The Seventh Champion

Doryan dropped to a knee. A line of sweat trailed along his jaw and dripped from his chin. Falling to the arena’s sand, it mixed with drops of blood.

He’d closed his eyes and winced at the ache of strained tendons in his shoulder when the crowd erupted. The voices mixed in his ears like discordant static that pulsed with his pounding heart.

Lying on his back, his opponent lay still.

At the edge of the arena, a door opened. Doryan tensed and flexed his sword hand and prepared to rise.

Servants carried a litter and slowed when they met Doryan’s eyes. They avoided getting within his reach as they approached the loser. Watching him like a volatile beast, they slid the body onto the litter and trotted away.

Rising to his feet, Doryan faced the crowd. The volume of cheers rose, and Doryan turned in place without raising his arms until he faced the box where the king and high priestess sat.

They leaned towards each other, spoke approvingly, and applauded. The high priestess bowed her head as the king vanished into a passageway. She and Doryan held each other’s gaze until the king emerged from a doorway on the arena floor. He lifted a hand to the crowd and crossed to Doryan.

Doryan bowed, and the king took Doryan’s free hand, lifting it in triumph.

“We have our champion!” the king shouted to the crowd.

The cheers found a new peak as the king beckoned with a waving hand.

At length, the sound began to fade, and the cheers fell back to murmurs while many moved towards the exits. An attendant approached with a laurel wreath, and the king placed it on Doryan’s head. Another attendant took Doryan’s sword. The king guided Doryan towards the arena’s exit.

Emerging into the street, the high priestess waited by a chariot painted white with decorative gold vines. The king continued to walk beside him but stopped and pulled Doryan aside. He looked to the priestess, a knowing smile on his face.

“When you return, you’ll tell me what goes on in the temple, yes?”

His eyes glittered. Doryan glanced to the priestess. The breeze pressed the thin robes against her hourglass silhouette.

“Of course, highness,” Doryan said and returned the smile.

The king patted Doryan’s hand. “That’s a good man.”

Turning to the priestess, the king led Doryan to her. She extended a hand. Doryan gripped it and placed a kiss on the knuckles. Her delicate hand gripped his, and she pulled him towards the chariot after a bow to the king.

The crowd had lined the avenue, and as Doryan helped the priestess into the chariot, he looked to the statues lining either side. He recited the names of the three on the left: Kaseo, Thessander, Aetos. On the right: Bastian, Marek, and Cassian. He knew the names as well as his own. Since the first day of drills, their service had been exalted and cited as the perfection of service and courage.

The priestess observed him and followed his gaze to the statues.

“Imagine yourself among them?”

He met her gaze. He had imagined it.

He stepped onto the chariot and took the reins.

The priestess gripped the front of the chariot and placed a hand on Doryan’s shoulder, her fingers exploring the shape of the muscle. A shiver ran down Doryan’s spine, and he looked to her. Her cobalt blue eyes looked back without apology or shyness. She’d wanted to touch him and did.

Doryan urged the horses, and they moved off at an easy trot, hoofbeats echoing off the stone.

The priestess left her hand on Doryan’s shoulder, only lifting it away to acknowledge the crowd. When they turned off the high street towards the temple, she feigned losing her balance and laid her body against his for a moment too long before standing straight. She did not return Doryan’s questioning look. Instead, she waved to the crowd, her face a mask of restraint and piety.

The temple appeared at the end of the avenue. Separated from the city, it lay across a walking bridge. Built of limestone, it gleamed white in comparison to the gray stone of the rest of the city.

Doryan eased the horses to a stop before the bridge, and temple attendants approached, taking the chariot. The priestess stepped down and waited. Doryan stepped beside her, and she returned the hand to his shoulder and made a gentle press as she guided Doryan forward.

A permanent honor guard blocked the passage across the bridge. As the high priestess approached, they did not move.

A flicker of recognition appeared in the guard captain’s eyes, then an instant’s relief. He and Doryan had served together, and if Doryan was here, he’d survived the tournament.

Doryan smiled. The captain almost smiled back before regaining his stoic mask and staring ahead.

