We stepped out of the tunnel and onto the wide walkway that surrounded the actual fighting pit. For now, people milled around, hailing one another, chatting, and making wagers on the fights. The upper tiers had already started to fill.
Zhantar led me to the left. Folk continued to greet him, but all moved aside to let us pass through. We arrived at a box, the only place where there was cover from the sun, and went in. The seats here had armrests and were upholstered with fine leather. They would have been fitting had they been found in a rich family’s sitting room. One was especially ornate, with a high back and elaborate designs of intertwined dragons carved into the wood. I thought it must be Zhantar’s, for surely it was splendid enough for the DragonLord.
He instructed me to sit in a chair in the front row, but he didn’t sit himself. Instead, he paced the box, back and forth, back and forth, reminding me of Marileesa, my best friend back at Roylinn Academy, who had a fit of nerves before any singing performance. Did Zhantar feel the same way before a public performance of his own?
I tried to ignore his pacing and instead took in my surroundings. We had a clear view of the fighting pit; indeed, these must be the very best seats in the arena. To the left was the opening through which the prisoners would enter the arena, one at a time, and on the right was the huge opening for the dragons.
Zhantar’s hands gripped my shoulders from behind. “You will watch,” he hissed in my ear, “and you will give every impression that you are enjoying yourself. Do you understand?” I nodded reluctantly. “Speak it. Say the words aloud.”
“I will do as you say.”
He snapped his fingers again as a reminder. Then a fearsome sight met my eyes. A tightly clustered group of Royal Guardsmen approached.
Has this all been some convoluted scheme to deliver me to the Royal Guard? Were they coming to cast me into the fighting pit? My heart beat faster, and my mouth went dry as they drew closer and closer. When, at the sharp bark from an officer, they stopped right in front of the box, it was all I could do to force myself to stay where I was and not leap to my feet and start running. As if that would do any good. No, if they were here to arrest me, I would behave with a dignity and pride that would make even Yallick proud. Not that he would ever hear of it.
But no one accosted me. The Guardsmen all stood at stiff attention, their eyes straight ahead. I might have been invisible for all the notice they took of me.
Then, at another command, they repositioned themselves, and a man dressed in the silliest, gaudiest clothes I’d ever seen stepped from the midst of them.
“Pay obeisance to your king, fool!” Zhantar hissed so that only I could hear.
Heart in my throat, I slid off the chair and went down on one knee, bowing my head as King Erno entered the box. I hardly noticed the footsteps as the Guardsmen marched away.
“Ah, Zhantar, you old rascal! How do you do this fine day?”
I watched the DragonLord from the corner of my eye, and when he straightened up, I did the same, though I tried as much as I could to melt into the background.
When the king spoke, I noticed that Zhantar’s shoulders stiffened. He smiled at Erno, but it was a brittle smile that conveyed nothing of friendliness. The king, however, seemed oblivious to this as he slapped the DragonLord heartily on the back.
“I am well, Your Highness, and I hope you are even better.” Zhantar’s words were icier by far than any he had ever used with me. My eyes slid to the king, and I marveled that he seemed not to take any notice of that which was so clear to me. If I were queen, I would take umbrage at any of my subjects who took that tone with me. Zhantar went on. “I have brought my new novice to observe the working of my dragonmasters.”
The king looked at me, and I needed no prompting to bow once more; I had no wish to meet those eyes. If this man suspected that I had maejic power, he would have the Guardsmen take me to the dungeons to await trial and execution. If he knew who I truly was, like as not he would have me thrown straight to the dragons without even bothering with a trial. Would Zhantar say my name? I died a thousand deaths in a few seconds as I wondered what would happen next.
“A novice, eh?” And the king, quite unexpectedly, giggled. “Soon to be one of your dancing puppets? Sit, girl. Enjoy the show.”
I slipped into my seat, hoping this was the right thing to do.
More people entered the box now. None were introduced to me, and I guessed they must be high-ranking noblemen and women and court officials.
No one paid any attention to me, for which I was glad, and I observed as much as I could. Erno didn’t seem inclined—or maybe even able—to concentrate on any one conversation for long. He laughed at odd times and sometimes broke off mid-sentence to stare at some distant point.
Zhantar held himself aloof, not participating in any of the conversations but simply watching everyone, his face flinty and his eyes hard and cold. I had no doubt whatsoever that he hated King Erno with his entire being.
The seats were beginning to fill in earnest now, and I concluded it must be nearly time for the day’s events to get under way.
Then another contingent of Royal Guardsmen approached. Fear leapt again in my heart, but as before, I needn’t have worried. This time, they accompanied a beautiful young woman.
“Ah, Rycina, my love,” bellowed King Erno. “Come, give your papa a kiss.”
She blushed at this command but did as asked. I couldn’t help but watch her with keen interest. Xyla had hatched from the egg that was supposed to be her betrothal gift from Prince Havden of Ultria.
