Authors: Kelly St. Clare
Alzona mutters and throws another dark look my way as we warm up the next morning. We’ll be in the first group fight of the day.
Out of the ten barracks, only nine are competing. The tenth barrack no longer has enough participants to enter. The two men who suspiciously disappeared had belonged to their group.
Normally the groups would fight in pairs until the final two, but it was decided the barracks will now compete in threes. The winners of each match go through to the final match. Three teams in the pit won’t allow for much space, which is perfect for us. We’ve got this. I’m nearly confident about it.
Alzona wants me to pull out of the group fight to ensure I’m fresh for the fight with Slay. I’ve reminded her that the aim has always been top barracks, not top individual. We want the business and the reputation, not the glory - though this would be nice, too. Plus, Slay is also participating. We’ll be as worn out as each other.
Groaning fills the arena.
I look up from the space where I am stretching and see Tricks, Hale and our own fighters, shaking their heads. Crystal hands me the draw. I groan as well. The three top barracks are fighting against each other! Who made this draw? I sneak a peek at Hale, who is white with fury. He speaks to one of his fighters briefly and they leave the Cells. Whoever wrote this should make their selves scarce.
After my initial reaction, I soon see the benefits of this draw. This is actually great news. Tricks’ group can act as our allies. Their barracks have no way of winning and they’ve already said they want Hale’s group out of the top spot. This is probably the easiest way to get Slay and his crew out of the running. After that, there are only two other barracks which might give us some trouble. Hopefully they’ll get eliminated in the next rounds. I find Wrath looking our way. He nods at me, and gives me a long, direct look. Tricks looks over and smiles, too. They’re with us.
The warning bell tolls.
Our group of six enters the pit. It feels odd to be in here with my friends. It’s hard to take the fight seriously. It feels like we’re just training.
We stand in a circle, close to the curved wall. I glance around the arena and meet the grins of Ice and Flurry. Are we going to put on a show, or what? The crowd has never seen anything like this. I survey the two other teams. Sin waggles his eyebrows at me and Slay narrows his eyes as he looks between us. He turns to his brother who has glared at me without blinking since we stepped in. Whispers spread between the six members of their group. We’ve lost the element of surprise about our alliance, but we don’t need it. We outnumber them, two-to-one. The bell will sound soon. We tense in readiness.
I hear a noise and stumble forward, catching myself mid-spring in confusion. The other fighters have done the same. The noise was different. A horn, not a bell. The foreign horn sounds again, echoing from above. People start screaming, the arena shaking under stampeding feet. There is a brief instant where all three teams share looks of bewilderment. What’s happening?
I only understand when I see horror on Shard’s face.
The Watchmen are here.
All eighteen fighters rush for the single door. It’s locked! They always lock us in. I pace inside the door. The door’s the only way out, unless we get up and over the barrier on the second level. I already see how this would end. Not everyone will be able to escape. At least one person would be trapped. Probably Avalanche, who would help to boost the others out.
Screams are coming from the bottom level! We race to the side and peer through the grates. Watchmen are flooding through the single doorway to the Cells.
“How’d they get down here so quick?” Flurry shouts, echoing my thoughts.
“Look at the way they’re dressed,” Shard says, rushing forward to the wall. I follow him and quickly see what he means. The Watchmen are disguised as Bruma from the Outer Rings. They must have infiltrated and lain in wait until we were in the pit.
“Quick. Come. I’ll toss you,” Avalanche says. He grabs my waist to do so. I shake my head and struggle out of his grip.
“I’m not leaving you all. And you can’t throw us all out. Blizzard, Ice and Flurry are too big,” I say.
“You must escape,” he says.
“Alzona got out!” Flurry shouts.
Ice gasps. “No!” We all race to his spot to look out the small openings. A Watchman is pinning a terrified Crystal to the ground, tying her hands behind her back.
Shard steps in front of me and grips my shoulders. “You need to let Avalanche throw you out. You can save Crystal and if you’re lucky, you can unlock the door and let us out. There are nearly twenty of us. We may be able to fight our way out.” I look into his intelligent blue eyes and know he’s right. I also know he doesn’t believe I’ll be able to save them.
I signal to Avalanche and he bends his knees and cups his hands as we have practiced over and over again in recent months. The actions are automatic now. I’m running to him when a voice speaks. The voice is brusque, short, and all too familiar.
“Stop or they die.”
We were so caught up in our plans for saving Crystal we hadn’t noticed the entrance of Watchmen into the pit. Two hold their swords to Vice and Butcher’s throats. I look behind me and see Rhone has Blizzard at sword point. Rhone observes me with a guarded expression. Why is he looking at me? My heart races. Is this just a raid, or have I been found?
“Lie face down, legs and arms wide,” he orders. Tricks and our own group obey after a shared look. We won’t escape at the expense of our friend’s life. Maybe there will be a chance to escape later on. If there
is
a later on. Slay delays the longest before snapping at his men to back down. If it were not his brother with a sword to his throat, I have no doubt Slay would’ve attempted to escape.
Like Crystal, our hands are tied behind our backs. I share an exasperated look with Sin in front of me as our feet are manacled. I’d hoped they’d forget about our legs. Any of the fighters here could kick themselves to freedom. How long had Rhone and the Watchmen been observing us? They were well prepared. Had they been down in the arena this whole time, blending in with the crowd in their dirty rags?
Two rows of Watchmen escort us on either side as we shuffle up the six levels, our chains clinking and jerking. Rhone doesn’t look at me again.
We depart the unassuming building at the surface exit. The surrounding buildings and lanes are empty for all appearances, but I’m not deceived. There will be a hundred eyes on us. Alzona’s included. Rhone must feel this, too. He directs several of his men to keep lookout as we are shoved into a convoy of covered wagons.
