Shield of the Gods (Aigis Trilogy, Book 1) (28 page)

The two stood and waved for Aerigo and Roxie to come forward.

“Welcome back, Aerigo. And—” Antares’ smile vanished as he stared at Roxie. “Sandra?” he breathed. His voice echoed throughout the hall.

Who?
Roxie looked behind her to make sure no one else was near. Aerigo put a hand on her shoulder and stepped forward.

“She’s not Sandra,” he said solemnly. “Her name is Rox. I know she looks exactly like your sister, but sadly, she’s gone forever.”

Antares’ eyes watered as he spoke. “Why does she look exactly like Sandra?”

Aerigo opened his mouth to say something, but stopped and instead looked at Roxie.

Well there’s an interesting revelation,
Roxie thought. Aerigo studied her, his gaze uncomfortably probing. She had no answers to offer about this mystery twin of hers. Roxie had assumed her appearance was due to genetics. Because of both Antares’ and Aerigo’s reactions, she was beginning to wonder if genetics had anything to do with it. Part of her felt robbed in her parents’ stead at the lack of genetic control over how their daughter turned out, but that feeling lasted only seconds. She was content with her appearance, so there was really nothing to complain about.

Aerigo’s eyes widened and he straightened his back, but then his gaze fell out of focus and he froze. Recognizing the symptoms, Roxie knew Aerigo wasn’t seeing her. “Did you just see the phoenix again?” she asked after Aerigo’s posture relaxed.

“No.”

“Aerigo, are you alright?” Antares asked.

“I apologize, your grace. I’m fine. Rox is an Aigis, like me. I’ve brought her to Druconica to train like I did long ago.”

“Ah,” Antares said, then addressed Roxie. “My heart aches with loss. But knowing you are an Aigis brings some comfort. I apologize if I scared you. I only foresaw Aerigo’s arrival.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting to look like anyone you knew.”

“Your arrival has brought me joy and sorrow. But let us talk of lighter matters. You two have just arrived and, by the looks of it, have traveled quite a ways to get here. Mick! Jack! Please relieve our guests of their burdens and escort them to the baths.” Antares turned to Aerigo. “Shall I put your belongings in your old quarters?”

Aerigo thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, thank you. A guest room please.”

“Dinner is in an hour. Will you be joining us?”

Roxie gave Aerigo a hopeful look, but he didn’t look back.

“Possibly,” he said. “I need to make a personal trip into town after we wash up.”

“Where are we going?” Roxie asked.

“Sorry, Rox, but I need to go alone,” he said without looking at her. “To a grave.”

“I understand.”
Somewhat.

Chapter 20

Titans

              Aerigo and Roxie were escorted deep into the temple and handed over to servants waiting by the entrance to the bathhouses. They both took long-overdue baths and emerged feeling clean, revived and freshly clad, although the back of Aerigo’s black shirt and the seat of his only pair of pants were now smudged with yellow and red, but at least his white shirt, which he switched into after Roxie pointed out the other’s stains, remained unscathed. Roxie’s pants were stained at the knees and seat as well, but somehow her tank top had survived all the wear and tear.

             
While Aerigo headed off to his private trip to a grave, Roxie helped set up tables, plates cups, and silverware for dinner in the main hall. An hour later dinner started, but Aerigo hadn’t returned. Roxie couldn’t help but worry about her companion’s emotional state, along with the fact that they hadn’t been separated this long ever since they met. She tried engaging herself with the surrounding Durians, but her gaze kept drifting to one doorway or another. Aerigo meandered in once Roxie was done eating. He kept his gaze towards the ground, even as he sat and began eating, and didn’t say a thing. Roxie let him be.

             
The rest of the grand dinner passed in a blur of good food and music that involved the audience clapping and singing along. Roxie paid some attention to the music and people around her, but she was more preoccupied by how pensively Aerigo sat—that, and how the heck she was supposed to help Aerigo stop a war from starting. Was it even right of them to be stalling like this?

             
Before Roxie could ponder her latest question she found herself having no choice but to stand. Everyone at her table started moving the table and benches toward the walls, making a big open space in the middle of the hall. Aerigo helped the Durians move the bench he’d been sitting on to its new location, then mechanically took a seat once more. Roxie filled in the spot next to him.

