Arena Games: Legend of Petrova

By Tabitha Short

Petrova the Pummeler is the warrior of all warriors, the master of the mystical orbs, until a fateful match leaves her damaged and unable to continue fighting as a warrior. Now she must take her place as a master in the Arena Games and train her own students to become Arena Warriors.

Along the way there are obstacles: A band of thieves and murderers, a journey through the gypsy magicked Wood of Gibbald, a little girl with many life-altering secrets, and dozens of competing warriors.

Arena Games: Legend of Petrova is a story about friendship, love, revenge, and betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tabitha Short
• Release date: Mar 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301328383

Tabitha Short

Lover of stories, written and read. An appetite, insatiable. Inherited from my father, who inherited it from his.

Book preview

Arena Games:

Legend of Petrova

By Tabitha Short

The First Five Pages Publications © 2012

Distribution Prohibited.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

The gust of blustery wind picked up a strand of her red hair and dusted it across her forehead. The coldness stained her cheeks red. Her eyes, closed, fluttered as a second wind lifted her chest plate and crept across the silky material that lay beneath. The kimono, short on her body, left her thin, pale legs mostly bare. She sat with her legs crossed on a tiny ledge of the mountain. Her wrists lay on her knees with her palms facing the sky. Meditation was a necessity this day. With one last deep breath in and then out, she rolled her head in a circle and then slowly lifted her eyelids.

The fog that lingered in the sunrise lifted and she watched the sunlight taking hold of the city below. It burst through the open hallways and rippled over the cobblestone carriage-ways. She imagined its warmth as it absorbed into the bare skin of a lady, sweeping the dust from her entryway. The day markets would open soon and the streets would fill with people. It wasn’t the coming of the day she dreaded. It was the coming of the night, that night. She wished she could somehow skip it.

Her arsenal was light, too light for who she would face when night curled its gnarly, spindly fingers around the Earth. She felt the bulge of the Arctic Round Tool in her small purse. She pretended she smelled her Fulmeric Tonic, a right reserved only for the dead. She knew she possessed a half pound of Muhler Tea Sprouts and one-quarter of a Log Roller¬. These seemed like children’s weapons to her after having seen weapons like the Dark Hard Ball and Flaming Feathers. She wished she carried Demon Dust or Periwinkle Gouges. She did have one viable weapon, though. She carried one small Ball of Fury. In the past, the Ball of Fury proved to be a failure as a weapon, but ancient tales of the orb’s true abilities existed, only no one yet figured out how to access them. Tonight’s game would be a different kind of game, though. Tonight she would have to kill her opponent. In these games the only way to gain more weapons is to dispel the opponent and take what he or she has left. She’d only been required to do this once before and the pain still lived in her veins. It was fortunate her opponent had been able to supply her with many weapons and she wasn’t forced to take a life again…until tonight.

Number fifty-two, she thought to herself. The fifty-second game. She survived to number fifty-two. She played with the number in her mind: fifty-two in half equals twenty-six. At the twenty-sixth she fought against Tanya’s Wharf. Tanya, an excellent sea-farer, possessed all the water element weapons and deep sea items. But her skills did not match Petrova’s Frozen Tundra and her Ancient Rune spells. Tanya had put up a fight, though, and the match lasted sixteen hours, one of the longest in history.

Fifty-two, she thought, the age of her father wherever in the world he might be. Fifty-two: nearly in the last games of her career and only at the age of nineteen. She would be a young master. She remembered her own master; an old man with a thick foreign accent, even though nothing about his appearance indicated he was foreign. In fact, her master had been born in Ship Star City. When a master makes the binding agreement with a student, he or she gives up the right to possess weapons and passes the right, along with their complete arsenal, to the student. From her master she had received only twelve items. Eight of them were sets of eight Pummeler Rocks. The early use of the Pummeler Rocks etched her fame into the name of Petrova (Pet-rove-ah) the Pummeler. She hated the name, but it was not hers to choose; the right belonged to the spectators.

