by Leslie Chase
Tlaxanna had promised not to hurt me physically, but she was enough of a sadist that she wanted to see my tears.
“There you are. I thought perhaps you’d gotten lost.” Tlaxanna greeted me with a big smile as I stepped into the box. Beside her sat Prodrirs, his chair lower and less ornate than the princess’s. From the sweat on his forehead, I could see he wasn’t comfortable. Good. He didn’t deserve to be.
“I’m not exactly in a hurry to see the main attraction,” I told her, leaning against the wall of the box as it floated out over the arena.
Tlaxanna ignored my rudeness, smiling down at the sands below. As I watched, the doors slid open and Athazar strode forth.
He was a magnificent sight, eyes blazing and chest thrust out. If rage could kill, his glare would have decimated the audience in a moment. The cheering died down, silence spreading as he made his way to the center of the field.
A camera drone swooped low, focusing on him as he held up his sword. Above the sands, a hologram of him appeared, and when he spoke his amplified voice boomed out for all to hear.
“This fight, these deaths, and my life I dedicate to Princess Tlaxanna, daughter and heir of the Silent Empress.”
His voice shook with rage, but his gaze was steady. Beside me, Tlaxanna clapped her hands and beamed.
I didn’t think I could hate her more, I thought, my hands curling into fists at my sides. I was careful not to let myself move towards her, not wanting to give the watchful guards any excuse.
Athazar lowered his sword and stood ready to fight, relaxed and waiting for his enemies to appear. With a slow grinding noise the gates opposite him opened and three warriors emerged.
I gulped. Three on one was bad odds for anyone.
Each of the warriors carried a spear, and two of them wore simple dark armor. The third didn’t need to — his body was encased in a carapace, protecting him all over, and I wasn’t sure if Athazar’s sword could even penetrate that.
Saluting the crowd and the princess, they posed for the drones. Holograms appeared above them, listing their victories and showing clips of their greatest fights.
A horn sounded, and the fight began.
The trio fanned out, weapons readied and held low. I swallowed, wiping my palms on my skirt and hoping nobody saw how nervous I was. They were strangers to me but according to their statistics they were each champions in their own right.
Champions of minor arenas, I told myself. They wouldn’t last for a second here in Orbellium.
I hoped that I was right. They certainly looked competent enough. Each was a big man, bulky with muscles, eager to kill.
“I wondered if I should start him on something easier,” Tlaxanna said, leaning forward to watch with a gleeful smile. “But no. This is supposed to be a spectacle, and if Athazar can’t take on three regional champions, I’ll know he isn’t trying.”
In which case I’d suffer for it. Athazar knew that too, and as we watched he stalked toward his enemies, sword held low and ready.
The trio edged closer, and I saw their weaknesses clear as day. A few months ago, I’d have been lost trying to follow a fight but with Gennafera’s help, I’d learned how to read the gladiators’ body language.
Each of the three was skilled, yes, but they’d never fought together. They didn’t know what to expect from each other, and none of them wanted to be first to face Athazar. Just because they were on the same side didn’t make them a team — and that was all the edge that Athazar needed.
Darting towards one of the champions, Athazar drove him back before wheeling on a second fighter and grabbing his spear. A quick yank and Athazar pulled him forward, stabbing up into his gut.
The others were a split-second too slow to respond, and when they reacted, they didn’t attack together. That gave Athazar a chance to block one, dodge the other, and close with them.
I couldn’t follow the speed of his movements. He ducked around a spear, so close that my heart skipped a beat. Then there was a spray of blood from his opponent’s neck, and he was spinning to face the last enemy.
That was the crab-man, the one with carapace armor. Slower than the rest, but more dangerous. I realized that my fingers were gripping the railing at the front of the box, my knuckles white as I watched the two warriors circle each other.
Beside me, Tlaxanna sipped a glass of wine and smiled cheerfully. No wonder she was happy. Whatever the outcome of the fight, she won.
