Bloodfall Arena

by J. A. Ludwig

  A group of Jaxon’s men lead their epirs in front of her and when they pass, the strange men are gone.

  “We’ve lost four of our own, now,” one of Jaxon’s men whispers to the two others with him. “And not one of the slaves. It’s uncanny, I tell you.”

  The group stops at the front of the cage and Aya carefully moves to sit within earshot.

  “No wonder they’re always needing new members. This pathetic leader can’t keep anyone alive,” a second man says.

  “Why’re you complaining, Hart? That means a larger share for us once we unload this lot.”

  “I say once we finish this trip, we procure this caravan for ourselves,” Hart says, leaning closer to the other two. “I got some friends at the Arena who’d help out with a little accidental death of our fearless leader.”

  Aya’s eyes widen and she wants to speak.

  Aldur beats her to it. “You three! Quit talking and get back to work.”

  The men jump at the large man’s appearance and their expressions fill with worry. Were they overheard? They quickly split up and finish preparing for departure.

  If Aldur overheard their conversation, he doesn’t show it.

  As the sun sets, the caravan is ready to leave. Food has been restocked for the rest of the journey, and water is passed around one final time. Once each slave has his or her fill, the caravan heads back out into the desert.

  Travel at night is easier. Many slaves appear more energized, but with the rising of the sun the newfound energy fades.

  On the third day out from the town, the caravan stops briefly when they come across the dehydrated body of the slave who escaped, half-buried in the sand. Men search the corpse for anything of value. They pull the dried husk from the sand, showing small pieces of flesh missing, most likely having fed small lizards or insects. Finding nothing, the men drop the body in the sand and the caravan moves on.

  Aya gazes back at the body, remembering the look in the slave’s eyes as he passed her. There’d been such a look of gratitude...and devotion. The same looks she came to loathe in the villagers from her home. She’d given this man the strength to attempt an escape, and now he was dead.

  She wants to cry for him, but the tears won’t come.

  Chapter 16

  The dunes fade away over the next three days, allowing the hard earth below to show through. Tall mounds of rocks and distant canyons appear. Dry, thorny plants cover the ground. The heat level falls, no longer reflecting off the endless, dead sea of sand. Large birds of prey circle in the sky, searching for food with their powerful eyes.

  The caravan enters a small canyon of rocks on the fourth day. The partial shade is a welcome reprieve from the sun. Small, scaled animals hide in the shadows of large rocks and trees. Large thorns cover the bark of the trees which grow from the walls of the canyon.

  The air stills, putting the men on high alert. The groduns pulling the cages make strange sounds and move oddly, as though spooked. The slaves huddle closer together, sensing the unease.

  Jaxon stops the caravan and climbs down from his epir. “Damn it. What is this?”

  Aya strains to look around the large beasts pulling the cage. The canyon is blocked. Large boulders block the only path through. Jaxon glances from the block to the back of the caravan.

  “What do we do?” Aldur asks.

  Cursing, Jaxon kicks at the blockage. “We can’t go back. The only other way is too long. We’ll run out of food.”

  “Clear it, then?”

  Before Jaxon answers, a spear flies through the air and into the neck of one of the groduns pulling the cage holding Aya. The beast rears back, frightening the other grodun. The cage lurches. The animals pull away from each other, breaking their restraints. The riders are thrown off, landing hard on the ground and Aya’s cage is flung onto the ground. She screams as several of the metal bars break and one stabs into her arm.

  The slaves connected to Aya’s cage are thrown with the cage. Those farther from the cage lurch but are able to stay standing. Slaves and men in armor panic as the wounded grodun runs at them. Those who can’t move out of the way are trampled or knocked to the side. A second spear flies into the large beast and kills it. The men in armor circle the caravan with their weapons drawn, some herding the slaves to the center.

  “See to the healer!” Jaxon roars at Aldur.

  Aldur runs to Aya’s cage and forces the door open. He struggles at first with the bent lock but manages to break more of the loosened bars with a surge of strength. He climbs inside and eyes Aya’s arm. The bar piercing her arm is still connected to the cage but bent upwards. A large rock beneath the cage bends bars like teeth between her and Aldur.

