Lost Lore of Draxos: Ascent Archives

By T Norman

History is written by the victors.

 

Draxos is built upon stories long forgotten, of deeds unseen and words unspoken. The truth will be revealed to those who watch, listen, and open their minds to new possibilities.

 

Follow eleven stories of adventure, loss, and heartache spanning a generation. Learn the history that changed a nation and shaped the world to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JNT Press
• Release date: Apr 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201381875

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Dask ran ahead of Mic, weaving through the tunnels with a practiced precision. The two boys spent countless hours exploring the interior of the Laytos fighting pits. Mic followed as Dask led them to a small window where they viewed the fight raging in the pits. His mother forbade him from viewing the battles, but he and his friend always found a way.

Mic watched with wide eyes through a grated window as five slaves fought against each other to the death. Their swords found home as slave after slave fell. One man stood alone, a slave named Finn. He was one of the tallest slaves in the pits and instead of a sword used fighting blades.

The fight was over, and the guards went about their work. Six guards ushered Finn from the pits as a dozen others came in to remove the bodies of the fallen. I can't believe tomorrow you get to start in the pits. Mic was jealous of his friend. Dask turned fifteen and would begin to fight. Mic didn't understand why they had to wait until their fifteenth name day. They both spent years sparring and training with the other slaves, and yet would only enter the pits when they came of age.

Don't worry, you'll follow in just a few months. Dask gave Mic a warm smile. His skin was tan, contrasting with his light brown hair. Mic saw plenty of scars on Dask, most from their sparring sessions. Even though they used blunt weapons, both boys learned quickly how to draw blood with enough force.

We need to get back. Mother will be looking for me. They left their hideout and walked back down to the slave chambers. Mic and his mother had one of the larger chambers, as Mara was not only one of the best healers, but she was also in good favor with Alldor Vas, the owner of the fighting pits.

Dask and Mic separated as they reached the slave quarters, heading to their respective rooms. Mic approached his chamber cautiously, seeing the door propped open and hearing voices from within. He recognized both voices.

Mara, you have to understand. I don't want to do it, but I have no choice. Alldor Vas pleaded.

Of course, you have a choice. He's just a boy! Mara's voice quivered.

He's three months from his name day, besides he's already proven he can handle himself in training. Mic realized they were talking about whether to let him fight in the pits.

Mic is my son. I will not sit by and watch him fight while I have no way of saving him.

He isn't just your son...

No, he is just my son. I won't let this happen. Mara interrupted Vas, determined to keep Mic from fighting, yet he knew it was his destiny. He was ready. Mic threw the door open and barged into the room, receiving shocked looks from both Vas and Mara.

I'm ready, I really am. I've been training for years, and besides, I’ll have Dask with me to watch my back. Mic wanted a chance to prove himself. Not only that, he didn't want to be left out when his friend started fighting, either.

Vas gave Mara a crooked smile. See, the boy says that he's ready. Vas gave Mic a pat on his shoulder as he left the room. Mic found the man unnerving. Tattoos covered his arms, accented by his tan skin. Vas had deep eyes that often gave Mic chills. It always felt like when Vas looked at Mic, he looked beyond his outward appearance, looking inside him as well.

Mara dropped her head and Mic saw the tears dripping down her cheeks. Mother, please don't worry. I'm going to be fine. Mic ran over and embraced his mother.

I know. She pulled Mic close, resting her head on his shoulder.

Mic dropped to a knee as Dask ran forward. A line of guards marched towards them with shields and spears in hand. As Dask reached Mic, he stepped on Mic's knee and vaulted in the air when Mic stood.

Dask tucked his body and rolled to the ground opposite the wall of guards. It caused enough confusion, half the men turning towards the new threat. Mic used that moment to charge, lowering his shoulder and knocking the men backwards. Mic's axe fell through the air in a seamless proficiency, cutting down guards left and right. The dust cleared from the battle revealing Dask wiping his bloody sword on his sleeve with a smile. I told you that move would come in handy someday.

Mic shook his head at his friend. We could’ve easily overpowered them.

