21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Katell’s chains scraped the stone floor, drowning out every other sound. She remained clueless about what might lie ahead, yet with the smooth gold manacles suppressing her magic, she had no choice but to follow.
The underground corridor was a labyrinth of stone arches and cells, circling the central arena that the head guard, Castur, had called the Pit. They stopped in front of double wooden doors where dozens of slaves were lined up, all shackled and surrounded by red-clothed guards and Non-Humans.
A deep rumbling noise filtered through the doors, and Katell clenched the chains between her wrists, fighting to keep her composure.
A few female slaves were waiting among the crowd. Some seemed built for battle, brows furrowed and lips set in firm lines, while others cowered in fear.
In front of Katell stood a young boy who looked like he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. His skin was a deep terracotta brown, and his short, curly hair was even darker. A fiery orange snake Mark coiled around his shoulder blade.
Was it the Mark of a Rasennan god?
If so, what kind of god would allow a child to be enslaved and brought to such a place?
Castur barked an order, and the heavy doors creaked open, revealing an armoury. The slaves filed inside, with Katell stepping in last. Weapons of all shapes and sizes lined the walls while helmets and other pieces of armour filled weaved baskets. Through a second set of doors, the deafening roar of a crowd emerged.
Castur shouted in Rhaetic, and several slaves began to quiver, their eyes riveted on the doors, beads of sweat rolling down their faces. Others with imposing frames and sculpted muscles assessed the group with hard stares and savage grins.
Sinope’s words rang through her mind. The best fighters survive, and the others die.
Katell’s mouth ran dry. What exactly was this trial?
A guard tugged at her hands, unlocking the golden manacles, followed by the chains around her ankles. Magic flooded her chest, spreading through her limbs like wildfire and warming her from the inside out. She sucked in a sharp breath, her arms trembling with raw power.
“Don’t try to fight the guards or run away,” Castur yelled, switching to Koine. “The Non-Humans will kill you at once. While in the Pit, if you do not fight, you will die. Tonight is the First Trial. Choose your weapons carefully. Master Aurelius expects you to put on a great show for our guests.”
A thin woman with short, dark blonde locks turned pale and collapsed to her knees. The guards barked at her, while across the room, a man built like a giant and covered in dark hair laughed.
“First, the women.” Castur signalled the guards.
Katell was shoved towards the table loaded with breastplates. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of sweat and blood that emanated from the heap. Most of the armour appeared in poor condition.
The other women wasted no time gathering what they needed. From leg greaves to shoulder plates, swords and daggers, they selected with speed and efficiency.
Remembering Sinope’s advice, Katell ignored the bronze armour and lifted a few steel cuirasses instead, searching for the best fit. She settled on a lightweight one padded with leather and boasting a Gorgon’s head on the front. Preferring to remain quick on her feet, she decided against greaves and grabbed a pair of thick arm guards lined with leather instead. Next, she moved to the weapons and stashed a dagger in her right boot before testing a couple of short swords. She found one with a simple bronze and leather pommel, similar to Damocles’, and slipped it through her belt. Finally, she grabbed a spear almost a head taller than her.
“Time’s up!” Castur bellowed. “Now, the men.”
Katell propped her spear against the wall and went to work fastening the cuirass around her torso. It protected her from shoulder to hip without hindering her movements.
The two dozen men tore through the armoury like a pack of famished dogs. They raided the weapons in less than half the time the women had, some testing the swords and axes in their hands whilst others piled up as much as they could carry.
At least a half dozen men sported shimmering Marks on their chest, arms or legs, many resembling birds and a deep red colour. Judging by their dark hair and olive skin, they were Rasennan warriors.
A couple of tall, pale-skinned men with light blond or flaming red hair were also among the Gifted, although their Marks were different in style and colour from the others. Their braided hair and bright breeches stood out among the bland, sandy-coloured tunics most Rasennan men wore.
In the corner, next to a vase-shaped basket filled with swords, the scrawny boy picked up a dagger and a short sword. His Mark gleamed in the armoury’s soft light. Katell hoped his magic was strong enough to keep him safe.