Inside, there are two tiny windows with three wooden bars across them. The bars could be kicked out, but the window is too small to climb through, even for me. I take a seat and watch who else is shoved into the same wagon. It looks like they’ve split the teams up. Shard is in the wagon with me, but the others are a mixture of the two teams. The wagons lurch forward after a yell from the driver.
I stand and peer through the window. The other wagons follow ours. A foul smell fills the confined space. I scrunch my nose and look over my shoulder. One of Slay’s men has wet trousers. No one says a word. I have no idea what’s happening.
“Where are they taking us?” I ask Shard, keeping my voice as low as possible to hide my ignorance from the others.
“They are taking us to our execution. We’re all going to die.” The man who has wet himself whimpers. I ignore him.
“They only take numbers like this for one reason.” Shard looks at me and my heart quickens at the hopelessness in his expression. “We’re going to the dome.” I should know what the dome is, but I don’t. Luckily the other men speak up.
“I’ve heard they put you in there with no weapons and let them slaughter you,” one says.
Vice speaks up. “I saw one once. Watchmen just keep pouring in until all the fighters are dead.”
“We’re going to die.” The terrified man whimpers again, rocking. “We’re going to die.”
I whisper to Shard while the others erupt into argument. “No one lives?” I ask.
He nods and grips my hand tightly. “I wish you weren’t in here,” he says. “The dome hasn’t run in six years. Last revolution the King had only just taken his mantle and didn’t do it. We all thought it was the end of it.”
I pat his hand. “It’s not your fault, Shard. How could any of us have expected such an ambush?”
I look out of the window again as we bump through the Middle Rings. Soon I see the telltale signs of grandeur, indicating we have entered the Inner Rings. People are running past the wagon, ahead of us.
“Are all of these people going to the dome?” I ask. Some of them are blatantly from the Outer Rings.
“People won’t miss a good show. They don’t like the dome, but they’ll still cheer along with the rest of them,” Shard says when I point this out. Traitors.
As we move past the Inner Rings, I see what must be the First Sector castle in the distance to my right. The exterior is similar to the second castle on Glacium. Just like the palaces on Osolis are identical.
I know we’re nearing our stop by the faint roaring of the crowd. The noise builds as we lurch closer. I crane my neck and get my first look at the dome. It’s a circular shape. And huge. Wide, where the underground arena was tall. There still must be space for a few levels within, but it’s hard to tell from the outside. Rough walls keep the interior from view.
One of the fighters begins to sob as the wagon grows dark and grinds to a halt. I don’t blame him. Cold tendrils of fear are spreading through my body. The door swings open and we’re ordered out. The other wagons unload behind us as we stand off to the side. I search for signs of injury and I’m relieved to see they’re okay.
Shard makes a horrified sound. I follow his gaze and echo the sound when I see Crystal huddling against Avalanche. Why have they brought her here? Crystal’s not a fighter! The rest of us can protect ourselves, but she has no hope. Why does Jovan do this to people?
We’re pushed down a torch-lit tunnel until the way is blocked by a gate. I’m pressed against its rough surface as the others are herded in behind me. The wood vibrates, shaking under my cheeks in time to the crowd’s stamping. The same people who have shouted encouragement are now screaming for my death.
My death. Am I really going to die here? I may be saved if the King recognizes me, if he’s even
here
. But if not, I’ll die nameless, or at least not with my true name. No one will ever know what became of me. My family and friends will never get the closure which I have so desperately sought after Kedrick’s death. My heart sinks anew as I realize all the other barrack members will die with me. Shard, Ice, Flurry, Avalanche and Blizzard. And Crystal, too. Even if Jovan is here, it’s too much to hope for him to let two thirds of the fighters go just because an Outer Rings woman asks him to. And that is how it will appear to everyone else.
“What are they waiting for?” someone asks from behind me.
“Waiting for the place to fill up,” a muffled response. Sure enough, the sound swells until it’s at least ten times that of the underground arena. There is a commotion behind us. I’m jammed hard against the solid door.
“Raise the gate!” a Watchman calls out.
The door is cranked upward and I am thrust forward.
I’m in the dome.
I blink away the light’s glare after the darkness of the tunnel.
The ground is stone. Some kind of gritty substance is sprinkled over it. I test it with my boots. It may be slippery. Any disadvantage we have, the Watchmen will also have.
Though the outside of the dome is circular, the inside is not. A gate sits in the middle of each wall of the rectangular pit. Four massive banners hang over each gate, black and red - the colors of Glacium.
Like the arena, the poorest of the crowd are at the top, but there are four levels inside. Not three like I initially guessed. People from the Outer Rings stand on the two highest floors. The wealthier Bruma are seated in the levels closest to us.
I turn a full circle looking for the King. I spot the sparkle of a throne on a jutting balcony down the far end. The assembly is there, too. I can see the sparkle of their jewels and finery. I can see Jovan’s outline, but not his face and, therefore, too far for him to see
my
face.
The dome floor where we stand is expansive and sparse. Simple and made for fighting. The only irregularities are two small-railed stages sticking out from the middle of the longest sides, a few meters off the ground.
“Spread out! One line!” a man orders. I stand beside Crystal’s shaking form and whisper softly to her. I don’t think she hears anything.
An older Watchman marches down the line. “Any sudden movement and you will be shot dead,” he shouts, pointing up behind us. I realize there’s a walkway on top of the highest level, under the dome roof.
A small group of archers stand there, bows drawn. As I look up, I see the red and black banners are not actually connected to the dome itself. Four large beams are suspended by rope from the dome and the banners hang from these.
Our manacles are removed, though our hands remain tied. A shout goes up. The Watchman looks over his shoulder where the King has moved, now standing at the balcony’s railing. He is holding up a finger. The man bows and turns back to face us.