Dask shrugged. What fun is that? Besides, they want a show and we gave them one. Dask raised his hand to his ear in mockery. Hear those shouts? That's approval. That's the dream.

Vas rose from his chair upon his dais, Mara standing only a few feet behind him, and raised his hands for the crowd to cease their applause. Slowly they quieted, allowing the slave master to speak. These men have proven themselves time and time again. Tomorrow, they face the greatest challenge yet. Your champion, Finn!

The crowd erupted in cheers. They knew what it meant. They would crown a new champion. Mic was unsure why Vas was pitting both him and Dask against Finn, but he wouldn't complain. It was always more reassuring to have his best friend watching his back.

Guards entered the arena with their weapons drawn, disarming Mic and Dask and ushering them back to their quarters. Mic noticed that since he became a fighter in the pit, he had less freedom to wander the arena and was confined to the slave quarters.

Dask walked next to Mic with a hop in his step, showing this excitement. I can't believe we’re facing Finn tomorrow. Not only together, but on your name day. The Creator favors us. Dask smiled at his friend, beaming with excitement.

Mic rolled his eyes at Dask. The Creator favors only himself. Finn is a man, and he bleeds like the rest of us. Tomorrow, we're going to prove that.

Mic woke suddenly to a strange sound. He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself awake. His instincts told him someone was in danger. He rose from his bed and left his small room, hearing the sound again from his mother’s quarters. As he approached her room, he heard everything.

Inside her room, Mara was weeping openly. Mic pushed open her door and stepped inside. Without a word, he sat on the bed next to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. Mara reached up and grabbed his hand with her own as she continued to cry, burying her face in her arms.

Mother, what's wrong?

It's nothing, my love, go back to sleep. Mara let go of Mic's hand and tried to push him away.

As she turned and pushed, Mic glimpsed her face. Anger boiled through his skin. What happened to your face? Who did that to you? The light coming in from the doorway showed the dark bruising clearly.

It’s nothing, I promise. I'll be fine, just get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow. Mara buried her face deeper in her arms, her body still shaking as she fought back tears.

Mic rested his hands on his lap, trying to calm his anger. After most battles, if they did not need his mother in the healing chambers, she escorted Vas back to his quarters. It was rare that she came back after Mic fell asleep, but he knew those nights were the worst. Vas would make her stay while he indulged himself on bottles of mulled wine.

I won't let him hurt you. Mic spoke softly, trying to remain calm. If he touches you again, I swear I'll kill him. Not waiting for a response, Mic rose from the bed and left his mother’s chambers.

Mic, what's going on? It's almost time and you haven't said a word? Dask tried to shake Mic from his thoughts, bringing him back to the impending battle. An announcer shouted over the crowd how a great trial was about to take place with the champion Finn fighting two young, up-and-coming warriors.

Mic rubbed his face with his hands. I'm sorry, I have a lot on my mind.

I can tell. Get it together. We need a plan. Dask was trying to take his mind off of whatever plagued his thoughts, and for that he appreciated his friend.

Finn needs to get in close for his fighting blades. If we can keep him at length with our sword and axe, the distance will be an advantage. Mic had studied Finn, watching him fight in countless battles, to know exactly how to beat him.

The large metal gate blocking them from the arena churned as it raised into the air. The warm sun filled the pre-chamber and the cheers of the crowd made Mic's heart beat with vigor.

Walking out in to the dry, warm arena brought a feeling of familiarity. It’d only been three months of fighting in the pits, but it still seemed right.

Across the arena, another metal gate opened and Finn marched out from the darkness beyond. A smile spread across his face. The man was ready to fight. Mic and Dask both had their weapons in hand. They waited for Vas to announce the fight.

The crowd quieted down on cue, letting the slave master speak. Today, our champion Finn, at his name Finn threw a fist in the air and the crowd erupted in cheers, takes on two young warriors. Dask and Mic. They received their own cheers as the fans knew how well the two young men worked together. Vas lowered his arm, signaling the start of the fight.

