Back in his office, Brand quietly got a fire going in the large fireplace. Even in the desert, nights were chilly enough to warrant a decent blaze. The gladiator stood in front of the fire for a long time, looking into the flames and wondering about his parents. Brand had never known them nor knew hardly anything about either of his parents.
He looked at the clock finally and decided that the rest of the elixirs could wait until tomorrow. Instead, he drew the long curtains aside to block the windows and closed the door, kicking his house shoes off next to it. Then, barefoot, he shoved the wingback chairs to either side of the fireplace, leaving a large open space in the middle of the room. He then went over to his desk and pulled a gauntlet of his own design out of the largest drawer.
Brand was allowed to use his own armor because the arena armorers didn’t have anything in his size, and Brand had taken full advantage of that fact. It was designed to look like all of the other gauntlets worn by gladiators, made of hardened leather with pieces of steel bolted down to the back of the hand, the tops of the fingers, and around the cuff. Even the elaborate scrollwork etched into the leather and Lord Kushchai’s sigil, a snake eating its own tail, were exact copies of the armor worn by the other gladiators.
But unlike the standard gauntlets, this one had two rows each of five tiny crystal vials sewn into the lining of the cuff.
Moving to the open center of the room, he pulled the modified gauntlet onto his left hand, careful to keep his hand in a relaxed position. He could feel the vials pressing against his skin.
He closed his eyes and let the tension in his body go, banishing all worries and thoughts from his mind. He looked inward, and in the silence, he found the tiniest speck of light and warmth at the very core of his soul. He stood there for a long moment, marveling at this strange speck. It was beautiful, but also a quiet reminder of just how alone Brand was in the world. He shivered a little despite the warmth of the spark and the fire in the hearth.
In one smooth motion, he stepped back into an ancient fighting stance his mentor had taught him so many years ago and formed his gauntleted hand into Alpha, his hand clenched into a fist. The tendons in his wrist nudged the mechanism in the gauntlet, which in turn propelled a tiny needle into the vein in his wrist.
He grunted as the Adrenaline elixir flowed from the little vial into his bloodstream. His heart rate accelerated to a gallop. Energy flowed into his muscles, and he began to move—punching, kicking, slapping an unseen opponent. As his energy began to flag, he formed his hand into Sigma, with his thumb, middle finger, and pinky each bent halfway. Another vial emptied itself into his vein, easing the pain of the lactic acid built up in his muscles and allowing him to push on.
He continued his shadow-boxing until the fire in the fireplace had burned down. With the curtains covering any light from street lamps or the moon outside, the office was nearly pitch black. Brand then made his gauntleted hand into Nu by lifting his first two fingers straight out and then folding them over his thumb. To Brand’s eyes, the office seemed to blaze with new light as his pupils dilated to let in as much light as possible.
As he continued to move, Brand began to feel the sickening effects of absorbing so many poisonous elixirs. It was still slight, as he’d only injected very small doses of three of the minor elixirs; but it was still there, a quiet warning.
One more, a stronger one, and then I’ll be done for now, he thought. I still need be able to sleep tonight.
He twisted his gauntleted forefinger and middle finger together, forming Rho, releasing the Rooted elixir into his veins. He ran at the closed door, leapt and planted each bare foot solidly against the wood, and ran straight up for three, four steps. He then pushed off backwards and twisted, pirouetting in the air like a falling cat to land deftly on one foot, and immediately swung the other into a powerful kick at the air. He then planted his bare hand down on the floor and swung his large frame around as though sweeping the feet out from under his invisible opponent.
Brand grinned from ear to ear. Rooted was by far his favorite elixir. It improved his balance immensely, allowing him to dance through a fight.
And then the elixir was spent. Rooted was such a short-acting elixir and far more toxic than, say, Stamina. Even now, Brand’s head was beginning to throb and his vision was becoming blurry as his body struggled to clear the poison.
He could also feel his heart slowing and his muscles becoming more sluggish as the last of the Adrenaline wore off. The Stamina would last him for another few hours, as that one lasted the longest out of all his elixirs. Without the Adrenaline pushing him to move, though, he should be able to sit still and read for a while before the inevitable exhaustion set in.
Brand dragged the wingback chairs back in front of the fireplace and collapsed into one. He pulled off the gauntlet carefully. He’d padded and armored the section covering the vials well enough to sustain minor blows during a fight, but they were still incredibly fragile and nearly impossible to replace.
He rubbed a finger over the spidery scar on his wrist from the last time he’d broken the vials years ago just after creating his first rendition of the gauntlet. Sweat still made it itch.
Brand walked over to the desk again and replaced the gauntlet in its drawer, then pulled a decanter of brandy out along with a small glass. He poured himself a glass, picked up a book entitled, “Rise and Fall of the People of Amun Rhett,” and sat in front of the fireplace.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Mrs. James came in, hands folded over her apron.
“My, it’s dark in here. Would you like me to stoke the fire, Mr. Brand?”
Brand realized he’d forgotten about the Night Vision elixir. It tended to last almost as long as Stamina. “No, thank you. I can see alright.”
“Very well. I think I’ll turn in early for the evening. Is there anything more you need?”
Brand shook his head, then regretted it as his headache flared anew. “No, thank you.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you bother drinking, Mr. Brand?” Mrs. James asked. “I’ve always wondered but never got around to asking. William always said there was no point, not after someone has been through the Trial. And yet he smoked. Why?”
Brand shrugged.
“To keep appearances? It becomes a habit, I suppose.” He swirled the brandy. “William and I would go out drinking with the others after work, so I suppose a drink in the evening reminds me of him.”
He took a sip. It was a kashmari brandy, brewed for their resilient constitutions, and as such, he could feel the alcohol burning down his throat. But that was all.
Mrs. James smiled sadly. “I suppose that must be it. Perhaps his pipe reminded him of something he thought fondly of.” She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her shawl. “Goodnight, Mr. Brand.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. James.”