             
Antares stood before his throne, his face now nice and red from all the beer and singing. He thanked the bard and his musicians for the performance, then dismissed a few of the players back to their table. The Druid held out his arms and addressed the hall. “And now, in honor of Melo the Mighty, I need a challenger from the table on the left!” He held a hand out to Roxie’s and Aerigo’s table. A few Durians hopped up, but the man nearest the dais bounded up the steps first. He ran over and stood at Antares’ side. The rest sat back down as their leader called for a challenger from the other table, who reacted with a similar number of willing participants. The extras sat down again, which got some laughs. Antares said, “Durians, I now present to you: Chuck, on my left, and Rich, on my right.”

             
More cheers. One of the cooks poured a line of flour on the ground, connecting the tables and marking the center of the makeshift arena. The cook poured out two more parallel lines six feet from either side of the center one, then dusted off his hands and ran back to his seat.

             
“Thank you, Beany,” the Druid said before readdressing his first round opponents. He held out his hands to the arena. “Men, pick sides, then clasp hands.”

             
The two burly men chose their squares, carefully avoiding the flour lines in the process. Rich took the side closer to Antares, and Chuck took the side closer to the doors. They faced each other just on either side of the center line, then clasped hands palm-to-palm at head level and widened their stances. Both wore big grins.

             
“What’s going on exactly?” Roxie whispered to Aerigo.

             
“This is how they start each round of wresting,” the big man explained. “Each match is two parts. The object of the first part is to get your opponent to move their feet without moving your own, so it becomes a balancing and counter-balancing act while you try outwitting him or her. Just watch.”

             
“Gentlemen,” Antares said in a booming voice, “on my count you may begin.” Each opponent flexed their interwoven fingers and dug the balls of their boots into the stone. They stared each other down, still grinning. “Three! Two! One...
Begin
!”

             
Rich and Chuck pushed into each other’s palms, both men’s balance teetering one way or the other. This lasted a good minute, until both men began huffing. Sweat beaded on their brows, and their faces grew red and serious.

             
Rich, the man on Roxie’s right, twisted his right hand to the side, tilting Chuck farther off balance, who began leaning ponderously backward. Chuck jerked his hand to his face, causing Rich to teeter forward and rise onto his toes. Rich tried to push the other wrestler even farther backward as he tried to counterbalance himself upright. Chuck yanked to one side, trying to throw Rich down with him, however, on the instinctual need to stay balanced, Rich threw up his arms, bringing Chuck upright with him, who then used Rich’s momentum to keep pushing. Rich tried raising himself on his toes and sticking out his stocky hips as his upper body tilted farther and farther back. Rich started windmilling his arms, still unable to right himself. Chuck’s hands circled with him until Rich stopped with their hands at their shoulders. Chuck blew air in his opponent’s face. Rich let go and toppled backward.

             
The winning side of the audience laughed while the losing side voiced an “aww.”

             
As soon as the first boot left the stone floor, Chuck dived into a tackle. Rich clamped his opponent in a bear hug, twisted them both mid-fall and roughly landed on top of Chuck with a heavy thud, causing the stone to vibrate. The other side cheered.

             
“That was a hard landing,” Roxie said, a little intimidated.

             
“Don’t forget: they’re just as strong as me,” Aerigo said. “If not stronger. Remember how you could hardly move when we arrived on Druconica?”

             
Roxie remembered that humbling night.

             
“You and I are naturally stronger and faster than the average human, like the ones back on your home world. We have to train ourselves to match Scondish speed and Druconican strength, but we can take it a step further and magically enhance those abilities in a variety of ways.”

             
“So was that the end of part one?” The two wrestlers grappled with each other on the right side of the arena.

             
“Yes. It usually lasts about that long, but it’s common for that part to go quicker.”

             
“It felt pretty intense.”

             
“It is. Any action puts you at an advantage and disadvantage. The trick is to not let any motion overwhelm you, like when Rich stopped himself from letting Chuck pull him down with him.”

             
Cheers erupted from the opposite side of the room as Rich slammed the back of Chuck’s hand into the line of flour closest to Antares, sending a small white cloud into the air.

             
“Why’d they just cheer when he smudged the line? I thought they didn’t want to touch the lines.”

             
“During face-off and part one: no. During part two it’s a game within the wrestling game to cover the other with as much flour as possible.”

             
Roxie chuckled.

             
“I don’t know when flour was incorporated into wrestling matches, but it’s been around for quite a few centuries now. Proper wrestling tournaments without flour are held outside in a bigger, round arena. This post-feast match is more for entertainment and bragging rights.”

             
This time Roxie’s table cheered as Chuck did a backward somersault, throwing Rich over his head and scoring a line of flour over Rich’s shoulder blades.

             
“Nice move,” Roxie said. “What else is the object of the game now?”