I soon saw that Rycina was nothing at all like her father. Where his attire was ostentatious and showy, she wore a simple pale green gown that was pure elegance. Excessive jewelry contributed to his foppish appearance; her few pieces, though expensive and well-crafted, served to enhance her beauty. And while he spoke in a blustery manner about things of little import, her discourse was quiet, demure, and intelligent. The people in the box gravitated toward her.
With one very noticeable—to me—exception. Zhantar watched her with even more hatred than he had for the king.
Then a hush swept over the crowd, and stragglers began to hurry to their seats. Figures dressed in black—just as I was—poured out of the tunnels and into the arena. They marched in single file along the walkway, peeling off one at a time until a hundred or more of them were spread out evenly around the pit.
Zhantar watched the dragonmasters with a smile—a real one now. His eyes glowed not with hatred but with pride. I wondered if he was going to join in, but he stood in place, simply watching his magicians do their job.
The dragonmasters, as if at some silent signal I couldn’t detect, began to perform their routine. Their spells would create a magic net over the arena, preventing the dragons from flying away. Their movements reminded me a little of the danse—the powerful magic practiced on Stychs—but it seemed to be more martial in nature, more of precision and exactitude and less of motion and grace.
When they stopped, all with their hands raised above their heads, a tocsin rang out. This, I knew, was the warning bell. All must be still during a dragon fight, so everyone must be in their seats before it began.
Erno made an expansive gesture to those in the box. “And now, my friends, I thank you for joining me this fine day. Let us enjoy the entertainment before us!” His eyes shone in what could only be called blood-lust. What a coward! Then I immediately tried to suppress that idea. It wouldn’t do for treason to slip out of my lips. I must guard my thoughts, lest they be reflected on my face and get me into trouble.
The others in the box took their seats, the king taking the beautiful dragon chair, though the animated chatter continued. I expected Rycina to sit next to her father, but she chose a chair in a back corner. It seemed to me that she even turned it a bit, as if to obscure her view, even if just a little, of the
pit. I found myself wanting—almost compelled—to watch her. Then Zhantar pinched my arm hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I glanced upward at him and he jerked his head toward the pit. Focusing my attention there, I blinked back the tears. It wouldn’t do for the king to notice them and ask their cause.
The tocsin rang out again, and now my ordeal began in earnest.
The door to the left opened, and a woman was pushed through it. She was naked and her head was shaved, and she carried a small shield but no sword. Anger swelled in me. Why all this spectacle to execute someone? Surely a human with only a shield couldn’t hope to “fight” a dragon. My lip started to curl in disgust, but I caught myself and schooled my expression into one of neutrality.
King Erno giggled with glee. “One of those pesky mages,” he said. “I keep thinking I’ve rooted them all out, then my dragonmasters find more. Well done, Zhantar!”
The DragonLord bowed his head. “It is my honor to serve you, my king.” Was I really the only one who heard the spite and sarcasm in his voice?
With a loud clang that made me jump, the door on the right opened. Out came a silver dragon, swiveling its head left and right as it scented prey.
The woman—a fellow mage!—didn’t quail. She showed no signs of fear at all. Casting aside the shield, she strode to the center of the pit. Pride surged through me as I realized that she had chosen to embrace her fate and that she would supply as little sport to the crowd as possible.
Her movement caught the dragon’s attention. For a tense moment, it stared at her. She, in turn, watched it as she continued walking forward without changing direction or speed. In a lighting move that elicited a collective gasp from the crowd, the dragon leapt on the woman. The first and only time I’d watched a dragon fight, the dragon had toyed with the poor man like a cat with a mouse. That didn’t happen this time. This one snatched the woman up and a moment later swallowed her.
It took a second for everyone to realize the fight, such as it was, had ended. Then the crowd roared while the dragonmasters began to move, using their power to force the dragon back to the stables. Everyone in the box burst into cheers and applause. Swallowing back the gorge that rose to my throat at what I’d just witnessed, I clapped my hands, too. Or at least made a show of it, as they were sore and one was still bandaged. I could not, however, bring a smile to my face; fortunately, Zhantar didn’t notice.
King Erno pounded the arms of his chair. “No! It can’t be over that fast!” He turned a petulant expression onto Zhantar. “You must make it more fun. I demand it.”
“My king, you know how it is with the mages. Always the same. Put it out of your mind. The next one is naught but a rapist, and he shall not have the means of convincing the dragon to be done with him quickly.”
Erno’s pout turned to a grin, and he licked his lips. “Yes,” he drawled. “Of course.”
I tried in vain to wipe the memory of the fight from my mind while those in the box chatted excitedly about the next criminal. At least in his case, from what I could gather, his crimes were real and proven. Not, I reminded myself, that anyone deserved to be executed in such a fashion as Erno had the taste for.
The tocsin rang out. The arena stilled, and the conversation around me died away.
The door opened, and out stumbled a naked man. He seemed hardly able to walk, and I was close enough to see the bloody pulp that was all that was left of the offending member.
The coppery-colored dragon that came out now was young, not yet full grown. Perhaps drawn by the scent of fresh blood, it crossed the pit in one bound and set to rending the man bit by bit. This was more to the crowd’s—and the king’s—liking, and great shouts and guffaws of delight punctuated the air.
