The journeyman stopped his stride at the edge of a stoney ridge. He looked down, then drank deeply from his water pouch, the last drops spilling down his raven beard. The canyon below stretched far into the earth with a river grazing peacefully along the bottom.
With the sun sweating his traveling leathers through, he spent the rest of the day blazing trail down into the gorge with sword and axe.
That night he made camp on a sandbar and slept lightly next to a fire of driftwood, the rustling river awash in the light of a silver moon.
Once in the night he awoke to what he thought were shouts of battle. He lay alert for some time, but drifted off after hearing no more.
*
He broke camp just before sunrise, setting off down the valley as the sun stoked the earthly chamber until it blazed the red of a blacksmith’s forge. He tramped the river bottom for half a day more before it fell off into a shadowy cavern that began to jut and veer like the branches of a gnarled oak.
His awe was audible when he reached the river’s point of termination at a waterfall that gushed into a vast crater. At the center of the immeasurable expanse stood a great structure hewn from bedrock. It resembled a great colosseum, a remnant from another age.
He searched for a path, but could find only one way down as he peered over the rim at the pool far below. It bubbled and churned from the falls making any judgment of its depth uncertain.
But the journeyman saw no other way.
He untied his foot leathers and secured his sword and axe to his pack with the laces. Then, his only belongings in this world held tightly to his chest, a chest that beat wildly with the thunder of his heart, he sprang into a run and dove over the water’s edge.
*
A moment later, he pulled himself from the crashing pool. He sat upon the rocky shore to catch his breath and wring the cold water from his long hair.
The colosseum loomed before him, its infinite columns and archways pitching deep pockets of darkness and shadow.
He scanned the canyon floor, but found no other trace of civilization. This was no lost city struck by calamity and strife, just a single arena, silent and solitary.
He recalled the sounds from the night before and a shiver rippled beneath his bronzed flesh.
But, with no other path before him, he dressed and set out towards the ruins, eyes agaze like a hawk perched over a field.
*
The journeyman circled the colosseum for an hour or more before coming to the dilapidated skeleton of an iron gate, rusted and bent beyond purpose. He wasn’t the first one in or out of this arena.
He stepped gingerly through the ancient arch, careful to restrict his sound upon the sand, but even his quiet step sent an echo out into the vast stone stadium. He halted and searched the interior for an acknowledgement of his presence. None forthcoming, he continued across the main stage of the grand theater.
Littering the colosseum’s floor was a myriad of bones, weapons and armor, remnants of glories past. Several paces ahead of him he spied a curious skull and made towards it for he had never seen its like. But, before he could get close to inspect it, he heard a crunch of sand underfoot that wasn’t his own.
He whirled with lifted sword, but was struck with a blinding blow that laid him flat upon the ground.
*
He awoke shortly to the dull roar of a cheering crowd.
A groan issued from the journeyman’s throat. His thoughts were muddled as the unmistakable sound of people in this abandoned place left him confused.
His eyes fluttered against the glare of light passing through the iron bars that surrounded him. As his hand passed over the swollen knot on his forehead, he realized the heavy manacles at his wrists.
He was a prisoner.
The crowd roared once more, but this time screams of agony rose above them. And then something deep and guttural.
Something bestial.
Words spoken from beyond the confines of his cell startled him further.
“Would have been better off had they killed you outright, barbarian,” croaked a withered voice.
“Call me that again and I’ll run you through,” the journeyman said, rising to his feet.
“Aye? With what?” the voice cackled, then sputtered into a wheezing cough.
It was a fair point. He had been stripped of his weapons, left with only his leather breeches. Whatever his captors’ intent, they didn’t plan for him to be well prepared it.
“Sounds like I won’t have to, old man. That cough tells me you haven’t long anyway.”
“Oh, I’ll outlast you, warrior. They’ll be along for you shortly.”
The journeyman gripped the iron bars and peered into the gloom of the dungeon to find the old man, but all he could see was a withered arm, barely more than bone, hanging loose between the bars of a cell like his own.
“Who will be along?” shouted the journeyman. “What is this place?”
The old man spoke no more.
“Answer me!” he cursed, slamming his chains against the cell.
In response, the arm curled back into the shadows as if it was never there.
The journeyman heard then the heavy clang of a thrown latch, followed by feet marching toward him.
*
He was thrust beyond the gate by spearpoint. The harsh light of day blinded him and washed the chill from his bare skin as he climbed the ramp leading to the arena floor.
All along the march from his cell, the noise of the crowd swelled. Now it boomed as he stepped out upon the ancient battlefield in full view of those gathered.
He turned full circle, an expression of bewilderment on his face. He hadn’t seen a soul since passing through the lonely mountain fort at the edge of the western mountains. He knew the stains of civilization when he saw them and this land had been cleansed of them long ago. This colosseum was but bones in a wasteland.
Yet, here were thousands of people lining the stadium, laughing and shouting, drinking and dancing. And now their attention became fixed on him.
From their mouths spilled strange words the journeyman had never heard spoken. He had seen it written on dusty scrolls, but never uttered. This was a dead language.
But while he didn’t know the words, their intent was obvious. He was their sport, their entertainment and after a survey of the area, littered with the detritus of battle, he knew the nature of the performance expected of him.
He cursed the chain at his wrists as he began scampering across the field in search of a weapon he could wield despite his bonds. He came to a stiff corpse and turned it over in search of a blade or bludgeon. The dead man’s garb was of a tribe the journeyman recognized, but he knew not the weapon that had made the gaping chest wound.
