by Terina Adams
The soldier clapped me on the back so hard I staggered forward. “This is a tournament none has seen before. Don’t feel bad that my wager will go to your opponent. But I do hope you will give us a show.”
He marched away to his horse before I could gather my senses.
“I am to fight in the arena?” I asked to no one in particular.
“The prize fight. Even the master of the arena has been brought out to watch the fun.”
They spurred their horses forward but I could not move. It was only after one of them yelled at me to keep my pace alongside them that I walked forward in a daze, not really seeing where I placed my feet, not really conscious of where I was going. A woman in the arena. It had never happened before. Hunrus would get the end he longed for.
A few paces along and I trod on something sharp. I found a small pebble had embedded itself into the soft, fleshy part of my sole, piercing the skin. Blood ran down the pad of my foot and dripped onto the cobbles.
“I’ll bring my whip out if you take any longer,” one of the soldiers yelled over his shoulder.
I walked through the streets of Railyon, which were now filled with the bustle of daily life. Everyone we passed stopped and stared, some pointing and whispering. If the prisoners in the dungeon had heard rumors, then what did the people on the streets hear? Hunrus was making a bigger mistake by parading me in front of his people like this, the girl who’d survived. But how could I survive any longer? I was not graced with an unnatural gift. The wraith had protected me while I was in the dead forest; he’d protected me at Hallow’s Eve. I was lucky, but luck only runs so far.
During our procession to the arena, we gathered a crowd, people lining the streets to watch us pass. And of their own free will. The whispers must have spread through the city, for the farther we went, the more people crowded the sides of the street to watch us pass by. There was no pity in their expression, only a curious wonder for the girl who’d survived.
When we reached the fountain and the center square, those watching had become highborn, dressed in expensive clothes and adornments in their hair. The ladies dabbed at their noses with small squares of delicate cloth to show the awful stench they smelt. The men eyed me with more curiosity, although it was clear they thought me an oddity who would be forgotten once the procession had passed by.
None of that mattered to me. Once I saw the wall of the arena, I was overcome with the turbulence of my mixed emotions. Too many times I thought I would never see this view again, never set foot inside the arena walls and be with my friends. But I was returning not to be with my friends. This was likely my death march. And I would not stand at the top to look down in the arena, for I would be the one to stand on the sand and look up to the gathered crowd crying for my blood.
A soldier slid from his horse and trudged over to hammer on the main door. I stifled my cry when Fednick’s face peered out. His eyes flitted from the guard to me, bulging wide, but years of living in the arena and he kept his composure and moved aside to allow the soldier to enter.
I was prodded in the back to enter next. Fednick looked at the ground as I came but at the last glanced up into my eyes. I shared my joy at seeing him with a warm smile, which came from my heart. How many days since I saw his face and those of Helna and Sophren? So few and yet he appeared to have grown into a young man with the maturity at which he kept himself contained even though his eyes were silently crying.
The soldier led the way down a passage I’d grown to know well. If we headed to the left and down a few more dimly lit corridors, we would pass my room. Of course we would not go that way. I was not home, not in the way I wanted to be. Instead the soldier directed me toward the fighters’ lodgings and armory.
“Sir,” Fednick said from the back of the line of soldiers. “Sir, excuse me, sir. The kitchens are the other way.”
“We’re not heading that way, boy. She’s for the fighters’ quarters.”
With no more questions from the back, I looked over to see Fednick falling behind. He then turned and ran back the way we’d come.
We passed out of the dim passages. This part of the arena was airy and light. The passages were well lit and the rooms had windows to allow the sun through. If we headed right, we would end up in the armory and through from there would be the feasting room. The direction the soldier took led us to the quarters where the fighters slept in preparation for their bouts. The arena could hold fifteen at a time. But it was only meant as temporary lodging, for many lost their first fight and the those surviving more than a few rounds were transferred to the army barracks.
Lots of raucous laughter and joyous yelling came from the direction of the dining hall, where all the fighters would be gathered for their breakfast feast. Even from here I could smell Helna’s cooking, rich and succulent flavors, warm loaves and spiced sweet cakes. My stomach reminded me in noisy fashion that it had been about two days since I last ate.
“The prince’s instructions are clear. You are not to join the feast now or any time before your fight,” the soldier in front said.
“And when will that be?”
“The tournament will begin tomorrow.”
“Will you give me some water?”
“He didn’t say nothing about that, so I guess we could spare you a pitcher.”
“Thank you.”
“No use thanking me. I’m delivering you to your last resting place before your death.”
“But you have been kind enough to ease my suffering with some water. You could have easily said no, so thank you.”
The soldier stopped at the entrance to the dormitory, which housed all the fighters.
“You’re a strange one, you are. Many would be begging for mercy, not thanking their captors.”
“This is not your fault. You are following orders.”
The soldier opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. “Yeah, well, what I will give you is some privacy. You can have the small room adjacent to the dormitory, rather than share with the men. The prince never instructed me as to where to put you, so I figure I can give you that.”