“I bring our new champion,” the priestess said. “The final challenge awaits, and he must be prepared.”

The guard’s eyes flicked to Doryan. “And what is his name? Who is his mother?”

“I’m Doryan of Agrium. My mother was Lilian.”

The guard looked to the priestess. “And you approve of this man’s entry into the goddess’ presence?”

“I do,” the priestess said.

The guards stepped aside as one. The priestess urged Doryan forward with a press on his shoulder. The captain met Doryan’s eyes as Doryan passed; his mouth was a tight, worried line.

Across the bridge, the twin doors parted, and two acolytes in translucent robes appeared in the arched opening. The priestess led Doryan to them. Both looked Doryan over with eagerness and hunger.

The priestess pursed her lips. “Doryan is the new champion. He is tired and hungry, and I imagine a bath would ease the ache of his muscles.”

The two acolytes approached. As they crossed into sunlight, the thinness of the robes revealed itself. Doryan stiffened at the sight of their bodies beneath the gauzy robes.

They bracketed him on either side and led him forward. The high priestess had moved into the temple without looking back.

“Come with us, please?” the one on his right said as she hooked an arm into his.

Doryan looked down at her. “What’s your name?”

“Isobel, and this is Samantha,” Isobel said and gestured to the woman on the left.

Samantha blushed and looked away. As they entered, the temple doors closed behind them.

The day’s heat had not reached inside the temple, and in the gloom, Doryan felt the grime and salt of his exertions like a crust. The acolytes led him down a stairway and along a hallway. The humidity of the bath beckoned, and when they entered, the scent of bath salts and soap greeted him.

He’d just crossed the threshold when the two women began to unbuckle Doryan’s armor. As the breastplate came away, Samantha’s face turned crimson, but her hands drifted over his scarred muscles while her face was a blank of wide-eyed curiosity.

“Fetch some wine,” Isobel scolded.

Samantha looked down and trotted away.

Isobel touched a wound on Doryan’s arm. He grimaced.

“Would you tell me about it?” Isobel asked.

“About the fight?”

She nodded and touched her lips to the skin around the wound. “Were you frightened?”

She knelt and unbuckled his sandals, letting him step out of them. She then undid the buckle on his trousers before sliding them over his hips. She lingered along his thigh, looked at his member, and drew a breath.

“Yes. Fear, anger. Trying to live,” Doryan said.

“Both at once,” Isobel said and slid her hands along his legs. “Death. Life. So close together.”

Samantha appeared with a pitcher and cup. She poured and held the cup for Doryan to drink. He accepted and sipped.

Rich, fruity, and heavy, he tipped the cup again and took a deep draught. Now naked, the two women guided him to a bench and eased him onto it before dipping sponges into a bucket of water drawn from the circular pool at the center of the room.

Half their gestures built a lather to wash the sweat away. The rest were accidents of hands lingering or exploring. Doryan sighed, drinking the wine and allowing the warmth of it, the water, and the woman’s touch to drain the tension from his body.

While on his third cup, he found Samantha’s eyes as she scrubbed along his arm.

“It’s hardly fair, is it?”

Samantha blinked as though she’d been entranced.

“Fair?”

Her voice was small and delicate, and Doryan slid an arm around her waist. She gasped as he pulled her close.

“You two are still dressed.”

She looked at Isobel. Doryan followed the glance. Isobel paused her scrubbing, her expression becoming mischievous.

“You want us naked?”

Doryan smiled, feeling the wine. He gestured before him, pointing at the floor. The two women looked puzzled. He pointed.

“Stand there.”

They moved and stood before him, the thin fabric wet and clinging to their legs and along their hips. Doryan made a sweeping gesture along his shoulders. Isobel picked up on his meaning and nodded to Samantha. They both pushed the shoulder straps of the gowns off their shoulders. The fabric fell away.

Doryan took another drink and sighed, beckoning to Samantha. She blushed and didn’t move.

“Come here,” he said, extending a hand.

She stepped closer, and he circled her waist with an arm.

“Beautiful girl, why are you embarrassed?”

Her face brightened. “Beautiful?”

He nodded and offered the cup.

“We’re not supposed to. They said-“ Samantha began.

