32. Aemon
32
T he announcer glides past me, a grin on his face like this is all great fun. I’d deliver a quick jab to his throat if I didn’t think it would end up with me chained out there with those other poor bastards. At least I’m being given a fighting chance, though I doubt it’s much of one. I briefly considered shifting into one of these guards, and trying to escape, but I’ve had three of them on my ass since the moment I was taken from the mines. Not to mention, I have no idea what they did with Katya, and I refuse to leave without her.
If I die, so be it.
The gates open, and I swear I just about piss my pants as I watch five giant lizard-looking creatures step onto the arena floor. The creatures pause, eyes scanning the feast chained up before them. One, that I’m guessing is the leader, hisses at the others. They hiss back at him, then each other, but don’t move as the leader slowly advances toward the wall to my left, where a female and two males futilely twist and tug against their restraints. Then the creature lunges, the movement so fast, it’s little more than a green blur. The next thing I know, the fae male in the center is missing the lower half of his body, his entrails a steaming pile in the sand below. He didn’t even have time to scream, but the others do. I take deep breaths, trying to stem the sudden rush of nausea, and watch as the herd of lizards descend on the helpless prisoners.
The sound of hissing and the pounding of fat lizard feet combines with the snap of bones and horrified screams in a cacophony of death. Fists squeezing the metal bars so hard my knuckles turn white, I watch as legs are torn from bodies, their blood spraying from the severed limbs like geysers. Some prisoners are ripped from their shackles entirely, leaving what’s left of their arms hanging against the wall. The white walls are now red with blood, and the first thing my messed-up mind thinks is how are they going to get it clean?
The carnage seems to go on forever, but in actuality, it probably wasn’t more than a few minutes. The arena goes quiet as fae in red robes race into the ring to round the lizards back into their pen, using the scattered body parts as bait. One male goes so far as to the toss a disembodied head into a tunnel—the way someone might throw a ball for a puppy—and sure enough a nearby creature shoots in after it.
That’s just so wrong.
And the crowd loves it. Sick fucking bastards.
I’ve seen my fair share of blood sports—some pretty nasty shit too, but it’s the scale of this that blows my mind. When the boat first pulled up outside of the arena, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. It’s not like anything I’d ever encountered on the surface—this giant cluster of stone dangling over the water. What I couldn’t see from below was how the stone was hollowed out to create an arena floor, with stands rising something like four stories in the air around it. The fighters must look like a couple of ants running around from the upper tiers, yet every damned seat is filled.
And I’m next on the docket for tonight’s entertainment.
I grab the rusty sword they gave me from where I’d leaned it up against the wall and sweep it up onto my shoulder. My naked shoulder. Because it wasn’t enough they gave me a sword so dull it couldn’t cut butter, they had to throw me to the wolves in nothing but a loincloth.
The gate rises and my adrenaline kicks in, chasing away the nerves and suffusing my body with energy. Some soldiers get addicted to it, the battle high. Those are the ones who run into the fray without even a hint of fear, until they get a sword to the gullet. You see, fear is a good thing. It keeps our reflexes sharp, our minds sharper. Fear reminds us to check our backs and guard our front. Fear keeps us alive.
As long as it doesn’t cause you to freeze up like a rabbit before a wolf.
Then, you’re fucked.
As soon as I step out onto the sandy arena floor, the crowd’s screams seem to double in volume. I stake my spot, as close to the center of the arena as I can get, while avoiding the dark puddles of blood and viscera everywhere. You’d think someone would, at the very least, throw a little sand over it between fights, but nope. They’d rather you slip in it. The more gruesome, the better, right ?
I turn in place, watching the tunnels for whichever gate rises. Hopefully, only one will go up. That would probably mean one bigger, meaner competitor, but at least you’re not going to get caught off guard that way.
The gong sounds, and the crowd goes silent. All except for one voice.
“Aemon.”
The sound of my name has me looking up into the stands. There, in box seats I assume are for the noble families, is Katya standing up, hand gripping her chest. What is she doing here?
A fae male I hadn’t noticed before grabs her by the arm and slaps her hard across the face.
My stomach dips, and I flex my hand around the hilt of my sword. Looks like I’ve got another name to add to my kill list.
I don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought because the screech of a gate opening calls for my attention. Glancing around, I don’t see any other gates rising, but that doesn’t mean they won’t go up later. For now, I keep my attention focused on the open tunnel, my sword raised and ready. At first, there’s only the slightest hint of movement in the darkness, then a soft growl reverberates off the tunnel walls, followed by a clacking sound, clack, clack, clack, like two sticks smacking together. My pulse speeds up at that sound. I’ve never heard anything like it before.
A paw the size of a small child crosses into the light, its massive claws scratching long trenches in the sand. Next, a golden snout with dagger-like teeth bared, black-lined eyes and the rounded ears of a lion emerges, but where the mane should be, coal black snakes writhe and hiss and snap at the air. Their scales take on a golden hue as they extend down the creature’s back, where its decimated wings drag in the dirt. I’m struck with a pang of pity for the poor creature then. It’s as much a prisoner as I am. No doubt they’ve been starving it, so it’ll be that much more aggressive when it sees me, it’s dinner. When the rest of the beast comes into the light, though, that pity quickly turns to horror.