“It’s time.” Castur stepped aside, and two Non-Humans unlocked the wooden gate at his back. They hauled it open, and the crowd’s cheers intensified. Sunlight poured into the armoury, stinging Katell’s eyes.
“Go forth, warriors of Bruna,” Castur shouted over the tumultuous roars. “Fight with honour and courage, and the audience will reward you. May Laran be at your side, and if he abandons you, then may your sacrifice appease him.”
Clenching her jaw, Katell grabbed her spear and marched with the rest of the slaves. With more than a dozen guards at their back, they had no choice but to go through the gates, which opened into a sprawling stadium. Packed tightly above on wooden stands, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.
The arena, encircled by painted wooden walls, was larger than anything Katell had imagined. Above her, line after line of men and women sat, chatting and laughing while gazing upon the armed slaves. She’d never seen so many people gathered in one place before. Even the yearly Freefolk festivities had never attracted such a crowd.
After her initial shock, she focused again and searched for the best defence spot. There was none, except keeping her back to the wall. The slaves spread out around the oval arena. The Rasennan warriors kept an eye on their targets, while weaker slaves remained frozen in fear or struggled to hold their heavy weapons.
A thin layer of sand covered the ground, stained with dark blood. Despite the late hour, sunlight skimmed the top of the arena, illuminating half of it in an orange and gold glow. Bronze-clad fighters shone against the wooden backdrop while Katell remained in the shadows. A soft breeze curled around her limbs and face, cooling her sweaty skin beneath the heavy steel armour.
Fervent anticipation swept through the crowd, and Katell’s heart hammered against her chest. The rush of blood drumming in her ears drowned out all other sounds, and a shaky breath escaped her.
Keeping an eye on her opponents, she squared her shoulders and braced herself for a fight. She had no other choice. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to beat the others and last until the end.
A loud voice erupted from the stands. An announcer, wrapped in white and orange folds and standing beneath a wooden canopy, addressed the crowd in Rhaetic. Behind him sat the same nobles Katell had spotted at the marketplace, with slaves and guards at their side.
Another booming voice echoed in the stands behind her, this time in Koine. “Citizens of Bruna, I see you are all impatient to discover what treats the arena has brought you today. Our slavers have travelled far and wide to bring you the most exotic and thrilling fighters you will ever see. Today, they stand before you, ready to fight to the death. Who will support them?”
The crowd cried out wildly in response.
“But first, they need opponents! Let the current champions enter!”
The cheers were drowned by the stamping of feet on wooden stands. Katell jumped away at the deafening sound, fearful the whole structure might collapse. Despite the crowd’s frenzy, it held. Across the arena, another gate lifted with a sharp groan, and she spun around.
A dozen more men poured in, dressed in fine armour and carrying high-quality weapons. They advanced, proud and tall, their muscles sculpted from hours of training and fighting.
“Go to the crows, you bastard Samnites!” one of the slaves shouted, spitting on the ground.
A few others chimed in, but the announcer didn’t pay any attention to them.
“Let the First Trial begin!”
The stands exploded into cheers, and the seasoned fighters attacked at once.
The weaker slaves were caught off guard; swords sliced through their guts, and axes split open their skulls. Katell brandished her spear and stilled, cursing under her breath.
She should have taken a shield.
Both the Samnites and slaves held wooden or bronze shields to protect their bodies. They used them to deflect attacks and push their opponents off-balance. It was the Achaean fighting style Damocles had tried to teach her long ago—she had found it tiring and clumsy.
Something whooshed in the air, and on instinct, she dived to the ground. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed spear, aimed at her chest, had embedded itself in the wooden panel behind her with a deafening crack.
The near-fatal encounter left her frozen in place, her body tense, until a shadow fell upon her. A steel sword, longer and broader than the Achaean one, glinted above her, ready to strike. She rolled out of the way, pushing back to her feet.