Finn’s smile grew wide, and Mic knew something was wrong. Dask charged ahead before Mic could speak, his sword drawn, and Mic had no choice but to follow behind.

As they closed the distance, Finn reached behind his back and drew a bow. He had an arrow knocked and pulled back, giving Mic only seconds to respond. He grabbed Dask and rolled to the side as the arrow flew past them. Finn had a second arrow drawn and fired, keeping Mic and Dask on the run.

We need to split up, force him to fight us close. Mic pushed Dask to his right as he worked left.

Finn's speed with the bow surprised Mic. He released shots alternately at both Mic and Dask, slowing them significantly as they tried to the close the gap. Mic dodged an arrow and rushed forward when he noticed Dask roll his ankle and stumble. Finn noticed the stumble as well and took his opening. He released two arrows in quick succession. They struck home, hitting Dask in the left shoulder and left thigh. Neither was a killing blow, but Dask was out of the fight.

Mic doubled his pace, with Finn's back to him, until he was only a few feet away. The champion turned, and with a look of excitement, dropped his bow and drew his fighting blades. Mic's overhand blow met two blades, throwing the attack aside. He spun and countered, forcing Finn to duck beneath the swing. Mic jumped back to dodge Finn's counterattack, swinging his axe downward from alternating sides in a rigorous attack.

Finn sidestepped backwards away from the blows, letting Mic use up his energy. Mic pulled one of his strikes short, thrusting his axe into Finn's stomach. The warrior clenched his chest in shock as Mic stepped into his next attack.

Before Mic brought his axe down, Finn thrusted his arms forward, slicing Mic across the thigh. Mic dropped back, crouching low in pain. Both men were sweating and bleeding, their injuries taking a toll. Finn leapt forward, bringing his fists down in a rain of blows. Mic leaned back as he dodged, using each step to keep the attacks from finding their mark.

Seeing an opening, Mic dropped his axe and rolled, coming up behind Finn. Mic wrapped his arms around Finn, preventing him from reaching back and attacking. Using all his might, Mic clenched on to Finn’s neck and upper body with a deadly grip. Finn twisted his right arm free, reaching across and slicing down Mic's left forearm. His grip loosened from the attack, giving Finn an opportunity to pull himself free from Mic's grasp.

Mic searched for a weapon as Finn came back on the attack, his fighting blades slicing through the air. Mic stumbled over Finn's discarded bow, picking up the weapon and using it to keep Finn at bay while he used his weight to pin Mic to the ground.

Finn snuck a blow by Mic's defenses, cutting Mic across the chest. Pain coursed through Mic as his chest burned. He threw the bow aside and grabbed Finn's wrists as he continued raining down attacks.

The two men struggled against each other, fighting to break free. The fighting blades dug into Mic’s wrists, cutting his skin deep. He fought through the pain to keep a hold of his grip. His vision blurred and his body warmed. Mic gave one last surge, trying to throw Finn from his chest. With a push, Finn went limp, collapsing on his chest.

Mic let his body relax, looking up into the wounded eyes of his friend. Dask stood with blood dripping from the tip of his sword. I told you I’d have your back. Dask's eyes rolled back as he dropped to the ground. Arrows sticking out of his thigh and shoulder.

Mic pushed Finn's corpse off his body and crawled over to his friend. Dask, wake up. He looked up at the awestruck crowd, finding Vas's dais. It's over, Finn's dead! Mic shouted. The healers needed to get into the ring and help Dask. He was losing too much blood.

The metal gates around the ring stayed closed, though Mic could see guards standing behind them at the ready. He looked up at Vas again, not sure what they were waiting on.

Vas stared right at Mic and slowly shook his head. Alldor Vas lifted one finger in the air, then lowered his hand. Mic understood what he meant, and he nearly lost his stomach at the thought.

He looked down at his friend, unconscious and bleeding. Vas wanted only one survivor. Dask, you need to wake up. Mic shook his friend. We need to find a way out of this. Mic fought back the tears. Please Dask, I can't do this without you.