It doesn’t have the tail of a lion, as I expected, but of a scorpion, its stinger large enough to pierce straight through my chest and come out the other side. I was wrong before. This isn’t a fight. This is a death sentence. I glance up to where Katya is watching from the stands, the terror on her face evident even from here.
Close your eyes, witchling. This isn’t going to be pretty.
Turning my attention back to the beast, I lift my sword, plant my feet and wait for it to make its move. It steps forward slowly, carefully, eyes scanning its surroundings, as if it, too, is trying to assess the situation. Because that’s what I need, an opponent that’s both deadly and intelligent. The hard shell of its tail cracks against the tunnel walls as the creature whips it from side to side, causing bits of dust to rain down onto its back.
I guess I know what the noise was now.
The crowd’s whispers and gasps grow increasingly louder as the beast emerges from the tunnel. The fear in the air is palpable, or maybe that’s just me. My chest is tight, mouth cotton-dry and my heart is beating a staccato chant of run, run, run . But I have nowhere to go, no choice but to fight.
The creature prowls a circuit around me, its tail flicking back and forth like a pissed off cat. I’m not sure if it decided the people in the crowd weren’t a threat, or if it’s just so damn hungry it doesn’t care, but its eyes are fixed on me. I need to disable that tail. That’s got to be my number one goal. Its claws and teeth will mess me up, for sure, but that stinger so much as touches me, and I’m done for. It’s angling its body toward me, like it’s trying to fool me into thinking it’s not about to pounce—clever bastard.
It leaps, and gods help me, it closes half the distance between us in one bound. Anticipating another leap, I dive to the side. The floor, which appears to be stone beneath the layer of sand, tears the skin from my chest as I slide across it. I barely feel the stinging pain as the thump of the creature landing behind me spurs me back to my feet. I spin around to face it, sword at the ready. It’s closer than I’d anticipated, so close I catch the scent of death, maybe a festering wound, wafting off its body. Either it’s been rolling around in dead things, or it’s badly hurt somewhere I can’t see.
It darts forward, and I leap and roll away at the last second before that stinger comes down right where I’d been standing. The creature whips its head back around to look at me, its teeth bared. It snarls, the sound a deep rumble I can feel vibrating in my feet.
Fuck. I am so dead.
It comes at me again, and once again, I roll out of the way just in time. The crowd roars, but whether it’s for me or the beast, I have no idea. It slowly turns to face me, teeth snapping at the air. Another lunge, and I dodge, then again and again. Damn thing’s barely trying, and I’m already winded. It crouches low, its muscles bunched, back-end wiggling as it readies itself to pounce. With each flick of its tail, fat drops of venom fling off its stinger to wet the sand. It’s facing me because that’s its strongest position. I need to get to the side of it, out of its line of sight. I quickly scan my surroundings. There are a couple of barrels set out for the wranglers to hide behind when they’re herding the animals back into the tunnels. They won’t protect me from the beast if it decides to bust through, but if I can block its view for even a second…
I look left, but spring right, hoping to fool the creature into moving the wrong way. It doesn’t work. Hot, searing pain tears down my back. I stumble, but quickly find my footing again and sprint for the nearest barrel.
My entire back is on fire. It hurts so fucking bad, tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision. I keep racing for the big brown blob and pray it got me with its claws and not the stinger. I dive behind the barrel, then shuffle back to my feet and glance over the top. Our eyes meet. The creature huffs like a bull and rakes its claws across the sand. One of its paws is bloody, and I thank the god of lucky bastards, that’s what got me. My back must look like a freshly tenderized slab of beef, but it’s better than poison. I duck back behind the barrel and breathe. On the count of three, I’ll shove the barrel at him and— On your left , a voice screams in my head. I don’t question it. I lunge right and race around the barrels. The creature’s gone the other way around, leaving its tail visible on this side. No time to think. I leap and, with every ounce of my strength, bring the sword down between two of the lower segments. The hard shell cracks, sending vibrations traveling up the sword and into my hands. It stings like a bitch, but I refuse to let go. The blade sinks into soft flesh, severing the creature’s tail from its body, but leaving the lower half of the shell attached.
The beast lets out an ear-splitting wail and shoots across the arena, its ruined tail dragging along behind it. It swings around at the last second, crashing sideways into the wall and sending a plume of dust into the air. There it rests, chest heaving, while the dismembered stinger continues to wiggle as though possessed. I shake the pain from my hands, then lean on the barrel, giving myself a moment to catch my breath.
Angry shouts and boos fill the arena. Nice to know exactly where the crowd stands. Assholes.