With nothing of worth about, he turned to another corpse. This one bore the markings of a soldier in the emperor’s army. That was the only aspect of the body he could make out as the man’s frame was crushed as if trampled in a cavalry charge.
The glint of steel caught his eye beneath the mangled corpse and he dug an ivory-handled short blade from beneath the blood-caked dirt. He recognized it as the sword of the empire, a dreaded weapon that had sent more people to hell than the gods. He swung the blade with his manacled hands, gauging his reach and power despite the bonds.
Then, his blood froze and his breath ceased as a primal roar cut through the stadium’s deafening din.
The crowd erupted into a unified cheer for they knew what was coming.
The journeyman crouched low and skirted to the edge of the arena, an inevitable fear welling up inside him. He heard the slam of a gate nearby and knew that something had been unleashed.
Suddenly, the ground began to stir with the force of a stampede and he witnessed an unfathomable beast thunder into the arena from below.
It was dark as starless night with the brutish features of a bovine. It bore a wicked pair of black horns that caught the shine of the intermittent sun. Its four giant hooves, large as a tree trunks, pummelled the earth to dust.
And then the mighty creature pulled its gallop up short and rose to stand on two legs. The journeyman looked on in horror as he saw that it had the torso of a man. When the demon landed its gaze upon him, he feared it had the soul of one, as well.
The beast bound into a mad charge towards him, bellowing a sound like that of an ancient war horn.
He had been charged by animals before, but never one so large as this bullman. In any case, his only course was to dive at the last second to clear the beast’s ruinous path. He realized then the fate of the soldier whose blade he wielded.
The journeyman crouched and stood firm despite the trembling earth. His sword tip pointed out toward his foe, ready to stab at the eyes and neck of the beast, but he knew if the monster came that near, it would be his doom.
With the sound of the crowd swallowed by the clack of the bullman’s thundering hooves, the journeyman held as still as he could hope. Then, when the beast took up nearly all his vision, he sprang with the grace of an elk.
But, this was no lumbering prairie animal he faced. This was a monster, bred in the blackest pit of hell to kill, maim and wreak vengeance upon the land.
At the last moment, the bullman shifted its weight and caught the journeyman’s body with its rippling shoulder. As he bounced across the sand from the blow, he tumbled through the rotted wreckage of a sunken chariot. He came to one knee amidst its shattered remains, gasping for air in the dust.
The beast roared and the crowd cheered. It was coming for him once more and he knew he had no hope of escaping its terrible charge.
A shape caught his eye amongst the wreck and he darted for it, his fingers seeking the metal edge of a battered bronze shield. He could hear the bullman’s heavy snorts growing closer as he wrenched it from the debris.
In one fluid motion, the journeyman freed the shield and let it fly at his adversary. The heavy disc sailed true and smashed into the bullman’s snout, spit and blood gushing from the impact. It reared and howled and the crowd groaned.
The bullman staggered like a drunk, shaking its massive head to clear away the pain, then found its rage once more as its prey came into view.
The journeyman thought of the mountain bears of the far north, tall as trees, killers at the apex, as the bullman stalked towards him on two hooves. He had caused it harm and it respected him now, which made it even more dangerous.
As the beast stomped in, the journeyman saw the sword he had lost. He thought to circle around, but knew he couldn’t expect to evade the giant for long. He thought no more and bolted for the weapon.
The bullman huffed and rushed forward, but not in time to stop the man from grasping the blade. Close enough to smell the beast, he dove under its towering legs. He had visions of his impalement upon both horns, pinned to the floor of the arena, another victim of this doom lair.
But the bullman struck only the hard crust of earth. The journeyman was clear of the beast’s fury.
In the seconds he had left to act, he fixed upon one monstrous leg and stabbed upwards into the meaty thigh, then dashed away.
When he looked back, the bullman had fallen to a knee, blood spurting from the sword bite. It rose despite the wound and came after him, but he could see it was hindered.
He gave the beast a wide berth and the two danced in this manner for several minutes, the journeyman batting at the tips of its horns as it swung them in his direction.
He kept his movement to the left, forcing it to lead with its wounded leg and several times he was able to weave through its defense and strike. After a time, the beast was covered in shallow stab wounds, blood trickling out to stain its black coat.
By now, the crowd had grown tepid and the sun waned, the shadows of the colosseum casting long and dark. The beast before him was not the same one that had thundered out a short time ago. It staggered from blood loss and huddled in defense instead of striking out at him.
The sword had taught it fear.
The journeyman could finish the beast, but he knew it would need coaxing. Though gravely wounded, its hatred for him was so great that after a clever feint, the bullman lurched out with a wild swing of its horns.
The journeyman felt the twin points slice the air as he leaned out of reach. As the bullman stumbled past, he leapt onto its back. The beast reared to toss the man, but he had already clambered onto its shoulders and raised the sword to strike.
He drove the blade to the hilt, down into the bullman’s neck and felt the beast go slack as he rode it down, dead before it hit the floor. He gathered himself slowly as blood pooled beneath it.
He looked to the crowd then, deathly silent. Some stared in disbelief while others rose to leave. Then, he watched them fade and disappear, vanishing into the twilight one by one until the arena was again empty and hollow, a carapace of its former glory.
He looked to the bullman and saw not the slain corpse of the beast, only a monstrous, sun-bleached skull, sunken in the sand. His sword rusted before his eyes and the chains at his wrists crumpled to dust.
The journeyman forwent contemplation of what had just befallen him and moved to escape the haunted place. He tossed the sword to the ground and found his way to the gates. A chill rippled down his spine as he found his belongings in the corridor leading out, but he retrieved them nonetheless.
Then, as day fell to night, he shouldered his pack and journeyed on.