             
“Knock the other out of the ring on the opposite side, meaning Rich wants to knock Chuck out on the side Chuck started on, and the exact opposite goes for Chuck. Sometimes they’ll work on getting flour all over each other first, before actually trying to win. But right now it looks like Rich just wants to win.”

             
Without letting go of Chuck’s arms, Rich twisted around so he was facing the center of the arena, then got to his feet dragged Chuck across the middle flour line, coating Chuck’s back and rear in flour. That elicited many cheers. Chuck twisted himself onto his stomach, but kept on getting closer to the line that’d doom him. Rich dug his heels into the ground and threw his opponent by the arms like a hammer thrower (though Chuck merely slid along the stone, instead of in the air). His Durian strength was good enough to throw Chuck halfway across the line, feet-first. Chuck attempted to claw his way back over the line, but Rich dived at him, hands first. He shoved Chuck by the shoulders all the way over the line, and got more flour over his arms and hands.

             
“And a quick victory goes to Rich!” the bard announced as the table opposite Roxie and Aerigo burst into cheers.

             
Rich stood and helped Chuck to his feet. The men shook hands then marched back to their tables, proudly bearing their flour smears. Their friends patted them hard just to make more white clouds, which earned some drunken laughter.

             
One of the chefs poured some fresh rows of flour and another swept away the smear spots. Two more wrestlers hurriedly volunteered and the next round began. This time, however, their actions were a little inhibited by all the beer, as were the next few rounds. Roxie still found the wrestling matches amusing, and clapped for all the “flour points” and victories as they unfolded.

             
And then came the words Roxie had secretly been hoping to hear after since the conclusion of the first wrestling match...

             
“Aerigo, I and my fellow Durians would be honored if you’d wrestle one of our favorites tonight,” Antares said as the tables calmed down enough to hear their leader speak.

             
“I shall, your grace,” Aerigo replied. He removed the metal bands from his thighs and boots, set them on the bench, then stood in the left side of the arena.

             
“Horgrim, come forward, please,” Antares called out.

             
The hall abandoned their steins, sat up on the benches and gave their full attention to the arena as the biggest Durian in the temple rose just as calmly as Aerigo had. He made his way to Antares and saluted his leader. The Druid nodded. Horgrim did an about-face and stared the Aigis down as he took his position inside the arena, adjusting his tunic for good measure.

             
By Earth’s standards, Roxie considered Aerigo to be very well muscled, a big guy. But once Horgrim poised himself within a foot of Aerigo, she realized that that Durian could put even Arnold Schwarzenegger during his Mr. Universe days to shame. The only thing smaller about Horgrim in comparison to Aerigo was his height. Everything else about him made Roxie question her friend’s ability to win this match. If Aerigo had to train to become a Druconican’s equal in strength, there was no way he was equal to Horgrim. The Durian’s waist was as thick as Aerigo’s broad shoulders, his abs just as ripped, shoulders as big as his head, arms thicker than Aerigo’s legs, and his sculpted chest too wide to fit through the average doorway. Horgrim’s legs were as thick as the Aigis’ waist, his booted feet: just plain huge.

             
The two wrestlers clasped hands—Horgrim’s dwarfing Aerigo’s two-to-one—and the Aigis widened his stance. Roxie worried that Aerigo’s height would work against him when the Durian barely adjusted his stance, bringing his eyes back to Aerigo’s chin.

             
“Aerigo, good luck!” Roxie called out in a worried tone, which caused him to turn his head in her direction.

             
Horgrim gave a mighty shove, sending Aerigo to the ground. The Aigis landed on the flour line right on his shoulder blades, then bounced and slid a good ten feet further, smearing the stone floor with flour.

             
Horgrim let out a long gruff laugh. “Don’t let your guard down around me, boy! Now get back in the arena.” Many Durians laughed and the rest watched in awed silence.

             
Roxie couldn’t tell whether Aerigo was pissed off at the cheap shot, or disappointed in himself for letting his guard down. He pushed himself to his feet, then purposefully strode back into his side of the arena, his eyes locked on Horgrim.

             
A pair of cooks fixed the flour line once again, then rushed back to their bench.

             
Antares cued the bard to strike up a fitting tune, who whispered something to his musicians. They began to play a slow, mysterious waltz full of tension. “Men, clasp hands again, please. And no more false starts. That’s a command.”

             
“Yes, your grace,” Horgrim said without a hint of mockery in his voice. The giant Durian’s face was serious, but it turned into a grin as the two wrestlers waited for the command to begin.