Looking down on the city again, she could see the people begin to come out of their homes. They made their way to the day market streets, bathing in the fountains at the commons and greeting one another. She would make her way down to the city in a few moments, but not before her morning prayer. Normally she would recite her prayer aloud in English, but today she needed to feel connected to her master and all the things he had taught her. Today’s morning prayer would be said in the old language and would consist of the proper dustings.

Rotating her body around, she collected the small bowls and pouches that had been sitting, waiting, behind her back. In front of her she placed the three bowls in a triangle. The pouches consisted of basil, mirin oil, cress and convolvulus minor.

Into the cold morning air she whispered her prayer. The foreign words spilled out from her lips, followed by her white breath.

Gods of the other world, she recited in a low voice. Peer into mine this day. I offer basil for the kings of your world. May it please their senses and spark their interest in me.

Petrova crushed the basil and sprinkled it into the first bowl. She continued her prayer in the old language.

I offer mirin oil for a gift in death. May it be given to the opponent upon entering your world. She dug deep into her pouch of the oil. Scooping up a generous amount, she held it in front of her face, staring at it. It was almost solid, squishy, and gum-like. She used her left index finger to scrape it from her right palm and into the second bowl. It settled and became more liquid-like.

Then she opened her third pouch. After pinching a few dry leaves from the cress plants, she squished them in her hands, turning them to a fine dust.

I offer cress so that you will see fit to squeeze from it the power it holds and allow it to rain upon me.

Petrova allowed the dust to fall through her fingers before overturning her palm so that all the dust fell into the third bowl.

She fingered the lovely petals of the convolvulus minor plant. The roots were still attached and she pinched them off. As she ripped each petal and rubbed them to release their scent she recited, Finally I offer the minor form of convolvulus to darken this night of full moon.

She placed a bleeding petal into each of the bowls and began crushing each bowl’s contents together with her fingers until all bowls contained fragments and pieces and dustings of their former item. Next, she said the Prayer of the Student, also in old language.

Fill me with the hope of the Chariot, calm my heart and rest my mind. Bring me wit and power and heroism. Allow the clouds in my mind to disappear and all my focus come to the front. May the Gods be with me.

She took out a flask which had been filled the previous night by her master with holy water from the Spring of the Living and the Dead. She poured a quarter of the water out around her in a circle. Then she added the dust in the bowls to the flask and swirled it in a circle three times to mix it. Leaning her head back, she gulped down the water and herbs and plants in three big gulps.

She was ready.

Part One

The Fall from Grace

Chapter One

The Kidnapping

I got fifty lards on Petrova, one lad said.

I’ll put twenty-five on Eric, another chimed in.

Fifty-five for Eric, said another.

Lards? One man stuttered. What about monts? Who’s going to wager a mont on Petrova the Pummeler?

They were gathered in the common area in the City of Carthusa, which sat at the bottom of the Mountain of Petrova. The crowd thickened as the betting began.

The whole city is here, Miteous (Mit-e-us) said to his friend. Miteous stood against the wall of a home across the way from the common area. His friend, Virtos (Ver-toes), stood beside him. Virtos was only fourteen. Miteous was seventeen and nearly two feet taller than him. Miteous was dressed in long, dark pants and a tunic with nothing underneath. On his head was a solid blue bandana that held back his unruly, thick, black hair. Miteous’ hair was long. Though the bandana held it back from his eyes, it trailed down his back in one long stripe. It was his custom to wear his hair in a tail, like many of the travelling men did. Miteous wanted to be a traveller when he was old enough. He wanted to be a Long Trade Merchant, bringing foreign items and supplies to many different cities across the nation.

Of course they are! This is the biggest game of the season! Virtos exclaimed. Virtos was small for his age, with sandy blond hair and stark blue eyes. He too wore pants, but of a light-brown color. He was also adorned by a tunic; his was many different shades of brown. Across his waist was strapped a rather nice weapon belt and it held a small, sharp dagger on his left side which told everyone his preference was his left hand.