She caught me looking at her and laughed. “Don’t look so glum, my dear. He’s killing quite admirably so far — I’m sure you’ll be safe.”
There was a nasty edge to her words that didn’t reassure me in the slightest. Athazar trusted her to keep her word, and he knew her far better than I ever would, but I got the impression that she had no intention of sending me back to Earth.
My fingers tightened on the railing and I clenched my jaw, not trusting myself to respond. Turning my attention back to the fight, I watched Athazar leap closer, darting forward with a cut that glanced off his enemy’s armor. An answering spear-thrust nearly disemboweled him before he could withdraw, and Tlaxanna laughed again.
Come on Athazar, I thought, wishing he could hear me. Come on, you can do it. There’s only one left.
But the survivor was the most dangerous of the fighters. Slowly, steadily, he drove Athazar back across the sands, spear flashing in the sunlight. Eventually Athazar would slip up and get hit, and his enemy ignored the strikes that Athazar landed in the meantime. That carapace was getting scratched, but it held against the sword.
The crowd cheered, enjoying the show, but it was torture for me. Athazar backed away, closer and closer to the wall of the arena, and I feared that he’d be pinned to it like a butterfly.
At the last second, he spun and sprinted at the wall. Jumping up, he kicked off it, his powerful leap carrying him over the enemy and his spear.
As his jump took him above the crab-man’s head, he stabbed. His sword-point struck the gap in the carapace where the alien’s head emerged, sinking in to the hilt.
Silence fell over the arena as Athazar landed and rolled to his feet. The giant alien stood stock-still, sword still protruding from his shoulder. For a moment, neither of them moved.
With a dreadful finality, the crab-alien fell to his knees and then toppled forward, landing face-first in the sand. Athazar stood and faced the VIP box, thrusting a fist up in salute.
To anyone else it might have seemed that he was saluting his patron, Tlaxanna. I knew better, my heart pounding as Athazar’s eyes met mine, and he smiled as I shouted his name at the top of my lungs.
As though that was a signal, the crowd broke their silence, roaring their approval for him.
22
Athazar
Hearing the crowd chant my name made my skin crawl, but it was worth it if I could keep Emma safe. While I'd sworn that I'd never kill for Tlaxanna again, if that was what it took to save my mate, I would kill anyone she sent against me.
I took a spear from the hand of one of my dead opponents and walked to the center of the arena, feeling Emma's eyes on me. She was depending on me to keep her safe.
Nothing in the galaxy would make me let her down.
“Is that all you have to challenge me?” I demanded. “Send someone worthy of my skill.”
There would be more warriors coming to face me. This fight wouldn’t end until I was dead, but I would give Tlaxanna the show she wanted.
The great doors across from me slid open again and another challenger stepped forward. This time I recognized him and grinned.
Killing Falcar wouldn’t bother me one bit. I’d rather have dedicated the fight to someone, anyone, other than Tlaxanna — but he certainly deserved the death I would visit on him.
He smiled too, a smugly confident expression on his hard face as he advanced. Each of his four arms held a different weapon, and I knew he was a dangerous opponent. I’d fought worse, though.
“Come, Athazar, come and face your
death,” he roared, throwing his arms wide and shouting to the crowd. No one could say he was a poor showman. “Once I’ve killed you, I will tear that female of yours limb from limb. Princess Tlaxanna has promised her to me as a prize, and I mean to collect.”
My vision went red with rage, and I fought down an urge to throw myself at him. It was a trap, a provocation, an attempt to put me off balance. But I also knew he was telling the truth — and that made my blood boil with a fury that threatened to overwhelm me.
“Speak of her again and I will feed you your arms,” I hissed. The camera drone caught my words, amplifying them to boom out over the crowd.
Not the most elegant threat, but it got a cheer anyway. Falcar just laughed.
“Better warriors than you have tried,” he said, stepping forward. “It’s a shame you won’t live to see me break the human, but I’m sure the audience will enjoy the show.”
He bowed to the crowd and they laughed. Whatever popularity I’d gained for my earlier victory had vanished now that I was up against the crowd’s favorite.
