Chapter 13 Steve
Steve
The crowd pulses as we make our way toward the colosseum.
A new attendant at each turn signalling for our attention, guiding us to our designated seats.
As we pass under the ornate archways, walking down a small passageway, my stomach drops as it opens up to a decorated viewing box.
Impish scream and cheer from the stands, an oval arena with one goal in mind.
Destruction.
Opposite us is the Emperor's viewing box.
It's draped in deep red and gold fabric, set up as though he will be in attendance for the games.
My chest tightens, nostrils flaring in disquiet, he only watches over the most brutal of battles.
What will he do to Bellator? Given our presence here today and that we have yet to see my brother, I would imagine he has somehow ended up on the fighting roster.
No wonder the Militia Office was so busy.
There would be a number of guards and soldiers looking to make a few extra coins if they were to fight and win.
I settle into my seat, keeping Rosie on my lap to try calm my nerves. She looks radiant in her dress, and the way she spoke with the receptionist, gathering information. She was stunning.
I'm not sure if this is a few days long event or if the beherit is expected to fight today. I hope that whenever it’s planned, Bellator is nowhere in sight.
There are not many creatures that have the same strength as an orc, but a beherit can rip your head clean off if it catches you.
If it has been arranged to fight, it will no doubt have accepted the offer because it saw no real threat in its opponent.
Horns ring out over the arena, the loud baritone ricochets off the stone arches.
At the far end of the oval, a heavy door slides across, screeching on worn rollers, a series of guards riding horses, dressed in metal armour emerge.
Even the horses glisten in the light. Ten.
Ten mounted guards. They look to have decent control, experienced in how they hold their swords. This is meant to be a spectacle.
I clutch onto Rosie's thigh, my hand covering it entirely as I pull her in closer to me.
She hasn't said a word since we crossed the threshold to the colosseum. This is her first taste interacting with the masses of Imperia. I expect she is overwhelmed. For the most part, we have been observed from afar, left to our own exploration of the city, but the noise ringing out is enough to set the most confident of warriors on edge. The crowd is thirsty for entertainment. Desperate for relief from the dry world they now find themselves in. No one has said what has happened to the water. Why the city is a shell of its former self. It’s merely another question in a long list I have about what's transpired here.
An intense drum beat picks up, the screaming crowd crescendos before, in less than a second, immediate silence.
The horses stop, forming a line across the centre of the ring, dust blowing high as the wind swirls around them.
The large wooden gates swing open, the crowd holding their breath as from the shadows, a soldier steps into the light.
A fighter so fierce, even the Devil would look twice.
A warrior for the impish.
A gladiator.
Rosie scrambles from my lap, holding her hand to her lips as she looks upon my brother for the first time.
We are shaded in our viewing box, but it's obvious when Bellator scans the crowd, searching for something he can't quite find. He can sense us, but we’re hidden from his view.
Taking a few steps forward, he drops to one knee, taking a fistful of dirt and rubbing it between his palms. His ritual before a fight.
Despite not seeing him for so long, he looks the same as he always does, maybe with a few more scars, but it is a relief to see he is not harmed.
The horns blast, a short, sharp sound as a single horse rears back on its hind legs, the guard calling out something indistinguishable before pointing his sword straight at Bellator, riding as fast as the horse will carry him.
Bellator does not move, he stands barely braced for the impending attack.
Dust flies, the crowd screams, and Rosie's nails dig into my forearm as she watches.
You would think it was too late and that he was about to be trampled, but that was the whole point.
He moves at the last second, taking two gladius swords from behind his back, leaping in the air, and beheading the rider.
It has been years since I've seen Bellator fight, but his efficiency is just how I remember it.
Blood flies, and screams ring out as one by one the guards are struck down, sent into the next world with honour.
Limbs lay scattered. The dry dirt of the arena now wet with the black blood of fallen imps.
All the while, the crowd screams for more to satiate their hunger.
We stand motionless in the viewing box, watching as Bellator searches the crowd once again.
The sun shines down as he scoops to collect a head from the ground.
Walking around the area gathering each dismembered guard, slowly getting closer to us.
Rosie's nails dig in harder, half crescent moons left on my skin when she suddenly pulls her hand away.
Kicking the dirt beneath where we stand, he doesn't look up as he places each head on the ground, their lifeless eyes facing us in an eternal stare before taking a knee and collecting a second handful of dirt.
Rubbing it between his palms, centring himself after battle.
Preparing for the new journey, he stands before.
His head bows, chest moving as he takes in a deep breath, when he suddenly sprints out of view beneath us, and in seconds, his large fingers grip the balcony.
With ease, he’s climbed the arena wall. An act so bold the crowd gasps and whispers. He has broken the rule of submission and reminded the crowd that he is much more than they believed him to be. He is a thorn in the Emperor's side and not an ant under his thumb.
“Brother.” A simple greeting as he clasps my shoulder.
I'm conscious of Rosie. Bellator is intimidating at the best of times, but as he moves to lean against the stone balustrade he just climbed, covered in blood, sweat and dirt, he looks like a nightmare come to life.
I see the familiar two black lines on his forearms; he knows what's happened in the last few days.
He gazes at Rosie, a softness I've not seen before spreads across his face as he takes his finger, lifting her chin, encouraging her to look at him.
My hands move to her waist, lifting her so her small body is sitting cradled in my arms, her body warming my chest. “Bonded,” he cups her face, his thumb tenderly stroking her cheek as an almost silent whimper escapes her.
I no longer hear outside noise; only the three of us seem to exist in this space.
The hum in my chest purrs as she places a hand over my heart, her smile hungry as her eyes roam over Bellator, placing her other hand on his chest. We are connected.
Together. A part of me I didn't know was missing, clicking into place.
An invisible string tethering us all together.
There is just one more thing for us to do.
An orc bonding is ninety percent feeling and ten percent action.
Our bond marks prove we are fated; we simply have to perform the ritual to cement it in place.
Bellator’s face flickers, his brow dipped, and he drops his hand from Rosie, looking around, trying to find something as he grabs at the metal ring around his neck.
“Keep her safe, Steve.” He gasps, trying to take a step away, but stumbling when he hits the balustrade.
His jaw clenches, his fingers frozen in some sort of contorted claw as his body falls back.
Rosie lets out a scream, her arm flying out to try to catch him. A flicker of light steals my attention.
On the other side of the arena, the Emperor stands at the back of his viewing box, a wicked grin spread across his face as he stares at us.
The ground moves as Bellator's body hits the dirt below.
The thud heard by everyone in the crowd.
A silence so deafening you could get lost in the insanity of it, until one imp shouts, then two, which turns to three.
The crowd spits hate and frustration at their beloved gladiator's treatment.
The Emperor's eyes turning to a squint as he takes in the noise, his grimace only getting deeper as the crowd throws words against him.
I hold Rosie tightly in my arms, her sobs feeding my anguish.
He arranged for us to be here, and we followed along like lambs to the slaughter.
Yes, we saw Bellator, but to be reunited only to tear us apart for his amusement.
That he thinks the impish of Imperia will support him in his bloodlust. It proves how far he has fallen, because the imps of this city respect my brother more than they ever did the Emperor.
It is a lesson he never understood, which has only deteriorated over time.
He is hungry for domination, but whatever he is planning will fail if he thinks he needs to publicly end my brother to win.
He should never have facilitated our meeting today, because now that Bellator has seen Rosie, nothing will stop him. Nothing.