Dask's body was limp, his life slowly leaving his body. Mic leaned over and pulled a fighting blade from Finn's cold, dead hands. He laid Dask's body across his legs, holding his head in his hands. Raising the blade to Dask's neck, Mic clenched his eyes tight. I'm sorry, Dask. It should be me, not you. With one quick motion, Mic slit Dask's throat.

Mic held the body of his dead friend while he silently wept. Lost in a sea of emotion, he realized that a crowd of thousands watched him anxiously. He needed to show strength. He was the new champion.

Setting Dask's body gently on the ground, Mic forced himself to stand tall and stare at Vas with a new determination. As he stood, guards came flooding into the arena to dispose of the bodies. They surrounded Mic, shouting at him to drop his weapons. Not letting his gaze fall from Vas, Mic dropped the fighting blade from his hand.

The guards moved in quick, grabbing the weapons off the ground. Mic felt hands pulling him forward when a familiar voice filled his ears. He looked down to find Mara standing next to him, supporting his weight as he walked. She’d been crying. I'm going to make him pay. Mic didn't have to elaborate; his mother knew his intention as she led him from the arena.

CHAPTER 2

T wo silvers says he takes less than five minutes. A guard whispered behind Mic as he stood ready to enter the fighting pit.

No way, it'll take at least ten. The other guard tried to keep his voice quiet. Mic had grown a reputation in his three years of being the champion. Any task thrown at him, he won. The crowd adored him, and Mic knew what to do to gain their favor. Today was no different. He would receive a task and he would complete it. That was how it worked in the fighting pits.

Mic turned to the two guards, seeing their shock, realizing he’d heard them. Under three, and you owe me two pelts of leather.

The guards looked at each other and smiled. You’ve got a deal. They needed nothing in return. The men simply wanted a good show.

Since being named champion, Mic had more privileges than the other slaves. He requested a workbench to make his own armor and weapons. Over the years, Mic made leather vambraces, a breastplate, and leg guards. He crafted a steel kite shield with a sharp bottom edge. Mic used Finn’s fighting blades and Dask’s sword to remember the men he defeated to become the champion, along with his axe.

The gate to the pit rose, and the crowd broke out in cheers. Mic held his shield in his left hand and his sword in his right. He walked out into the warm sun as thousands looked down on him approvingly. Mic had started a ritual as he entered the pit. He searched the crowd, finding his mother standing only a few feet behind Vas. He made quick eye contact with her and gave a slight nod. Next, he found Vas and stared down the slaver as he marched forward. Mic raised his weapons high in the air, gaining a louder cheer from the crowd. He smiled at Vas, defying his master.

Looking back into the arena, Mic assessed his opponents. Twelve slaves stood with bows in hand while six stood in front of them with spears and shields. Mic didn’t recognize the men, so he figured they must've been recent additions. Even though they kept him separated from the other slaves, he still knew most of the men he killed.

Mic dropped his right foot back as he crouched and raised his shield. It was time. He heard the first twang of the bows as the arrows hit his shield. After the first volley, Mic sprinted forward for three seconds and stopped. His shield was up and ready as the second volley hit. He continued this pattern once more, letting the arrows deflect off his shield, but this time he started forward and at three seconds, he cut to his right and doubled his pace.

The archers weren’t ready for the move and their arrows flew through the air where they thought he'd be. Their mistake gave him an opening to close the gap between himself and the men standing with spears. He ran in shield first, hitting the first two men and sending them falling back.

His sword flew, batting spears aside and cutting any skin he found. The men were amateurs. As soon as he was among them they panicked and became disorganized.

Mic saw the archers trying to aim at him through the fight, without hitting the other slaves. He heard a bow sing and ducked, the arrow hissing over his shoulder and hitting one spearman.

Mic rolled aside as more arrows flew by, hitting the ground and slaves equally. He dropped his sword and shield and drew his fighting blades from their holders across his chest. In these close quarters, it was easiest to use his strength and speed to finish the fight.

Throwing punches through the air, Mic dropped slaves left and right. The last man fell as both blades pierced through his chest. Mic stood from the corpses and again raised his fists in the air. The crowd roared with approval at the show.