Isobel was at Doryan’s side, pressing against him. “May I?”

He held the cup out. Isobel took it and sipped. She looked at Samantha with a hard look and pressed the cup towards her.

Samantha hesitated, sipped, then emptied the cup. She looked to Isobel, who nodded. Samantha reached down to the pitcher and refilled the cup before offering it back to Doryan.

The two women nodded to each other and returned to washing. When they’d finished, they guided Doryan to the pool, stepping down with him into the water. He groaned at the release of his aches.

Drowsy, he settled at the edge of the pool, one arm lying on the side. Samantha had brought the pitcher next to the pool, and the three shared the wine.

Samantha’s face lit each time she tasted, and she drank eagerly. Isobel only sipped.

Samantha arranged herself against Doryan’s flank, her hand sliding on his chest. Her eyes had become heavy-lidded, and her voice lost some of its delicacy in a slurred drowsiness.

“Tell me I’m pretty again,” she whispered into Doryan’s ear.

He kissed her cheek. “As beautiful as a river nymph.”

She hummed and returned the kiss, her wet hair swirling in the water.

“Would I lure you to join me? Addle your thoughts?” Samantha asked.

“Samantha,” Isobel scolded.

Samantha blinked, her eyes wide. She put a hand over her mouth. She looked between Doryan and Isobel.

Doryan offered her the cup. She looked to Isobel before drinking again. Doryan offered the cup to Isobel in turn. She composed a smile and sipped before handing the cup back.

Doryan leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Samantha, if you meant to lure me, how would it be different than this?”

Samantha didn’t speak, and Doryan opened his eyes a fraction. Samantha and Isobel looked at each other.

“Well?” Doryan asked.

“I think I might kiss you again,” Samantha offered.

“Such cruel beauty.”

Her tipsy laugh was music to Doryan’s ears. Samantha’s lips touched his forehead, then his temple, then down his cheek over along his jaw.

“You can sleep if you want,” Samantha whispered. “We’ll keep you safe.”

“But I face the lamia soon,” Doryan said, feeling the last tension exit his body.

“Later,” Isobel said and kissed his lips.

He sipped the wine, the kisses drawing him into a comfortable nothing.

He dreamed. The half-snake, half-woman creature swelled the waters of the pool as her sinuous form moved beneath the surface. He reached for his sword, but he was in the water and naked. She began to rise, her back bending the water around her as she broke the surface.

Snapping his eyes open, the surface of the pool was quiet. Samantha had arranged herself in the crook of her arm. Her face placid, she slept.

From the hallway outside, whispers hissed. He heard his name, and they stopped. He returned to Samantha and petted her hair. She smiled in her sleep, her hand on his chest patted in answer to his.

“We need to get you dressed,” Isobel said from behind.

Craning his neck, Doryan turned. Isobel had dressed. She’d donned heavier robes of white linen which covered from neck to ankle. Without windows, Doryan couldn’t tell how long he’d slept. His armor had been taken, and he tried to remember where his sword had gone.

He felt that should concern him, but unlike the immediacy of the arena that morning, it lingered at the outer edge of his awareness, something he might return to another time.

Kissing Samantha’s head, he moved towards the stairs out of the pool.

“No. Stay,” Samantha whispered without opening her eyes. “Tell me I’m beautiful again.”

“Isobel will be angry with us both,” Doryan whispered. “Your allure doesn’t touch her as it does me.”

“Keep you forever,” she sighed.

“Samantha,” Isobel said.

Samantha opened her eyes. She blinked, eyes struggling to focus. They found Doryan, then looked up to Isobel. Wiping a hand across her eyes, she squinted hard before opening her eyes again. She looked at Doryan and paused.

“She’s right. We should go,” Samantha said without meeting Doryan’s eyes.

Taking his hand, she led him to the steps and out of the water. It slid off her body in sheets, then rivulets that Doryan followed from the curve of shoulder to the tiny waist, flare of hip, and along the muscle of her thigh. Her damp skin glowed.

“Doryan,” Isobel said.

Samantha turned to face him and pulled his arm like a leash. “Come, please. We have to go.”

