32
I was burning. This was my impression as we reached the center of the circular field beneath the hottest sun I had ever felt on my skin.
The roar of the crowd gathered on the steps was more deafening than the noise of any battle I had ever fought, sending vibrations through the compacted sand beneath my feet. The Masters of Rubra watched the spectacle from their private boxes, carved into six towers at varying heights.
Additionally to the one that Amlach and I had passed through, five other entrances lined the circumference of the field.
At any moment, our adversaries would appear from one of them.
Suddenly, a stocky man in a long, wide-sleeved red and white toga leaned out from a balcony that jutted over the field. He wore a creepy plaster mask portraying a surprised expression, with his mouth wide open and adorned with vine leaves and grapes amid its curls.
He spread his arms to evoke a general silence.
Then, with his voice amplified by the mask, he spoke fervently like a seasoned actor on stage.
“And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for!
Survivors of a brutal battle in the Lands of the East. Fallen into the Thalion Sea.
Drifting for three days, at the mercy of storms and sharks, before Captain Escrain rescued them and brought them to our beautiful city . . .”
Amlach let out a half-laugh brimming with hatred, whereas I was about to roar to the spectators that those words were nothing but a vile lie. That we had been captured, not saved. That even a man who looked honorable, like Roxior, was only willing to take us home after securing his own gain.
I searched for him in the tower near the entrance that Amlach and I had crossed, finding him comfortably seated on the lower box, nibbling at his black grapes. I hoped he could sense all the resentment I felt toward him.
“People of Rubra,” the host shouted. “Meet the Princess of the Elves of Aegel and the commander of the army of men of the Lands of the East!”
The crowd erupted in ecstatic cheers.
Hundreds of fingers pointed at me. The words elf and ears echoed from one side of the arena to the other, prompting me to step even closer to Amlach, as if I were unconsciously trying to hide in his shadow.
“Who will dare to challenge the House of Master Roxior’s new gladiators?” the masked man continued.
Everyone turned to the entrance behind us as the gate swung open. The fact that I couldn’t hear its squeak, despite the shouts around me, made me shudder.
Two slaves ran into the field, halted a short distance from the entrance, tossed two round wooden shields onto the sand, and turned back, vanishing into the tunnel as if a demon were on their heels.
Amlach and I eyed each other cautiously.
“Masters of Rubra! Citizens!” the host yelled as the gate under his balcony started to rise. “Welcome the gladiators of the Ramil tribe!”
Three red chariots adorned with silver decorations, drawn by sleek sorrel horses, entered the arena one after another.
The charioteers and three other men wore long beige headbands that served as both turbans and veils to cover their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed.
Brown leather armor pressed against the heavy layers of clothing on their chests, where I could see various straps for daggers.
But what made me pale were the weapons that the passengers of each chariot brandished.
“Oh, shit,” Amlach cursed between his teeth.
“Run!” I screamed.
We sprinted toward the shields, the rattle of hooves and the sound of wheels thundering behind us. Closer and closer.
I tried to maintain the same pace as Amlach’s so that the chain connecting us wouldn’t hinder us, but his legs were longer than mine.
Several times, I noticed him glaring at our handcuffs.
It was clear that I was slowing him down.
If he hadn’t been tethered to me, he would have reached the shields by now.
I cursed my human weakness and commanded myself to run even faster, despite the pain in my calves and the awful twinges just below the left rib cage.
The darts began to whistle just a breath away from my ears, forcing me to bend over or tilt my head to avoid being hit.
Finally a few steps away from the shields, Amlach and I fell in skidding motion to catch them, protecting ourselves from the arrows flying at us. The points pierced the low-quality wood, threatening to injure the arm holding the shield.
The chariots suddenly turned to avoid crashing into the arena’s walls and the gate behind us, kicking up a cloud of sand that made me shut my eyes.
When I reopened them, I set my determined gaze on Amlach. “I need one of those crossbows.”
“Got it,” he nodded.
While our opponents were frolicking around the field to gain public acclaim, emitting howl-like cries, we regained the center and assessed the individual chariots to determine which to attack.
“The one with the horse with the high sock on the right front leg,” I said, letting go of my useless sword to grab the shield with my free hand.
“All right,” Amlach replied, swapping his sword in his left hand and the shield in his right.
In the next moment, we rushed to our chosen chariot.
The darts began to slice through the hot air once more, forcing us to slow our race either to shield ourselves or to sharply veer off to avoid being overwhelmed by the chariots that, instead of turning, crossed the field in dangerous diagonals, aiming to make us lose our way.
“There!” Amlach shouted when he finally spotted the horse we were interested in again.
I parried an arrow at the last second, preventing it from stabbing me in the eye. “Come!”
We took off in pursuit. Once he realized we had targeted his chariot, the charioteer tried to break away from his companions, steering the horses toward the back of the battlefield.
But it was too late.
With the shield held up before my face to deflect the dart the enemy shot at me from point-blank range, I leaped onto the chariot with Amlach, who made sure to block the arrows coming from the other chariots with his own shield.
The desert-dweller dropped his crossbow—now useless at such close range—onto the base of the chariot and began to draw one of the daggers from the sheaths on his chest. I hit him with all my weight, and using the shield and kicking him behind the ankle, I bounced him off the chariot.
In the meantime, Amlach drove his sword into the back of the charioteer and threw him down, placing his weapon and shield beside the quiver full of arrows to take the reins of the two sorrel horses.
I set the shield down near his and brandished the crossbow. “I’m ready!”
Amlach turned the chariot, and I pulled the trigger before the human on one of the other two chariots approaching us could shoot his dart.
But he was not my target.
It was his charioteer. I hit him on the shoulder, forcing him to control the horses with one hand.
“Has your aim always sucked so bad?” Amlach mocked me, bending to one side to dodge the arrow coming from the other chariot.
“I don’t want to kill them,” I said, crouching down behind him to reload the crossbow.
“It’s them or us, Elf. Remember this, before they kill us.”
As soon as the three chariots crossed in the center of the arena, I pulled myself up and fired a dart at the other charioteer, piercing him in the biceps.
I crouched down again to grab another arrow, confident that our opponents would continue to gallop to the end of the field and then reverse course to join us at the center, just as we had done.
Instead, the two chariots quickly changed direction and began to chase us.
“ Damn it,” I cursed in my language.
I barely had time to drop the crossbow, grab the shield, and protect myself.
A point pierced through the wood and scratched my temple.
I straightened up to intercept the second arrow aimed at Amlach and took advantage of the little break that followed to brandish the crossbow again and strike the first charioteer on the other shoulder.
The man plummeted to the bottom of the chariot. Left alone, his companion had to pull the reins to stop the horses.
I didn’t even get the chance to tell Amlach what I had just done, because I had to raise the shield in front of his face to block the dart from the last remaining enemy crossbow. Piercing the wood, the point cut into my forearm, making me groan.
Now, we both had to reload.
I released the shield to grab an arrow from the quiver and slot it into the flight groove of the crossbow. However, my opponent was far more experienced with this type of weapon than I was, and when I glanced at him, I found he had already taken aim.
Yet, an instant before he pulled the trigger, I realized that this fatal blow was not meant for me.
“ Amlach!” I screamed, turning toward him to hug him from behind.
To protect him with my own body.
The arrow drove into my flesh. And Amlach’s roar erupted in the Rubra arena, sounding like the most powerful and fateful sound I had ever heard.