  The large man quickly, but carefully, makes his way towards her. Locking eyes with her, he takes a deep breath. “I’m going to have to pull you off.”

  He doesn’t need to say the words. It’s clear from his face. It’s going to hurt.

  Aya nods and closes her eyes. He grabs her and roughly pulls her up. As her arm pulls free of the bar, she bites back a scream. Dark liquid rolls down the metal and small pieces of her flesh stick to the bar. Nausea overcomes her and she leans to the side, the meager contents of her stomach splattering to the ground. The fact it was her own flesh, her own blood, was far more nauseating than tending others’ wounds.

  Aldur waits until she’s finished before tearing a long strip from her shirt and dressing her arm. “This will have to do until you can heal it. Stay with me.”

  She glances around at the panicked slaves. Those who were trampled by the wounded grodun lie still, blood pooling on the ground. Those knocked to the sides are screaming for help, blood staining their clothes.

  The second grodun that pulled her cage manages to escape and runs back the way the caravan came. Several of Jaxon’s men, including the two who’d been thrown from the groduns, run after the loose beast with thick ropes.

  Aya looks at Aldur with terror filled eyes. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

  He draws his sword. “Bandits.”

  Men appear from the walls around the caravan. A larger group stands atop the blockage in front of Jaxon. The bandits outnumber the caravan’s men and Aya recognizes the one at the center of the group as the strange man from the oasis town.

  The leader draws one of the two swords on his belt, aiming the point at Jaxon. “Black Caravan. We’ve heard many stories about you. We’re here for your supplies and,” his eyes shoot to Aya, “the Rare Kind you’re transporting.”

  Aya’s body runs cold, her heart pounding in her chest. Flashes of Jaxon’s attack on Oula Village crosses her vision. Again, someone is after her and others are being killed because of it.

  Aldur tightens his grip around her waist. “Stay with me, girl.”

  “Why should I?”

  “These men have worse plans for you than the Arena.”

  The men of the caravan prepare to attack, but Jaxon holds up a hand. They move back, and he walks towards the bandit leader, who stands atop the boulders. “You know of the Black Caravan and yet you still attack. You obviously didn’t listen to the rest of the stories. Clear a path or be destroyed.”

  “You must not have heard me, slave trader. We want the Rare Kind. We outnumber your men. You can’t win.”

  Jaxon draws his sword. “You misunderstand my threat.”

  He gives a shrill whistle and the men of the caravan sheathe their weapons and move closer together, tightening the circle around the slaves.

  Aldur pulls Aya away from the fallen cage. But, faint though she is from loss of blood, she struggles to remain within eyesight of Jaxon. “He can’t fight them alone!”

  Aldur stays silent, moving them so they have a clear view of Jaxon and the bandits. He keeps his arm around her waist, ensuring she can’t run off.

  The bandit leader’s eyes move over each of Jaxon’s men and he laughs. He turns to his men and raises his hands in front of him. “Do you see this? He believes he can fight all of us
alone!” The bandits laugh.

  Jaxon eyes the fallen grodun and walks to it. He pulls the first spear from the thick flesh and eyes the bandits on the walls. He stops on one and in a flash throws the spear. It slams into one of the bandits sitting in one of the trees growing from the canyon’s walls. The man falls to the ground and half the bandits disappear in puffs of smoke.

  The laughter stops and the bandits remaining, the real bandits, number barely over a dozen.

  Jaxon holds his hands out to each side. “I don’t think it will be too difficult now.”

  The leader faces Jaxon, anger filling his eyes. “Cocky bastard. Let’s see how you fair against us. Kill him!”

  Four men run at Jaxon. Aya stares at Aldur in shock. “Why aren’t you helping him?”

  “I’d only get in his way.”

  The first bandit reaches Jaxon, raises his sword, and brings it down toward Jaxon’s head. Jaxon easily steps to the side then forward, raising his sword. He stabs the man in the chest and pushes him back into the two behind.

  The men grab their dying comrade, then throw him to the ground, moving to either side of Jaxon as a third bandit faces him. They swing their blades, but Jaxon blocks the attacks with his sword while dodging. The men move closer, limiting Jaxon’s maneuvering room.