I ignore them and focus my attention on the beast, who is sniffing at what’s left of its tail. The dismembered piece has stopped wiggling—thank the gods. There’s a small pool of blood around the severed nub and a little over here where I sliced it, but not nearly as much as I would have hoped. It stops sniffing, and gazes back at me, the promise of death in its eyes. I watch in horror as it twists around, takes the broken end of its tail between its teeth and rears back, tearing the last bit of shell free. It hurls the severed limb aside, then slowly turns back to me. Its eyes are narrow slits, lip curled into a silent snarl. Great. Now I’ve just pissed it off. I push off the barrel and lift my sword, waiting to see what it will do. The creature crouches and scrapes its front paw back, scoring the ground with its claws and flinging sand. Its muscles bunch and twitch and the remainder of its tail flicks from side to side, as though nothing at all happened to it.
I’m watching that tail move, just waiting for a new one to spring from the end, because that would be my fucking luck. I take a few steps away from the barrel to give myself swinging room, though I fully intend to jump back behind it if need be. The creature stalks from side to side, eyes never wavering even as its body shifts directions. I don’t know what that means. Is it trying to confuse me, trick me into thinking it's going one way so it can come at me from the other?
I see it, though, the moment when the beast decides to strike. Its front half lowers as it prepares to pounce, and I’m ready for it. It practically flies through the air, going as far, if not farther, than the first time it came after me. It kicks up a cloud of sand as it lands, and without missing a beat, continues its path of terror straight for me.
And I wait. Sword up, feet planted, heart in my fucking throat. At least if I die here, I die fighting. I can live with that.
It’s practically flying at me, closing the distance between us so fast, it’s a big, brown blur. I stand perfectly still. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but it’ll have to be quick and at the last minute so that clever bastard doesn’t catch on. My heart’s pounding, blood rushing, the sound so loud it drowns out the screams of the crowd.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
It lunges. I hop backward and thrust my sword into the space my body just vacated, hoping the creature will impale itself. For a split second, I think I’ve got it, then the beast extends one paw and sweeps the sword right out of my hands. The damn thing goes flying, and I’m running for my life. I race around the barrel and shove it at the creature, but it jumps out of the way, easily. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m hauling ass for my sword, but there’s no way I can outrun this thing. It’s so close, I can feel its breath heat the back of my neck. I dodge to the side, hoping it will be hindered by its own momentum and it works—sort of. The beast does, indeed, slide across the sandy floor as it tries to stop and switch directions, but my plan falls apart when my foot lands in a puddle of gore and slips out from under me.
I fall hard, my already ravaged back screaming as the sand tears into my wounds like a thousand tiny shards of glass. I have to get up, have to move. I roll onto my knees, barely stifling the urge to scream as my entire back lights up, the pain morphing from stinging to stabbing with every twist of my spine or shift or my shoulder blades. The creature is bearing down on me. No time to run. I grab a handful of sand and hurl it in its face. Shrieking, it comes to a sliding halt, just short of where I’m crab crawling away. It collapses to the ground and frantically paws at its eyes.
The snakes on its head go mad.
They writhe and swing around, blindly lunging and snapping at each other. A few even attempt to sink their fangs into the creature’s skull. It howls and rakes its claws across its own head, shredding a swath of the snakes into bloody bits.
The arena is spinning, and I stumble to the side, eyes scanning the floor for my sword. I catch a glint of silver and stagger toward it. Every step sends tendrils of fire streaking through my body. I breathe through the pain, shoving it aside, detaching myself from it the way I was taught. I reach the sword just as a low rumble sounds from the creature’s throat. Its scalp is mangled, its face a bloody mask. One eye has been torn free of its socket and dangles from its skull like a grape on a string. Still, it draws back, ready to strike. I adjust my grip around the hilt, my arms trembling against the urge to raise my sword. Instead, I leave the tip resting in the sand. The noise, the crowd, the arena all fade into the background as the moment stretches on. This is my last chance. If I fail, I’m dead. The beast lunges, its massive paws raised into the air. Dropping to my knees, I lift my sword at the last moment.
The blade hits home, skewering the creature through the chest, its own weight doing more damage than my arms alone probably could have managed. The hilt is torn free from my grasp as the beast crashes to the ground beside me in a cloud of dust.
By the grace of the gods, I manage to push back to my feet. I limp over to the creature. It’s lying in a pool of its own blood, the hilt of my sword jutting from its chest. A few snakes remain, wriggling and hissing, but most have either been ripped off completely or shredded apart, their little corpses dangling limply from the poor beast’s skull.
It’s as good as dead, but still, the thought of killing it now, while it’s virtually defenseless, turns my stomach.
Then again, sometimes death is a mercy.
My foot against its shoulder, I grasp the hilt of the sword and jerk it free from the creature’s chest. It lets out a roar of pain, then quickly slumps back to the ground, its breaths coming in short bursts.
Its remaining eye blinks up at me. There’s a sadness and intelligence there that makes my heart ache.
“Be quick,” it’s saying.
I raise my sword high, praying momentum will do the job this shitty blade can’t accomplish on its own.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, the words barely a grumbled whisper.
Something tells me, it already knows.
I bring the blade down with all my remaining strength, and it cuts clean through, parting the creature’s head from its neck, killing it instantly.
The crowd erupts into applause, then I fall to my knees, and everything goes black.