He followed, watching her body move.

Towels had been laid out, and the two women began patting and wiping him dry. When they finished, Doryan took Samantha’s and began to return the favor. Samantha’s eyes drowsed, and she looked at him. She looked like he felt when he’d watch her rise from the pool.

He struggled to remain steady on his feet as the room wanted to shift. The wine had left a pleasant fruitiness on his tongue, tinged with a slight bitterness.

“Any more wine?” Doryan asked.

“All gone,” Isobel said and gave Samantha a hard look.

Isobel retrieved a set of black robes with silver detailing. She held it up, and Doryan slid an arm into it. At the cuffs and hem, twined snakes played. Along the tops of his shoulders, two serpents coiled.

Examining the fit, Isobel worked the fasteners along the front before cinching a belt at the waist. The buckle was an icon of a hooded cobra.

“What are these robes?” Doryan asked.

Isobel looked up at him. She had the same cobalt blue eyes as the priestess. He realized all the priestesses did.

“They’ve been worn by champions for centuries.”

Doryan narrowed his eyes and looked to Samantha.

“Is this true?”

Samantha fumbled with the white linen of her robes. She looked up and blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

Isobel turned.

“Tell him. The robes.”

Samantha looked up from the fasteners and to Doryan’s robes. Her eyes found the snake motifs along his shoulders, wrists, and waist.

“Samantha,” Isobel repeated.

“They’ve been worn by champions for centuries,” Samantha said.

Isobel sighed and went to Samantha. She helped with the robes and adjusted its shoulders before holding her gaze for a long moment.

Samantha took a deep breath and opened her eyes wide, trying to shake off the drowsiness. Isobel faced Doryan.

“They’re waiting,” Isobel said. “Follow me.”

She walked ahead of him and out of the bath. Doryan took Samantha’s hand and pulled her along.

He had to concentrate and hold his head very still. When he leaned or tilted his head forward, the space wanted to turn before his eyes. Several times, Samantha reeled and gripped his hand like it was a lifeline.

Fixing his gaze on the back of Isobel’s neck helped. Her steady gait and posture became a fixed point he could hold onto. She continued on the ground floor along a large hall lined with columns whose upper reaches disappeared into shadows.

At the end, a pair of arched double doors waited. Two acolytes robed as Isobel and Samantha waited. When they reached them, Isobel looked back. Her eyes moved over Doryan without expression, then looked at Samantha and frowned.

She reached and pulled Samantha from Doryan’s side.

The acolytes pulled the doors open. Chilled air, tinged with incense, breathed out. Stairs led downwards into a gloom marked by twin braziers at the bottom. Rhythmic whispers reached up.

Doryan’s eyes closed, and he inhaled. He saw the lamia from his dream, half-snake, half-woman. Sinuous and shapely, she slid through the waters.

“They’re waiting, champion,” Isobel said.

Head bent, he opened his eyes. Samantha put a hand to her lips and blew a kiss.

“Champion,” Isobel repeated.

Alone, Doryan stepped across the threshold and started down. The doors bumped closed behind him, and a lock turned.

He tried to place the incense’s scent. Amber, frankincense, cinnamon? At the bottom of the stairs, the high priestess stepped before him. She’d changed from the white robes to black. Her wide belt gleamed silver, etched to look like snake scales. The buckle showed a fanged mouth swallowing its tail.

She lifted a hand and touched his shoulder. Doryan stopped and tried to meet her eyes. They reflected the brazier light and looked into his. For an instant, the cobalt blue became glittering gold, and the large pupils became vertical slits. He blinked. They returned to their deep cobalt.

She lifted her fingertips to his temples, swirling them as she looked into his eyes.

“Champion, only a little further. Breathe.”

She drew a deep breath, and Doryan mirrored it. His shoulder relaxed on the exhale. The priestess inhaled again. He followed, and his attention reduced to her eyes and the scent of incense.

“Good. Breathe,” she said.

Touching his shoulder, she guided him forward.

A dozen acolytes knelt on either side of the path. They were the source of the whispered chants. As he passed, none moved or faltered in their recitation. The sounds invaded his thoughts until his mind anticipated and fell into the rhythm. He didn’t understand the words, but he hummed in time with the sounds.