  Jaxon side-steps a down-swing and stomps his foot on the man’s sword, metal hidden in his boot keeping the blade from cutting through his shoe. The man tries to pull his blade free, but Jaxon kicks him. The man drops his sword and Jaxon spins to kick another man in the head. The two men collapse to the ground.

  The third man grabs his dead comrade’s sword and tries to stab Jaxon. Jaxon grabs the man’s arm, twisting it and forcing the man to drop the blade. He draws Aya’s dagger and stabs the man under the chin, twisting the blade before releasing him. The man falls to the ground dead and Jaxon sheathes the dagger after wiping it clean in the sand.

  The other two men manage to climb back to their feet. They attack him simultaneously, one aiming for Jaxon’s head and the other going for his stomach.

  Blocking the first sword with his own, Jaxon moves closer to the two men. The second man hits Jaxon’s stomach with his arm, not the blade. He tries to pull back to slice Jaxon’s side, but Jaxon grabs his companion’s wrist and brings down both swords on the man’s arm. Both blades hit and he screams as his arm is detached.

  Jaxon punches the man with the sword in the nose. The bandit stumbles back, releasing his sword. Jaxon grips the man’s sword tightly and spins, slicing the blades into one man’s neck and the other’s side.

  Throwing the dead man’s sword away, Jaxon faces the rest of the bandits as the two behind him collapse to the ground. “I hope those weren’t your best.”

  The bandit leader glares. He snaps at a second group and five men surround Jaxon.

  Jaxon sighs and raises his sword, spreading his legs to lower his center of gravity. The bandits attack in a flurry of steel, but when Jaxon swings his sword it makes contact with steel or with a bandit every time. He quickly dispatches the second wave and faces the bandit leader again.

  The bandit leader sends the rest of his men in one large wave. They circle Jaxon and attack him all at once. He keeps their swords from hitting him but has trouble keeping his back clear from sneak attacks.

  His sword moves quickly from one blade to another, blocking those he can’t dodge. Those he can dodge miss him by mere inches and some hit bandits too slow to avoid their comrades’ blades.

  Jaxon maneuvers the remaining bandits in front of him. He moves in close to those at the front, his sword precisely slicing to do the most damage. He grabs the nearest dying man rams the body into one bandit; a whoosh of foul air escapes the man’s lips. While the man is stunned, Jaxon stabs him under the arm and slices, blood spraying to the ground.

  The last four bandits charge Jaxon directly, to skewer him. He blocks two with the body in his hand, the blades making a meaty thud as they bury into the thick flesh. Jaxon blocks the third with his blade, a loud clang echoing in the air. The fourth bandit slips on the bloody sand, his blade missing Jaxon and throwing him off balance.

  Sensing his chance, Jaxon kicks the fourth bandit, slices the throat of the third bandit, and shoves the last two. Releasing the body he’d been using as a shield, the two bandits fall to the earth, the body landing on top of them and knocking the air from their lungs. Pulling out Aya’s dagger, Jaxon spins, stabbing the fourth bandit in the head. Pulling the blade free, he steps on the dead body holding the remaining two bandits down.

  He stabs each in the heart with his sword and turns his full attention to the leader.

  Chapter 17

  The bandit leader runs at Jaxon, swinging his blades, preventing Jaxon from dodging to either side or swinging at the man. He moves backwards, the only available path.

  The leader kicks Jaxon in the stomach. Jaxon doubles over but attempts to slice the leader’s leg with the black dagger. The leader pulls his foot away before Jaxon’s blade makes contact and swings his blades down. Jaxon rolls to the side, trying to clear the blades, but misjudges the timing. He winces as one of the blades slices his arm. He moves away, but his back is forced against the dead grodun.

  The bandit leader thrusts both swords forward, aiming to run Jaxon through. Jaxon drops to the ground, and the leader’s swords dig into the dead beast. Jaxon slips his sword into the small opening between the other two blades, inches from the leader’s face.

  The two men freeze.

  Jaxon holds his blade still, standing beside the leader. The leader breathes heavily, staring at the blade. He swallows and tries to pull his blades free, but they’re stuck too deep into the beast’s corpse.