More like biggest game ever. I’ve never seen so many people. The merchants are happy, I expect, Miteous said.

I heard a ship is arriving later today on the coast, bringing in people from Pupler Island, Virtos said.

Another boy, slightly shorter than Miteous, had come upon them. I’ve heard the Queen herself will be coming, he said to them, taking a stand beside Miteous on the corner. Neither Miteous nor Virtos knew him.

Is it true? Miteous asked.

I saw them setting up the box for her. Come with me and I’ll show you, he said to them and began walking away not even caring if they followed him or not.

Miteous looked at Virtos and Virtos looked at Miteous, silently determining if they should follow the stranger. Miteous shrugged and then they both sprinted to catch up to the boy. The streets were crowded and thick with talk about the game to come that evening. The workers from the night mill were piling in, joining the morning crowd. Normally they would be headed home to their families for a meal and sleep, but today they joined their comrades in the square, betting on and talking about the game.

Miteous made his way through the crowd, following the figure of the unknown boy. Virtos’ thin frame and small stature made it easy for him to slip between the people, but hard for to him to see over their heads. He kept an eye on Miteous’ feet as he shuffled through the square. Fortunately, Miteous wore Finger Scale boots. Finger Scale boots were expensive and had been a gift to Miteous from his grandfather upon his grandfather’s death. They were perhaps the only Finger Scale boots in the town so keeping an eye on Miteous’ feet was not hard for Virtos.

A tall man bumped Virtos and he fell off his feet and onto the cobblestones.

Sorry there, little fella, the broad, beared man said, pulling Virtos up and into the air by his arm and then setting him down upright and on his feet. He handled Virtos like he weighed nothing.

No worries, Virtos said, dusting his pants. The broad, bearded man stood there smiling at him, waiting for an introduction, but Virtos felt intimidated and simply scurried away. He began looking for the Finger Scale boots and eventually found them. It was odd that they were walking away from the arena, but he followed them anyway. They were headed toward Dark Alley and Virtos wondered if the seating box was being constructed in the least popular alley in the town to keep people away from it. It was a smart move in his mind and so he continued to follow the Finger Scale boots.

As the crowd thinned and they came near Dark Alley, Virtos could see not only the feet of the person he’d been following, but also the back of his head and could tell it was not Miteous. Miteous was abnormally tall and had long, straight, black hair. This lad had dark hair, but it was curly and frizzy and he was average height.

Just as the lad turned around, Virtos ducked behind a statue. He watched as the man looked around as if to make sure he was not being followed. Virtos grew suspicious. What was this man into that made him decide he had to make sure no one was watching him? The man wore a solid black, hooded cape and before he slinked onto Dark Alley, he lifted his hood over his head to conceal his face.

Virtos ran lightly to the side wall adjacent Dark Alley after the man had turned the corner. He sucked in his belly as he pressed himself into the wall. After a moment he peeked around the corner to see that the man had made his way well into Dark Alley. Dark Alley was a thin hallway with no market outlets. It was the result of two buildings having been built back to back, except their backs did not align. The narrow hallway had scattered doors on either side. These were back doors to shops whose outlets were on the other side on the busy market streets.

Up ahead there was an awning with two barrels and so Virtos crept up behind them. Peeking out over them, he saw the man even further down the alley. Dark Alley went on for about a fourth mile.

About seven feet ahead there were two more barrels. Virtos kept low and made his way quietly to them. The man was nearly halfway down Dark Alley. He watched as the man neared a door on the left and quickly ducked behind the barrels as the man looked up the alley to make sure no one had followed him. Virtos hoped he had not glimpsed the top of his head. When Virtos gained enough courage to look again he slowly raised his head over the barrels, just enough to see over their lids. He saw no one. The man must have gone into the door at which he had stopped.

Virtos’ shoulders relaxed as he realized he was not in danger of being seen anymore. He tried to judge what shop the door led to by imagining the market street on the other side. It would have to be a shop that was halfway down. The silver shop was near there, he knew. The blacksmith sold some of his wares in a small side shop there. All the food shops were in the back and all the trinket shops were up front. There was an artist near the middle, he remembered. He began walking toward the door in the hopes there might be some kind of sign on it that would indicate what kind of shop for which it was the back door.