I shouldn’t have expected better from those who pay to watch slaves kill each other, I thought. They were willing to watch people forced to fight to the death — why would I expect them to side against the biggest killer of them all?
And Falcar was big. I’d almost forgotten how big until now, when I faced the mountain of a man in front of me. His smile gleamed in the bright sunlight, and he stalked forward with a grace that belied his size.
Backing away, I tried to get his measure. Four arms, four weapons, that was a lot to keep track of — for me, but also for him. A net and a spear, a sword and a metal gauntlet. Lots of options for him to take.
I had a sword and a spear, and that was that. And unlike Falcar, I couldn’t use both at once.
My vision narrowed until all I could see was Falcar, my trained instincts taking over and showing me the options as he moved forward. His hands shifted, little movements each of which could mark the start of an attack. I adjusted my stance to match each change, ready to face him.
The crowd quieted, watching us circle each other. That was one weakness the big man had: he expected to win, to fight here again, which meant that he didn’t just need a victory. He needed to make a show of it, to build his fame and reputation.
I, on the other hand, only needed to kill him. As long as the fight ended with him dead and me alive, the Hungry Stars could take what the audience thought of my skills.
Before his fans grew impatient, Falcar made his move. A surprisingly quick charge brought him close, but I was ready for him, throwing my spear as soon as he launched himself at me. He ducked aside at the last moment, but the dodge cost him his momentum and his attack faltered.
Darting in, I aimed a swipe at his sword arm, only for Falcar to parry with his gauntlet. Sparks flew, I ducked out of the way of a counter attack, and Falcar’s sword flicked through the air where my head had been.
His spear thrust out before I recovered, almost getting past my defenses. Swinging his sword again, he came after me, and I retreated as fast as I could, parrying furiously. Blocking two weapons at once was hard work and I barely kept up, my arm tiring as he rained blow after blow on my defenses.
Three steps, four, five, and then I changed direction, rolling to the side rather than parrying. His spear darted past me, and I lunged forward, aiming a cut at his leg.
Again, Falcar was faster than I expected. He ducked back at the last moment, almost escaping my attack. The tip of my sword caught him, though, carving a deep gash in the side of his leg as he withdrew.
His overhead sword-stroke nearly sliced my head open as I threw myself back out of range, and then we were standing, glaring at each other. Panting for air, trembling from exertion, we both paused to assess the situation.
I’d landed a cut, which was more than he had, but it didn’t feel like a victory. It had taken all my speed and strength to get that minor wound in, and he had the measure of my speed now. The same trick wouldn’t work again.
Falcar, on the other hand, still had his secrets. He hadn’t even tried to use the net in that exchange. I didn’t know if that was because he didn’t know how to use it effectively or because he was keeping it in reserve.
“You’re better than I thought,” he allowed cautiously. “This fight is worth the effort. And you hurt me, which no one has done for a long time. I’m going to take that out on your human, Athazar.”
“No you won’t,” I snarled back, struggling to keep my temper under control. If I get angry, he’ll use it to his advantage. That’s what he wants. “Corpses hurt no one, and that’s what you’ll be after this fight.”
Falcar laughed, a booming sound that filled the arena, but I could see doubt in his eyes. He wasn’t as certain of victory as he had been, and that gnawed at him. I doubted he’d underestimate me anymore.
But at least I’d wiped some of the smugness of his face. That was a start.
Risking a look up at the VIP box floating over the fight, I saw Emma staring at me, wide-eyed and afraid. Beside her sat Tlaxanna, evidently enjoying every second of this display, and I did my best to ignore her. Meeting my mate’s eyes, I nodded subtly, trying to show her I wasn’t afraid.
She smiled back, slightly forced, and then her eyes widened. That was all the warning I needed to dive back and to the side, rolling as Falcar’s spear stabbed through the space my neck had been.
Of course Falcar had spotted my distraction, and of course he’d tried to take advantage. Now he was fighting for his life rather than for show. He’d take any chance to end this.