  He snatches a fallen knife from the sand and turns to slice Jaxon’s throat. In one quick move, Jaxon slices the leader from the base of his neck to under his armpit. Blood sprays into the air and Jaxon moves away. When the body hits the sand, he cleans his blade on the leader’s scarfed head. The body lies slumped against the dead grodun.

  Jaxon sheathes his sword and dagger, walking towards Aya. “How’s her arm?”

  “It was run through, but no major damage I think,” Aldur says, emotionless. Aya guesses he had seen this sort of action many times in his life. He motions towards the dead bandits. “Always gotta show off, don’t you?”

  “Don’t want to get rusty.” Jaxon looks at her. “Can you heal it?”

  She nods slowly, too stunned to speak.

  “Good.” He turns to his men. “Check all the slaves for injuries. We’re going to need to clear this canyon before we can move on. But we now have more meat.” He motions to the dead grodun.

  Most of the men in black armor cheer and do as ordered, clearing the slaves to the sides of the canyon. Others, more than likely the newer members, stare at Jaxon in amazed fear. The older members shove them to get them to work. They check each slave and move those who were chained to Aya’s bars to the next cage.

  “Let’s get you away,” Aldur says. “Let you rest.”

  Aya shakes her head, staring at those injured. “I can help. I can heal anyone who’s hurt.”

  “Worry about healing yourself first, girl.”

  “Let her heal the slaves,” Jaxon says, passing by. “We’ve lost a grodun and a cage. I refuse to lose money on our haul.” Jaxon walks away before the larger man can speak. Reluctantly, Aldur leads Aya to the closest slaves. But she passes by most, who are only bruised or scratched, to get to those who were trampled by the fleeing grodun. They are bleeding and their bones are broken, but Aya finds it easier to knit them than before. Her work is quicker and less exhausting now, even without the use of her wounded arm.

  The men who ran after the second grodun return with it in tow. They quickly put the animal to work pulling larger rocks from the blocked canyon. Slaves strong enough to lift are put to work on the smaller rocks.

  When Aya finishes healing the last of the slaves, Aldur sits her down on a boulder next to the canyon wall so s
he can lean back.

  She places her hand over her wounded arm. Calming her nerves, she concentrates on healing the injury. Unlike when she heals others, the pain doesn’t go away. She feels every muscle reform, her skin knitting back together. Finishing, Aya moves her arm around, testing it, to make sure it healed correctly.

  She spies Jaxon walking through the caravan, double-checking the slaves. He orders four men to take the broken cage apart. Broken parts are thrown to the side, while useable parts are moved to a barrel in the last wagon. Jaxon orders two more of his men to move the dead slaves’ bodies away and bury them. They’re buried in the hard, dry earth close to the wall of the canyon.

  Five others drag the dead bandits by the arms and legs, leaving trails of blood in the sand. After collecting valuables from the corpses, they toss them with sickening thuds into a large pile far from the caravan. Topping the morbid pile with the bandit leader’s body, the slavers stack wood around the bottom and set fire to the pile. Black smoke fills the sky, but the wind blowing through the canyon sends the smoke—and the smell—away from the caravan.

  “He hates that name,” Aldur says. “The Black Caravan.”

  Aya turns to him. “What?”

  He nods his head at Jaxon.

  “Isn’t it because of the black armor you wear?” she asks.

  Aldur shakes his head. “People at the Arena believe Jaxon’s blood is black.”

  Black blood? Like the stories? Aya thinks, remembering the stories her parents used to tell her about the gods.

  * * *

  Morda, the mother God, and Velan, the God of Death, created the brother Gods, Ogrin and Kellot. Ogrin of the red blood was peaceful by nature, but his temper could be quick. Kellot of the black blood was weaker but made a great sport of playing tricks and angering Ogrin.

  One day, the two brothers were walking through the lands of the earth, their favorite playground. Kellot decided to make Ogrin angry so that he would fight him. But no matter how Kellot tried, he couldn’t make his brother angry. Kellot, in his rage, took Ogrin’s blade and cut off his own hand. His black blood fell to the earth and created the beasts of this world. Ogrin, furious at his brother for his rash act, opened a vein and spilled his red blood to create mankind to control the beasts.