Virtos stood beside it and could see there was no indication. He turned, facing the other side of the dark hallway and tried to think again what shop it might be and he never heard the door behind him open.

A large hand clasped itself around Virtos’ mouth and nose. Virtos’ eyes grew wide with the unexpectedness. He could see the black arm draping of the figure and knew it was the man with the hooded cape that was pulling him inside the door. Virtos fought against the figure, trying to wiggle out of his grasp and run, but it was no use. Once the figure got his hand around Virtos’ face and the other around his waist, Virtos’ strength was not enough to pull free and so he was dragged into the door. The alley was empty as always and so no one saw the boy being kidnapped.

***

Miteous found it quite easy to keep up with the boy once he caught up to him. They both dodged the men grappling in the street and the round, white-haired man selling his bread. They even had to jump over a few animals that chased each other. Miteous was on a row, dictating when to jump, when to run faster, when to go around something. It felt like a game and he was good at it.

Until smack! He ran right into the back of the boy he was following. The boy fell forward to his knees and looked up, annoyed at Miteous.

Oh, sorry there lad, he said, helping the boy up.

He dusted himself off and huffed in annoyance.

Up there, he said to Miteous as he pointed.

They were just outside the arena. Even though the game was not for fourteen more hours, people were still crowding around the arena. They were hoping to get a glimpse of the venue and how it would be set up. They wanted to see what was happening.

Miteous’ gaze followed the boy’s pointing finger to a box set up on the mid-range level. The country’s flag waved in the wind out its window. A gust of wind lifted the fabric up and for a moment Miteous could see the sign of the Queen that was etched in the wood above the window. Atop the box flew the flags of the stateships that combined to make their country: The westward Cardusa, the eastward Carthusa, the northern Ship Star City and the southern City of Citwell. There were also the islands of Pupler and Cartena. The biggest of these was the port city of Ship Star. Ship Star sat comfortably on the ocean and was the official trade city.

Each small flag popped up on the top of the box and Miteous knew that with the lighting of the torch that night, the large country flag would rise from the center of the Queen’s Box.

Wow, he said to the boy as he shielded his eyes from the sun. This really is the biggest game of the century.

Sure is, he said, shielding his eyes as well.

After a few moments of looking at all the glory of the Queen’s Box, the \boy turned to Miteous and said mischievously, Hey, you want to get a closer look?

Miteous smiled to himself and looked down at Virtos to get his agreement, but Virtos was not there. Miteous turned behind him to see if he could see Virtos in the crowd, but he did not see him.

Where’d Virtos get off to? he asked.

The other boy looked around, too. He gazed over the crowd and then climbed up a few spots on the arena backside to see farther into the crowd. After finding nothing, he jumped back down and said, We must have lost him.

Miteous shrugged and gave him a ‘let’s go’ look. They sprinted around the side of the arena, almost knocking over a woman carrying a tray of hot cross buns. Not even the smell of the gooey, sweet bread slowed them down. Miteous wondered how the boy was planning to get a closer look at the Queen’s Box. He felt like sneaking into it was a juvenile thing to do and perhaps he was too old, but he was actually quite curious to see the inner side of the box.

The boy led him to a part of the outside of the arena that was not crowded. A portion of the arena’s backside sat almost right up against the corner of a house that was shaped like a triangle. He stood at this meeting point and looked around to make sure no one was looking. Miteous did the same as the boy squeezed through the small opening. Miteous squeezed through it next. On the other side there were no people around. The boy had begun to climb up into the rafters of the arena and Miteous followed him, calculating his next foot hold more and more carefully the higher they climbed. Once they reached a certain height, the boy began to make his way into the underside of the arena and he followed.

