket.

“Oh, sorry,” San said, fumbling around in her cloak for the other half of the antidote

“Thank you, my dear, potions were never my strong suit,” Alizar said as she quickly shot back the half potion, puckering her face as she swallowed. She then stuck out her tongue like a small child taking medicine in disgust, as if anyone could have been more grossed out standing in an unburied graveyard full of rotten corpses.

“Right, then,” Alizar said, nodding in agreement as she motioned, slowly pinching the air before snapping her fingers as her entire body shrunk to the size of a thumb, San caught her in the air as her legs shrunk fast enough to leave her hanging, at a loss for words, San tucked her inside her cloak where the potion sat and peered out the keyhole to see if the coast was clear.

Seeing the empty hall, San was relieved to find the guard’s stomach still had the better of him. Silently stepping out the door but still in the pooled blood, she grabbed the little witch out of her cloak and threw it to the dried portion of the ground, holding her in her left hand, she proceeded to stomp and dry her feet the best she could, the last thing she needed was a trail of bloody footprints leading away from the scene of the crime.

With her shoes dried and the witch back in her pocket, she clung to the walls, quickly making her way back to the banquet. With the door shutting behind her, everyone was thrilled to see she was back, although most had an emotional handicap from the delicious food they gorged themselves on.

Shushing them with her hand, San calmly stepped back to the plate she left and continued to nibble, only moments later having a guard poke his head in, count the prisoners then leave, no doubt in a rush to finish his dessert.