That’s what I’d been hoping for. My roll took me past the fallen body of one of the earlier champions, and I came up with his spear in my left hand, stabbing hard for Falcar’s face.
He managed to bring his gauntleted hand up in time to knock the spearhead aside. Instead of opening his throat, the razor-sharp metal gouged a cut into his cheek. I was already following with my sword, all my strength and weight behind it.
He staggered back and I followed, pressing my advantage. If I gave him a chance to recover he could still win this, and I would not let that happen. My blows came fast, from every angle, and he parried frantically. We were too close to each other for our spears to be much use, and I dropped mine as he swung the net, hoping to trap me.
I grabbed it instead, pulling it down and into the way of his sword, tangling him in his own weapons. Desperate, Falcar dropped his spear and punched my gut, hard, his fist driving the air out of me.
Gasping, I couldn’t keep my grip on my sword. But a hard kick to his injured leg took Falcar down in a tangle of limbs, the net trapping him, and I followed him down.
“This is for threatening Emma,” I gasped, my hand closing on his throat. He bucked under me, pulling against the net that tangled him, and I struggled to keep him pinned.
His face darkened, but he wasn’t giving up. The net trapped two of his arms, and I’d nearly severed a third. That left one, but that was enough to batter me with a strength I could barely resist. Each desperate punch rocked me to the side, and I felt ribs give as his fist connected.
I can’t let go. I can’t let Emma down. Focusing all my will, all my strength, into my right hand, I squeezed harder and he thrashed, struggling for air. His punches weakened and finally stopped. Panting, I staggered up to my feet and raised a fist to the sky.
The crowd erupted in cheers, calling my name with a passion that swept over me. The rush nearly overwhelmed my disgust for the people who supported these events, and in that moment, I understood how someone might come to love the taste of these victories.
But that was no excuse for Falcar’s cruelty. He’d deserved his death.
Emma’s eyes shone as she watched me, her face a picture of hope. She knew as well as I did that Tlaxanna didn’t intend me to survive, but it was impossible not to pray for a miracle. And at least I’d live a little longer.
Hopefully long enough that Tlaxanna would live up to h
er bargain. As long as Emma got home, I didn’t care what sacrifices I had to make.
“Well done my champion,” Tlaxanna said, her cultured voice amplified to fill the arena. “You’ve won two mighty victories. Will you face more in my name?”
She phrased it as a question, but I had no choice. “Yes, Your Highness.”
I could hear my hatred in my voice, and I was sure anyone else listening would too. Tlaxanna’s smile widened and her eyes shone, leaving me to wonder what her next nasty trick would be.
The doors of the arena slid open once more, and new fighters walked out. Bracing myself, I turned to face them and froze as I saw who they were. Clad in green, the rest of the gladiators from my barracks emerged onto the sand.
Armax was there, and Gennafera. Tybin and Mixal and Corven. The warriors I’d trained alongside, come to know and in some cases even like. None of them met my gaze, not even Armax, and Gennafera looked near tears as she hefted her axes and stalked forward.
But they had no more choice than I did. They could fight me, or they could die in agony.
23
Emma
Watching my friend step out onto the arena sands to face Athazar, I felt my heart stop for a moment. Gennafera walked forward, reluctant but determined, and I knew whoever died down there it would break my heart. Athazar was the love of my life. Gennafera was my friend, and she’d protected me when I needed it.
The idea that one of them would kill the other was unbearable.
Athazar looked as stunned as I felt, standing frozen over Falcar’s body. My jaw tightened, and I felt the blood drain from my face as Gennafera and the rest of the Greens closed on him.
No, I wanted to scream. Don’t. But how could either of them listen? The alternative to fighting was a painful death for them both, and for me.
Beside me, Princess Tlaxanna laughed and clapped her hands, gleefully watching Athazar’s torment. I wanted to turn on her, to beg her not to do this, but I knew she wouldn’t listen. Seeing my distress would only give her more pleasure, and right now that was the last thing in the world I wanted to do.