The dust flew up from underneath his boot as he let his dangling self fall to the board just below. This part was easy; the boards extended the length of the entire circular arena. All they had to do was walk along them close enough to the underside of the arena that no one could see them from below. All was going well and they were moving quite fluidly, nearing the Queen’s Box. Below they could see the crowd. They were nearly twenty feet in the air, but heights never bothered Miteous, he rather enjoyed the thrill. As the wind picked up, he caught a whiff of basil in the air. Where could the smell of basil be coming from? Basil was a rare herb in Carthusa, so rare that he could only recall smelling it one other time before: at his grandfather’s funeral. He had smelled it thick and had asked an elder to identify the smell. The elder told him it was basil, an herb from overseas that was meant for royalty. Miteous wondered if the Queen were near.

The boards began to get thinner as they neared the Queen’s Box. The boys stood with their backs against the criss-crossing of the boards and scooted sideways along them. Miteous’ toes and nearly half his feet hung over the board. Below they could see a few groups of people on the ground who had gathered in the lower parts of the arena’s rafters. Miteous grinned as his boots stirred up a small amount of dust that fell on the people below. Fortunately no one looked up. They had made it almost ten feet from the Queen’s Box.

Miteous could see that directly below the Queen’s Box stood four Patrollers. These were the men and women that kept order in the streets. They carried Bangers in their weapon belts. Bangers were used to smash in anyone’s face that disobeyed the Queen’s Laws. Miteous was sure they were disobeying quite of a few of the Queen’s Laws.

Hey, he loudly whispered to the boy. When he turned Miteous’ way Miteous nodded down below. The boy looked and as he saw the Patrollers, a grin spread across his face.

We’ll get them on the way out, he said as he leaned close to Miteous. Miteous was beginning to like his new friend quite a lot.

They continued edging their way across the boards. When they came upon the Queen’s Box they had to go farther into the arena rafters to find a way inside of it. This meant they would have to jump from criss-cross to criss-cross and land perfectly in the V of the boards. The boy jumped first and planted one foot in the V, the other crowded on top of it and he balanced himself by holding onto the boards with his hands. Miteous would have to wait until the boy crossed over to the next criss-cross section before he could move forward. The boy made another perfect leap, landing one foot in the V and the second on top of it, gripping onto the hard wood.

Because he was so tall, Miteous only had to make an extra large step to get to the next criss-cross section. He did so with ease and held onto the boards as he waited for the boy to go one more forward. This time the boy slipped as he leaped forward, smacking his face on the boards that formed the V. He was able to grab onto the V with his right hand and Miteous watched as he dangled above the heads of the Patrollers. His heart raced as he watched the boy’s hand slipping.

As he dangled, the boy watched his blood fall from his nose onto the ground below, narrowly missing the Patrollers. As his grip slipped he knew he had to do something and so he swung his left arm around one of the boards and began pulling himself up onto it. He swung his leg around and found a support beam and worked his way into the V, positioning himself to make the next leap. It would be the last leap, to his relief. Once on the other side completely, he squeezed his nostrils between his thumb and forefinger while leaning his head back to stop the bleeding.

Miteous made his next two sections easily. He looked ahead at the boy who stood on a flat board. In front of him were the majestic purple curtains that covered the arena so that spectators couldn’t see in before it was time. Next to him was the Queen’s Box. If they could manage to go under the curtain without being seen, they could easily enter the front of the Queen’s Box.

Miteous made his last large step onto the board as the boy made way for him. Miteous stood closest to the Queen’s Box.

Well go on then. Look in there, see if there are Patrollers, the boy persuaded.

Miteous peeked through the curtains and there was no one in sight. He leaned farther to make sure there were no Patrollers guarding the front of it. It didn’t make sense to him, why would they leave it this unguarded? The Queen must not be due for hours then. After a few moments of not seeing a single Patroller, Miteous slinked inside the curtains and eased his way into it.