At the end, a dark well waited. Black water as smooth as oil reflected the brazier light. Beyond, a golden statue of a serpent looked down, glittering rubies for eyes.

“You-?” Doryan began.

The cobalt eyes met his. Fingers on his temples swirled. His eyes tried to close.

“Doryan.”

The voice felt like a tendril working between the chants. He remembered that it was his name. She spoke. His body relaxed. His sense of danger called to him but drifted away until he couldn’t hear it over the chanting.

“Champion,” she said.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. Backing away, he held a hand up to ward the eyes from meeting his.

He had stumbled before he opened his eyes. The acolytes continued to chant, quiet and feminine. He thought of Samantha, the warm water, and the wine’s flavor. Drugged and lulled, this was the secret hidden in the temple.

“Doryan. Champion.”

He wanted to hear her voice again, feel the fingertips on his temples, feel Samantha’s body against his in the water.

“A sacrifice. No,” he said.

“Doryan,” she stepped towards him. He turned, but the cobalt blue found his eyes, and he stumbled. Her dark robes flowed as she moved towards him, and the blue of her eyes found his. Fingers touched his temples and swirled.

“Champion. Guardian. You remember the names,” the priestess said.

“Kaseo, Thessander, Aetos,” he recited. “Bastian, Marek, and Cassian.”

“And Doryan.”

Her hand moved, and he felt the weight of his sword in his hand. She touched his cheek.

His sword was there. Cleaned and oiled, it was as familiar as his own voice. He looked from it to the priestess and began to lift it.

She caught his intention and relaxed as he touched the sword’s tip to her robes.

“Her will be done,” the priestess said.

“Her?”

A smile, and her eyes flicked to the pool.

“You were chosen, champion. Look.”

Doryan rose. The rhythm of the chanting gained strength, laying itself over thoughts which tried to form. He drifted towards the water. The metallic scrape of metal on stone snatched his attention, and he lifted the sword off the ground, continuing forward.

Reaching the pool’s edge, something moved. Sinuous and fluid, it spiraled from deep below. He realized the waters weren’t black but crystal clear with a depth he couldn’t fathom. The motion from deep below continued to rise.

Behind him, the priestess approached. Her hand touched his shoulder.

“Chosen,” she whispered.

The shape resolved into a long, graceful arc. As it approached the surface, he saw scales and a feminine face. It broke the surface. Golden eyes with vertical slits for pupils looked into him and through him. The curves of a woman transitioned to the iridescent scales of a serpent that moved and swished beneath the water.

He lifted his sword.

“Doryan,” the lamia said.

He commanded his sword arm to move. It didn’t. He commanded his arm to thrust, but it held in space as did the rest of him. She rose out of the water.

Her face was beautiful. She had a wide mouth with delicate fangs. Her unblinking eyes grew as she approached until they filled his vision. Clawed fingertips touched his temples and swirled.

She repeated his name, but the sound was not from his ears. It came from inside his mind.

“My champion,” the voice said.

Her smooth fingers traced up his wrist and over his forearm. The delicate talons made him shiver. She pulled him towards the water.

“Come, champion,” the voice said.

Epilogue

Mattias emerged from the arena. The king whispered congratulations and stepped away, leaning on his cane. The high priestess stepped forward and extended a hand.

Eyes wandering, Mattias noticed that she’d retained her shapeliness despite her age, and she smiled as he kissed her knuckle. She placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him to the chariot, stepping in beside him and pressing her body against his.

Mattias looked up to the statues lining the avenue.

“Can you recite them, champion?” the priestess asked.

“Kaseo, Thessander, Aetos, Bastian, Marek, Cassian, and Doryan,” Mattias said, pointing to each.

“And Doryan,” the priestess said. “He contained the lamia for a generation.”

He traced his eyes over her body again. The priestess followed his gaze and answered it with a gaze over the muscles of his arms.

“And what’s your name?” Mattias asked.

She smiled and massaged his shoulder.

“Samantha,” she said, her cobalt blue eyes sparkling. “Come, champion. We have much to show you.”