“Thank you,” I said again. And I meant it. My only hatred was for Hunrus and the king. Everyone else was following orders to save their own skin and who could judge them for that?
I entered the small room he indicated and found a thin bed pressed against the wall with a blanket folded at the bottom. The rest of the room was bare. A thin vertical window looked out onto the streets of Railyon. I inhaled the dusty smell, thankful to be here and not underground.
“I’ll have someone bring you a pitcher of water,” the soldier said and backed out, locking the door behind him.
I stood at the window, looking down on the street and the people passing by. After growing bored of this, I sat on the end of the bed, then remembered the cut on the bottom of my foot. I should have a look and see how deep it was, although I doubted the soldier would allow me any herbs for healing. When I looked, I found smears of blood but nothing more. The blood was evidence there had been a cut and not my imagination, but after wiping the smear away with a bit of spit and the corner of my shift, I found smooth, undamaged skin.
I slid up onto the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. A jaw that stopped hurting within hours of being hit, legs that would not tire and a wound that healed itself in too short a time. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about what this all meant. My attempt failed. But hiding behind my eyelids did not help, for all I saw was the wraith’s face like he was here with me now, standing right in front of me.
34
Fednick came for me in the morning. When his face appeared inside the room, I leapt to my feet and rushed over and swept him into my arms. Although we’d never hugged each other before, Fednick returned the hug, burying his head into my chest, like a child would his mother when seeking comfort.
“We thought you were dead. All these days and we’d not heard a word.”
I pulled him over to the bed and sat him down beside me.
“I returned a few days ago, but they sent me to the dead forest a second time because I did not find the flower.”
His eyes bulged so wide they practically fell out of his head. “You went there twice? But no one does that.”
“I barely stepped foot into the dead forest the second time.”
“Then the rumors on the street are true.”
“What do they say?”
“They say you have great magic that the king cannot defeat and that is why he wants to put you in the arena.”
“You know me, Fednick. What magic do I have?”
“Then why make you fight?”
“The prince wants to see me suffer.”
Fednick ducked his head, staring at his hands in his lap, fiddling with an imaginary something to keep his hands busy. “But why? That makes no sense.”
“Because he is an evil man.”
“They say the master is locked within the marked fort.”
I turned away from him then.
“Why did they lock the master away?”
“The prince believes he helped me.”
“The rumors say he loves you.”
I nudged him. “And you will listen to these rumors?”
“Why not? Everyone here loves you, so why not the master?”
“Fednick…” I waited until he looked at me. “You are too smart to ask that question.”
“Then it is true. You love him too.”
I smiled, not that I had any reason to smile, but I was spending my last moments with a dear friend. Maybe that could be reason enough. “I guess you could say that I do.” My smile vanished in an instant. “But that will not help me. Cerac is as much a prisoner to the king and Hunrus as I am. He cannot stop this fight.”
“Rya, you cannot do this. You cannot fight these warriors.”
I placed my hand on Fednick’s, which rested in his lap. “I have no choice.”
He leaned into me and I lifted my arm so he could lie in my lap. I patted the side of his head like any adoring mother and found his cheeks wet. “Hush, Fednick, you mustn’t cry. Not for me. Save your tears for the woman you grow to love, the one you wish to marry.”
He turned his head and looked up at me. “But I love you.”
“And I you.” This time it was my turn to fight my tears, for if I began now, there would be no stopping the flood, and I would enter the arena with my head held high. The prince would not see my fear.
“How are Sophren and Helna?”
“They have not smiled since you left. Sophren cries a lot and Helna yells at us all. They would have come to see you, but they have been given strict orders to stay away. I was sent here to take you to the armory to prepare yourself.”
I shooed him from my lap. “Why did you not say at the beginning?”
He hesitated before saying, “Because I do not want you to go.”
“They will come and get me regardless. But I am glad we had this moment together. And now I want to ask something of you.”
“What is it?”
“Look after Sophren and Helna. Tell then they are not to mourn me for long. And you, Fednick, neither must you. There is still too much of your life to live to waste on sadness.” I swept him in for another hug, then pushed him away.
Last night, someone new, a servant I’d not seen at the arena before, arrived with simple clothes and boots I was to wear for my fight. I told Fednick to wait for me in the passage while I changed, which I did without wasting any more time, but my fingers shook as I did up the buckle and laced the boots. A couple of times, my emotions overran me and I stopped dressing to fist my hands, allowing my nails to bite into my skin so as to slap me back from falling to pieces.
Fednick led me to the armory, which was not far from my single room. I was being marched to my execution. I did not feel brave at this moment. My pleas balanced on the tip of my tongue, never to be released because there was no one here to affect them. All I would allow myself to think about was protecting Fednick from my fear. If I remained strong, then he would too.
“Where are all the other fighters?” I said.
“They will be practicing in the anterior chamber, which is adjacent to the ring.”
“Which leaves me little time to do the same.”