Mic had taught himself to count heartbeats during battle, the fight had taken less than three minutes. He turned and approached his gate to leave the arena.

The men weren’t smiling as Mic expected, instead they looked apologetic. Mic spun and got his arms up just in time as a large beast lunged past his chest. A second lion came running at Mic, its teeth bared. Mic waited until the last second, sidestepping and throwing two punches with his fighting blades. The weapons drew blood across the beast’s side, yet it didn’t slow. Before he had time to think, the first beast attacked again.

This time it hit Mic in the chest, throwing him to the ground. Mic dropped his blades and grabbed the open mouth as the lion tried to devour Mic with its gnashing teeth.

The lion buried a claw in Mic’s shoulder, sending pain down his arm. Holding on with all his might, Mic rolled to his left and pulled himself free of the lion’s grasp. He grabbed the axe off his back and, in one swift motion, spun around and swung the blade at the charging lion. It didn’t see the axe coming until Mic had it buried in the lion's neck.

The lion dropped to the ground, taking the axe with it, as the second one attacked. Mic ducked under the lunge, running back to find a weapon. He made it to his sword and shield, turning back around just as the lion locked its jaws around his shield. Mic took the opening, plunging his sword through the lion’s eye, killing it immediately.

Before taking a second to breathe, Mic quickly scanned the rest of the arena for any other sign of a threat. Seeing that there was no movement, Mic found his mother in the stands and saw the pain on her face. Vas showed nothing but anger. Guards stormed out of the gate, ordering Mic to drop his weapons. He needed a healer, and for that, he had to be unarmed.

Mic sat at the healing table as his mother spread a salve over his shoulder. She had yet to talk to him, silently going about her task.

He’s trying to replace me, isn’t he? Mic broke the silence.

Mara avoided his gaze, focusing on her work. The crowds love you, but the merchants are grumbling. They want something new, and they’re losing a lot of coin because of you.

It was true, the rich bet against the champion, as it had the better odds of a high payout. I told you, I won’t stop until I make him pay.

The young man standing in front of Mic, or rather doing back flips, was the newest potential champion. Born and raised in Port Hallsworth, the kid spent his time working on fishing charters. His ship sunk when the slavers picked him up, and the boy had a natural efficiency in his movements. He was tall and lanky, but strong and agile. Everything someone needed to become a champion.

Already that morning, Mic had fought two-dozen slaves, then three guards on chariots, followed by five more slaves in full chain mail. All of his opponents fell by his hands, and the boy would be the same story.

The young boy, Mic didn’t even care to learn his name, bounded towards Mic with daggers strapped across his chest. With every flip and leap, he threw another dagger at Mic. The throws were easy to trace. Mic barely needed to move to step out of their way. He stood patient, letting the boy come to him.

When he was only a few feet away, the boy jumped and spun, sending six daggers in quick succession through the air. He landed on his feet, stunned, as Mic wasn’t standing in front of him anymore. Mic grabbed the boy by the neck and pierced his sword through his back. He dropped dead in his own pool of blood.

Mic looked up at Vas and cocked his eyebrow. He lifted his hands as he waited for the next challenge. Vas waved his hand as he turned and left his seat. The crowd booed as guards came to take Mic from the arena.

Mara met Mic in his chambers to dress his wounds. He had only minor cuts and scrapes, compared to other injuries he’d endured over time from the fights.

While working about her task, Mara leaned close to her son. Vas is planning something. I don’t know what it is, but you need to be careful. Tomorrow you're going to face a challenge unlike any other. He's promised the merchants that by the end of the day you will be dead. She stepped back, a tear rolling down her cheek. It amazed Mic that she still felt fear after all these years. It’d been over two years since Vas tried to replace Mic as champion, and he continued to fail. Not only that, but after so many years of fighting in the pits, death was eventual, if not expected.

Don’t worry, he knows he can’t beat me. He’s afraid, and that gives me the upper hand. Mic was confident in his abilities. Over the past five and a half years, he spent all his time either fighting or training. It was the only life he knew.

