The warden took Roran straight out into the arena. There was no waiting or wondering this time. Large metal barriers covered in spikes littered the killing grounds. They were placed in circles that got smaller and smaller the closer they were to the center, creating a sort of obstacle course.
It wasn't a maze, the pattern was clear and obvious to anyone looking, but they did create a hazard, surrounding the combatants in spikes making even a light push deadly. The only safe place to fight was the center of the arena, a small circle where a few gladiators could comfortably square off, killing each other in relative safety.
Roran had trouble seeing around the spiked barriers, but he knew Morena was out there somewhere, along with Jorgen. The only two champions left. If he killed them, he would have a solid chance at winning. Roran planned to go for Morena first, if only to guarantee Karyn's safety should Roran be killed.
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
Having gotten used to the announcer's obnoxious speeches, Roran half ignored him, using the time to count the number of combatants and pick his route through the obstacles before him.
"It has been one exciting week, hasn't it? We witnessed poor refugees rise to glory in the game of keepaway. We saw brilliant displays of athleticism, wit, and—to everyone's surprise—kindness in the Troll's Gambit. We saw the best the wardens had to offer, showing off their skill in sword and strategy. We saw the Houndmaster display perfect control over his vicious beasts. We've heard the finests songs, seen the most exotic dances, and laughed at outrageous comedies. It has been a wondrous week indeed.
"Now, as founder's month wanes, we celebrate the opening of the Crucible. Over a hundred years ago this great and honorable arena was constructed to give the downtrodden a chance. A chance to become more than they were. A chance to show their skill and earn their keep. A chance to prove themselves worthy of glory and climb to the rank of champion. It is here in the Crucible that the finest warriors are forged.
"Here and now, we bear witness to the glory that is the Iron Gauntlet. Our intrepid heroes must push forward, towards their fate. They must navigate the spiked barriers to find each other in combat. Only the sturdiest, wiliest, and most determined will make it through the gauntlet to the center of the arena, where they will face off in equal combat. The last fighter standing wins. Nineteen gladiators have entered, only one will leave."
Roran glanced up at the stands. He spotted his friends—his family—easily enough. Kell and Karyn were bouncing and waving, Kell's spear raised high to signal him. Nul sat beside them, looking embarrassed. Roran raised his sword in salute.
Scanning further, Roran blanched. Scowling down at him was Murrin. Even from a distance, Roran could see the swelling in Murrin's face. His eyes were black and his lips puffy and red. Alongside the old councilman were Dorval, Sephyr, and Toth. Kamil was absent.
Toth looked as upset as Murrin. Dorval was more reserved, his face passive and unreadable. Sephyr looked like he always did, calm and collected.
Roran swallowed, his anger rising again. Soon, he would never have to see any of those people again. He would walk away from them and leave the bitterness of his mother's murder behind.
"Among today's favorites," the announcer continued, "Are some sordid characters. We have returning champion, Morena the cruel, a swordsman known for taking his time and dismembering his opponents piece by piece. Should he win, Morena has requested a pile of gold as his boon.
"We also have martial arts master, Jorgen the iron monk, known for breaking buildings with his bare hands. He has stripped off his focus markings and come to the Crucible in hopes of redeeming his honor. Should he win, he wishes to request a vengeance match against Kell the living storm."
Roran frowned. What was a revenge match? And why was it worth Jorgen risking his life in the chaotic Crucible.
"There is also an up and comer. One who has beaten the odds time and time again. In his very first Crucible match, he squared off with Kell the living storm and walked away alive. In his second round he surprised us all by doing the undoable, and killing the—not quite so unkillable—Gress. Then, in the first round of the week, he proved that he was out for blood by shattering Duran the living boulder.
"Yes, ladies and gentleman, I am referrring to the murderer from Millgrove. The man who has been rising to the top one corpse at a time, Roran Aurandale!"
Roran winced. He hadn't expected them to use his surname. Glancing up at Murrin and the others, he saw a wave of confusion wash over them. He could see Dorval mouthing the name, his face scrunched in concentration. Roran wondered if Dorval knew who the man was.
"The little murderer may be the underdog but he has killed or overcome every champion to cross his path. Sheltering in the eye of the storm, Roran has been sponsored by none other than his first opponent, Kell. We may very well see the rise of another champion here today. Contradicting his bloodthirsty nature, Roran has requested that a divine gift be given to some unfortunate souls taking refuge in the Crucible. He has requested that they be released and given citizenship within the city. Truly, a more perplexing gladiator does not exist.
"Now, before we begin the climax of this event, we will all have the great pleasure of hearing from one of the great and wise kings. His magnificence himself, Tasos the Unbreakable."
From high above the arena, a platform descended. Roran had to shield his eyes from the sun, but from his vantage point he couldn't see any scaffolding or wires or pulleys. The platform hung suspended in midair, as if floating of its own volition.
Atop the platform sat a collection of delicate furniture glimmering gold in the sunlight. A plethora of servants circled the platform, holding platters laden with food and drink, their feet perilously close to the edge.
A man stood on the platform, his head a little higher than everyone else's. He looked old but not frail, his tan skin taught over lean muscles. His face and head were clean shaven and his mouth was drawn in a tight line across his face. Shimmering focus markings danced along his body, constantly moving and shifting, giving his entire body a golden glow. He wore a thin robe of bright colors and gaudy trim, dripping with gold and pearls and precious gems. When he spoke, his voice echoed, cutting through the applause and the cheers and the screams. When he spoke, the people had no choice but to listen.
"Welcome, fine citizens of our city. We three kings are grateful for your dedication to our kingdom and to the prosperity of all who dwell here. We welcome the lords and ladies who have traveled far to celebrate with us in this month of founding. We thank the brave soldiers who risk their lives for us, protecting our border and spreading peace and civility across the continent. And we thank the gladiators for their sacrifice, for not only giving us a brief distraction from the challenges of modern life, but for their ingenuity and skill that is used to strengthen our troops, refine our tactics, and advance our understanding of focus markings."
King Tasos paused, looking down into the arena, his eyes shifting from gladiator to gladiator.
"You gladiators, and champions, and champions to be," he said, his eyes paused on Roran. "Are the driving force of our kingdom. Go forth and fight, and know that our city flourishes because of your sacrifice."
Raising his hands, Tasos clapped once. The sound bounced through the arena, echoing over and over again in a pure, perfect note.
The final round began.