Fednick swept his sad eyes my way, but I avoided them and headed for the sword rack. Cerac’s gift lay lost in the dead forest. But I still remembered his instructions to me. I lifted the first and inspected it like he’d shown me.
“This one is suited to you,” Fednick said, pulling another down from the rack.
I took it from him and was about to inspect it when he said, “It is well crafted, balanced and sharp while being light to handle. You should last longer with its weight than any of the others and yet still be able to make a cut or two.”
“I had no idea you knew so much about swords and fighting.”
“I don’t get to spend my days in the armory and around the fighters and not learn nothing.”
“Of course you don’t. And I shall gladly use this sword. It is a perfect choice.”
I slipped it into my sheath, which hung from the overlarge leather strap around my waist. Everything else I wore was fit for a man twice my size, but it was that or wear my shift or go naked. The shirt I’d tucked down into my pants and it reached my knees. I made sure to tie the leather strap extra tight to keep the pants from falling down. If I could not strike a killing blow of my opponent, then at least I might be able to amuse him to death. I looked how I felt, an imposter, a fake. There was no fighter in my blood, even with Cerac’s limited lessons. But I had not chosen to enter the arena. And since I was, I had to pretend to be the best so thoroughly that I could maybe believe it, until the moment my opponent struck the killing blow.
Fednick eyed me once I had sheathed my sword, a disapproving look on his face. “I would’ve found you something better to wear if they’d given me the chance.”
“It does not matter how I look.”
“But it fools your opponent.”
No one would be fooled by me no matter what I wore.
Trumpets sounded from outside in the arena. My heart sunk down and down, seeming without end, as it thrashed my blood around my body. Fednick and I looked at each other, and for a breath, time wound to a halt, suspending us in the moment of disbelief to the inevitable. I closed my eyes and inhaled, unfreezing our fragile moment of time. “I had better go.”
“But you haven’t even tried out your new sword.”
“It’s perfect, Fednick. I know it will serve me well, regardless.”
“You might want this,” Fednick said, handing me a shield.
I pulled him toward me at the slight glistening in his eyes. “Remember what I asked. And another thing. Promise me you will stay down here. Do not go up into the arena stage.”
Fednick shook his head, unable to say any words. I pushed him behind me and walked out the door.
I stepped into the anterior chamber only to be assaulted by the eyes of every warrior who sat around the wall on benches. Their weapons rested between their thighs or across their laps and some idly finger them while they stared at me. The ringmaster stood by the entrance, scroll in hand. His eyebrows walked up his brow while his eyes traveled over my body. He opened his scroll and scanned the list of names.
“Sit, you’re last.”
Last meant the fight of the day.
The ringmaster called up the first two while I slid on the end of the bench, keeping my head bowed. Each of the warriors wore the customary thick linen pants that reached high mid-thigh and nothing else. As I was a woman, they had no fighting outfit for me, so I’d been forced to wear clothes pawned from I don’t know where.
The crowds roared their excitement as the two fighters entered the arena, their energy drifting through into the anterior chamber, rattling my nerves and spiking my heart rate. With my head bowed, I eyed the man next to me, eyed his big, muscular thighs. My gaze inched up his body to his arms, but that was as fa
r I could go without moving my head and making it obvious what I was doing. His biceps were like a rock. His big, meaty hands rested on the hilt of his sword. One swing and he would cut me in half. I blew out the longest breath to steady my raging heartbeat and stretched my gaze to the next man along. From my bowed head position, I could not see him as clearly, but I didn’t need to to know he looked just as strong. Cerac had told me size did not matter, skill did. But size did matter when the disparity was so great.
“You must’ve really pissed off the king,” one of the warriors yelled from across the anterior chamber.
I glanced once, taking in yet another large man, this time with enough scars crossing his body to announce him as a champion of a few fights. I lowered my head and gripped my sword extra tight to hide the tremble in my hands.
“Haven’t you heard? This one’s gifted,” another voice with a sarcastic tone.
“Gifted with what? She’s no marked or she wouldn’t be here. She’d be in the king’s secret fort,” said the scarred warrior.
“I don’t know. That’s just what the rumors say.”
“Gifted in pissing the king off, I’d say.”
A handful laughed short and hard, but there was little amusement behind any of it. No doubt every warrior was using his own way to focus and prepare himself for what was to come.
The crowds had yet to let up with their noise, but an extra-loud roar that ripped through the stadium had to mean one of the fighters went down. Sure enough, servants appeared out of the side door and rushed out into the arena to collect the fallen warrior.
The wounded came through first and I could not help but look at him as he was carried out, assessing his cuts. They bled profusely, making it hard to determine how bad they were. He moaned in agony, his head lolling back, arms dangling to the ground.
I glanced away, my gaze meeting the scarred warrior on the way. His eyes narrowed on me. I looked away first, conscious that his hard stare still rested on me.
As the warriors were called through in pairs through successive rounds, I held my breath, waiting for the scarred man to be matched with one of the others, so when the last two were called, leaving us alone together, I wanted to cry.