The battle seemed to go on for hours, though it was probably only minutes. The young dragon seemed to know how much damage it could do without actually killing its victim—knowledge no doubt acquired from the dragonmasters. The man’s screams rent the air, drawing delighted squeals from King Erno. It took all my strength of will not to show my true feelings, while Zhantar looked on the fight with impassivity.
When it was finally over and the dragonmasters were forcing the dragon back to the stables, Erno rose to his feet, clapping his hands happily like a small child watching the antics of a puppy. I glanced around at the others, who followed the king’s lead in praise of such entertainment—all except Rycina whose look of revulsion mirrored my own feelings.
The princess rose to her feet and approached the king. “Papa, I have just remembered an urgent matter of business that I have left undone. I pray your pardon for leaving so early, but I really must go.”
Erno’s face fell. “Must you really, my pet? Surely you can send someone to take care of it.”
She bent down and kissed him on both cheeks. “No, Papa, I’m afraid it is such business as I must see to personally. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He pouted as he stroked her face. “I will tell you everything you miss.”
Zhantar stepped out of the box and signaled someone. A few moments later, a group of Royal Guardsmen marched up, and Rycina left with them. I watched her go. She would be queen someday, and if what I’d observed today was any sign, she would be a very different sort of monarch from her father. I, for one, wasn’t fooled by the excuse she gave for leaving; I was sure she simply had no stomach for this. She’d probably come only because she had no choice and stayed only as long as necessary. Zhantar watched her departure, too, an inscrutable look on his face.
After the fourth fight, refreshments were brought to the box. My stomach was tied in knots from having to watch and, worse, having to pretend I was having a good time, and I couldn’t eat. Luckily, no one offered me anything.
Later, when the sun had long passed its zenith, I had grown numb to the executions. I forced myself to smile and applaud, all the while letting my mind range far from this horrible, horrible place. A change now came over the dragonmasters. I couldn’t tell precisely what it was, perhaps a droop to their shoulders or a slowing of their movements. Zhantar stood more erect than ever, and he stared at the pit with fierce eyes.
The door opened and out came a man dressed in armor and carrying a shield and sword. I didn’t understand. All of the other prisoners had worn a few rags or been completely naked, depending on the nature of their crime. A few, murderers primarily, had had weapons, though this seemed to be more for the purpose of prolonging their deaths and entertaining the crowd than for any real defense. This man, though, looked like a warrior.
Erno clapped his hands. “Oh! I forgot! Our pirate is today!”
Zhantar shot the king such a look of pure, freezing hatred that it chilled me to the core. When the large door opened on the other side of the arena and the dragon came out, I understood at last.
This dragon had once been white, but now its hide hung limp and grey from its frame. It moved slowly and stiffly, as if each step caused it pain. There was no light in its eyes, no heft to its wings.
This dragon had been sent to the pit to die.
My heart is torn in two. I can’t stop worrying about my family, and sometimes all I want to do is mount one of the dragons and tear off in search of them myself. How can everyone expect me to just stay here doing nothing? When I think about it, I want to scream.
Everyone—Yallick, Oleeda, all the dragons—counsel me to be patient. Do they know something they’re not telling me? Only Traz betrays any hint of rebellion. An occasional gleam in his eye gives it away. That boy has something up his sleeve.
But then there is the time I spend with the dragons. It’s a beautiful and wondrous thing, the way they respond to me. Practicing maneuvers, it’s as if they know my thoughts before I myself do. When I direct them in the dance of the sky, everything is right and my heart feels whole.
In its own way, watching the dragon die was even worse than watching the
men and women. How long has this poor beast provided entertainment to the people? They had rooted for its success many, many times, yet now they turned on it, cheering anew with each gash from the pirate’s sword.
It was not easy work to slay a dragon single-handedly. Even one as old and infirm as this one would not meekly lie there and let its throat be slit. The pirate slashed at it over and over while it struggled to get away, until it bled from a hundred places. When finally it crashed to the ground for the last time and the pirate thrust his sword into its heart, the crowd went wild.
I wept, and no threat from Zhantar could’ve stopped me. But he didn’t notice me wiping my eyes with the edge of my cloak; he stood still as a stone, staring at the carcass of the once-majestic creature. A new thought occurred to me: did he actually care about the dragons?
People began making their way down the arena stairs and out. Two rows of Royal Guardsmen stood shoulder to shoulder across the front of the box, while those inside indulged in more refreshment. I managed to get my emotions under control, and the one time someone offered me food, I declined politely. Zhantar remained aloof from the group, too.
Finally, the arena had emptied and the king left with his entourage of Guardsmen. The others left, too, until soon only Zhantar and I remained, and he hadn’t moved a muscle. Eventually, though, he stirred.
“Let us go,” was all he said, and his voice was soft and bitter.
The walk to the carriage and the ride back to the house went by in a haze as my mind kept replaying scenes I’d witnessed that day. I wished there was a way to purge them forever from my memory.
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