What he saw amazed him. There was a large table seemingly made entirely of gold and chairs that looked like miniature thrones. There was a personal wash table made of porcelain. Two thick, bright purple throw blankets lay in the corner. He guessed they were there in case it turned cold in the night. Above was a royal chandelier that was inevitably made of real crystal. The walls were adorned with plush purple draperies. Miteous went around the table and sat at the mini throne as the other boy came into the box. He watched the boy’s face light up at the extravagance.

As he rested in the mini throne, he imagined silver plates and bowls in front of him, overflowing with fruits and foreign foods. He wondered if the Queen would be having venison. He had heard that in faraway countries the folk ate venison, but here in Carthusa no such animal existed. He had seen sketches of the creatures and thought they were divine and wondered how anyone would want to eat the things.

The other boy came around and stood beside Miteous.

Let me try it out, he whispered. Miteous let him have the mini thrown as he looked around. The boy began giving pretend orders to pretend people in a hushed whisper. Miteous was looking at the wash basin when he thought he heard voices.

Shhh, he said to the boy, rushing over to put his hand over the boy’s mouth. They could hear footsteps and voices making their way closer and closer to the box. Both boys quickly hid. Miteous hid behind the draperies and hoped none of them would notice his feet sticking out of the bottom. On the back wall there was a long bench with plush fabric draping over it, making a good hiding spot beneath it, so the other boy squeezed himself beneath the bench and let the drapery cover him.

They listened intently as the voices and footsteps drew near, but instead of stopping at the Queen’s Box to check inside, they continued on, passing up the box and leaving the boys unfound. When they could no longer hear the people — Patrollers inevitably — Miteous peeked out from behind the wall drapery.

Psst, he called to the boy. The boy quickly pulled back the corner of the drapery that hid him.

I think they’re gone now, Miteous whispered to him.

Both boys scurried out of their hiding spots. Getting down was much easier than going up.

The boy let himself fall to the boards below and did so silently, but when Miteous tried, the noise was loud.

As you land, bend your knees and crouch, that’s how you do it without making noise, the boy told him

So Miteous stepped off the board they were on and fell onto the one below, letting his knees buckle when his feet hit the board. It worked; his landing had been nearly silent. They continued their way down.

As they stood side by side on the board above the Patrollers, Miteous turned to his new friend. The boy had a devious grin on his face that Miteous rather admired. The boy jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a fist full of something. The boy held his fist out in front of him and slowly opened it for Miteous to see what he held. It was a silver dust that he had never seen before.

What is it? he whispered.

Tear Dust, the boy said. Miteous wondered what the substance was for and how to use it. He watched as the boy held his closed fist out over the heads of the Patrollers. Slowly he lifted his fingers one by one, letting the dust fall.

Some of the dust landed on the shoulder of a female Patroller. She put the tip of her finger in the small pile that had gathered on her shoulder and rubbed it between her finger and thumb. Then, to Miteous’ horror, she looked up at them, straight up at them.

The boys ran across the beam as the female Patroller blew her whistle. Miteous was nearly furious at the boy’s carelessness until he heard screams coming from where the Patrollers had stood. As he looked back, he could see nothing but a gray fog that had surrounded those beneath them. He could hear the boy laughing behind him as his plan took hold. Now they didn’t care if they made noise, they just wanted to get away, and fast. Their heavy boots clunked hard on the beams as they jumped down and their feet touched the earth. They bolted from the scene, leaving behind a mess inside a cloud of gray smoke.

CHAPTER 2

Petrova’s History

The wind was picking up on the mountain as Petrova made her way down. It would take her nearly two hours to reach the City of Carthusa by foot. There she would find a place to rest as the night had not been kind enough to give her sleep.

It was her responsibility to be ready as a warrior. She was indebted to the people of the nation. Their wallets paid her salary, a salary she earned to entertain them with her inate ability to defeat competitors in the Arena Games. Arena Games Warriors were respected and revered for their uncanny inability to fear the games they played. There were only two ways out of the games: death or become a master. Most competitors’ fates were the first.