Mara shook her head, not relenting. You don’t understand. This is something different. I’ve seen you fight. I know you can win, but whatever he is planning is more.

Mic reached out and grabbed his mother’s hands. They felt soft, almost like a child, compared to his rough palms. Please, don’t worry about me. Focus on taking care of yourself.

Over the years, Mic noticed the bruises on his mother’s arms and face. She would never tell him what happened or who did it, but deep down, he knew it was Vas. If the man couldn’t kill Mic, he’d take out his frustration against Mara.

CHAPTER 3

In years past, Mic wouldn’t have been able to sleep after hearing the warning from his mother. Yet after so long fighting, the prospect of a new challenge gave him a sense of calm. After a long night’s sleep, Mic entered the waiting area for the fighting pit to find more guards than normal, and a man he didn’t recognize.

Good morning Mic. The strange man greeted him with ice in his voice. Master Vas has requested that you drink this before entering the arena. The man held forward a small vial with a red liquid inside.

What does it do? Mic didn’t worry about Vas poisoning him, if he wanted him dead that way it would've happened years ago. Vas wanted to make a fortune off Mic’s death. It would be public.

The man shook his head. I’m not at liberty to disclose that information. It's only temporary, and not life threatening. He held the vial forward further. If you would, the crowd is waiting.

Mic shrugged as he reached forward and grabbed the vial, popping the top off and drinking the red substance. It tasted disgusting, and Mic had to hold his stomach from throwing it back up. He shook his head in disgust as he tried to gather himself.

You can only bring in one weapon today. Those are the rules. The guards stopped Mic before he entered the arena. Mic dropped his shield and sword and handed his fighting blades over. He trusted his axe. If it had to be one, that was it.

Stepping into the bright sun, Mic heard the roaring crowds, but they seemed more distant than normal. He squinted to focus, trying to find his mother and Vas, but everything around him faded slowly to darkness.

Mic realized what Vas had done. He was slowly losing his sight, seeing only darkness at the edges of his vision and bright light in the center. Mic dropped his axe and raised his hands in front of his face. Even though they were inches away, he couldn’t see them. He couldn’t see anything.

As the crowd grew silent, Mic slowed his breath to calm his nerves. He’d overcome all the other challenges. This was just another one to face. To survive.

Our champion, Mic, has proven time and time again that he is the best we’ve ever seen. The crowd roared in approval as Vas began his announcement. We have spent years testing him and putting him through countless challenges, all of which he has prevailed. Again, the crowd roared while Mic stood anxiously awaiting what came next. For that reason, today is a special day. At the end of this battle, Mic will no longer be champion. Mic heard gasps coming from the audience. Voices whispered in confusion, though they slowly died down when it seemed apparent Vas would elaborate. Today we have many firsts. The challenge Mic faces is one never seen before. Our champion has consumed a substance that renders him temporarily blind. Not only that. If Mic survives the day and wins, I will set him free.

The crowd erupted, both in cheers and boos. They seemed torn about whether they wanted Mic to live and survive or die fighting here today. The challenge seemed simple then, survive and he would go free. The thought of being free gave Mic fresh energy. He would do anything in order to survive. He held his axe loose in his hand, ready to fight.

Mic heard an opening gate, followed by the stomp of feet as men moved into the pit. The number of steps seemed to go on endlessly. Whoever entered the pit, there were a lot of them and they spread out around him.

Silence carried through the air. Even the surrounding crowd sat watching and waiting for something to happen. Mic took a deep breath and listened close around him. Hair stood up on the back of his neck, and his instincts took over.

Mic stepped left and brought his axe swinging backwards. It hit home as a weight fell to the ground. Before the body hit the ground, heavy breathing and footsteps signaled more men approaching.

His best option was to use his axe to keep the fighters at a distance. If any got too close, he wouldn’t be able to counter. Mic ran forward, trusting his feet to guide him, and stopped suddenly, bringing the axe around on both sides. He again felt it make contact, and after the strike, Mic continued to move, running forward again. He stopped once more, using the same technique. Mic’s goal was to find the wall. If he started going back, he risked tripping over the bodies he