Petrova let her feet crunch loudly on the leaves and twigs that littered the ground beneath the massive trees. She ran through her mind the items she was going to use in the game. The Arctic Round Tool had features that were useful for cutting away anything made of ice. It was meant to counter the Russian Frozen Tundra, which froze everything and stringed everything together with small knots of icicles. The Arctic Round Tool easily sliced through the layers of ice and could dig anything or anyone out of it. But the Arctic Round Tool could be used on anything if imagination was used. Nearly every weapon could. Each weapon was a glowing orb that would attach to her weapon belt.

Her Fulmeric Tonic might actually be of use this time. The Fulmeric Tonic was used to counter any weapon that had a ‘death’ component to it. These were weapons that would cause the the person receiving the hit to think they were dead, thus leaving them unguarded to attacks that wouldn’t necessarily have defeated them if they weren’t disoriented. A Fulmeric Tonic would reveal the truth when drank. She would give the Fulmeric Tonic to her opponent once she did away with him so he would know for certain he was no longer alive. And if the reverse were to happen, she would be able to know her death as well.

Muhler Tea Sprouts was an offensive weapon. When administered, roots formed and locked the opponent to the ground, and if done correctly the roots formed to the opponent’s arms and legs and rendered them useless. However, they were only effective for thirty seconds due to the tea sprouts’ life span. Thirty seconds of life and then the roots would dry up and the opponent could easily break free of them. But thirty seconds was enough to use a second offensive weapon.

The Log Roller was also an effective offensive weapon. When used, a series of logs fell from nowhere and trampled the opponent. In the past there had been many ill-equipped warriors who had found death because of a Log Roller. There was only one weapon ever found useful against the Log Roller and that was the Russian Frozen Tundra. Petrova had extinguished her supply of Russian Frozen Tundras long ago and unfortunately only had a fourth of a Log Roller, meaning her logs would be shorter than the full length and there would be more time between the falling of the logs. It would be nearly useless and her spectators would likely have a good laugh at her for using it.

She did have one major weapon though: The Ball of Fury. The Ball of Fury, it was rumored, initiated a series of fireballs that would sail through the air, busting up anything it came into contact with. The Ball of Fury was a fire weapon, meaning that in the right conditions the weapon could do a lot of damage. No one knew its full power yet. The conditions had never been quite right in past uses of the weapon. The Ball of Fury was a rare weapon. In fact, Petrova had never witnessed the use of one. She had obtained the weapon from her master and had never known how to use it until recently. While in the northern Ship Star City she had come across the remains of a library that had burned. The runes still smoldered as she scavenged through the black dust and embers. She didn’t know why she had stopped in the first place. It was not her nature to rummage through a library, burned or unburned. But it was lucky she had because she found, buried beneath ashes and soot, the Book of Weapons. Somehow it had gone nearly untouched by the hot fire.

She sat among the red-hot smoking remains of what used to be the greatest library in their country and read the book entirely for she knew she would not be able to take the book with her in her travels; it was much too heavy. She stayed awake for two days to finish it, without food and water, and with very little sleep. When she had finished it, she carried it with her for nearly a half mile before she left it in the dust of the desert that separated the eastern City of Carthusa from the northern Ship Star City.

Even though it was merely a book, leaving it behind reminded her of her father and how he had left her behind in the dust of the desert. She was just a baby then, not even able to walk. She wondered if he had left her there in hopes that the swirling dust of the desert would suffocate her and she would die. That’s what she had always assumed. Her father had gone into town and an old man had found him crying in the streets. When the old man talked with him, he discovered what had been done and secretly scoured the desert until he found her. He took her and raised her as his own. His name was Vortura and he was a magi; a person of magical healing powers. He taught her healing spells and ingredients to use in making healing potions.

Her memories of Vortura were fond. She thought back on her last day with him. On her eighth birthday they had set out for the City of Carthusa. They had weathered the dust storms of the desert and were near the gates of the City of Carthusa when they were ambushed and robbed. Vortura had hidden in his robes a rare gem which he planned to trade for new clothing as Petrova had grown out of the ones she owned. When the robbers found the stone, Vortura refused to give it to them. She remembered watching the blades of the swords