The Samnite holding the sword approached, his broad chest covered with iron scales and his bare arms already smeared with blood. His face, shielded by a crested helmet, exposed a predatory gaze paired with a sinister grin.
He rushed her, and she held him off with the spear, defending herself as best she could. The shaft was slick between her sweaty hands, and she struggled to wield it. A heart-wrenching scream from a nearby slave split her ears and caught her attention.
Exploiting the distraction, the Samnite struck the cuirass’ weak point. His sharp blade nicked her ribs, and Katell hissed, acute pain spreading along her side. Dropping her spear, she scrambled backwards in a futile retreat, warm blood seeping through her tunic and trickling down her side.
With trembling hands, she raised her sword to block the Samnite’s onslaught. He lunged at her, striking again and again until her back hit the wooden wall.
He held her at sword point. His grin broadened, baring his teeth. “We were told the new batch knew how to fight.”
He spoke Koine, and Katell narrowed her eyes, refusing to let him see her fear. “This isn’t a fight, it’s a massacre.”
The sandy pit was already drenched in blood. Men and women hacked and slashed while cheers from the stands drowned out their screams.
The Samnite shrugged. “Anything to please the crowd.”
To please the crowd?
A jolt of revulsion shot through her. He wasn’t fighting her out of respect or for honour. He’d attacked her for his masters’ entertainment. To please the Rasennans, who’d flocked to watch them fight like animals in the arena and die.
Trained fighters who come to the Pit of their own free will.
Heat flared through her chest, bubbling beneath her skin. She wasn’t fodder to be slaughtered for someone else’s amusement.
Her blood roused, thundering in her ears.
What was she doing cowering before one Samnite when she’d defeated a dozen stragglers during an ambush? She had a Gift from the gods, and it was time to use it.
The Samnite thrust his sword, aiming for her throat. She dodged the blade and knocked his wrist, sending the blade flying out of his hand. His eyes bulged, and he jerked back, but she followed, punching him hard in the jaw. He was sent reeling backwards, his helmet soaring through the air, and his head struck the ground with a satisfying thud.
Chest heaving, Katell scanned her surroundings and searched for more opponents. The Marked boy crouched behind his shield, a broken spear in one hand. Two Samnites were closing in.
The supposed ‘current champions’ had joined the arena for glory, and yet they were picking on a defenceless boy. Hot fury bloomed within her gut.
With a fierce cry, she rushed forward and cut down the first warrior, slashing his neck before he could react. Warm blood splattered her armour and skin. The warrior sank to the ground, and she relished her victory.
Bloodlust sang to her, its alluring call vibrating in the air. She could taste it, and her magic answered in turn, burning through her limbs.
She struck the second Samnite, but he blocked with his shield, grunting in effort and then shouting across the arena in Rhaetic. The other Samnites rallied to him and swiftly encircled her.
Sword raised, she turned in a tight circle, assessing her opponents, and scoffed. So many warriors dressed in steel and hiding behind shields just for her.
How brave.
Wiping the warm blood dripping down her chin with the back of her hand, she smirked. “What are you waiting for?”
Whether they understood her or not, she didn’t care.
She lunged, sliding beneath the first warrior’s blade and slicing the back of his calves before angling her sword to stab another Samnite through the ribs between the straps of his breastplate. She shot to her feet, slicing and thrashing, aiming for the weak points in their armour. Gifted or not, she cut them down with her sword, and her punches and kicks resounded with sickening cracks.
She pivoted to confront her next wave of attackers, but her feet were pulled out from under her. She hit the rough sand, face first. Pain burst across her jaw, and blood flooded her mouth. A Samnite loomed over her, boasting a dark red Mark on his neck. He held a shimmering whip, its end wrapped tight around her ankles.
She spat a glob of blood at his feet.
The cord burned against her leather boots, but her blade had no effect on the Gifted whip. Its sizzling heat sliced her skin when she grabbed it, and she flinched. The Samnite laughed, shouting orders to the others.
More warriors approached, and Katell cursed under her breath. She thrashed but the whip only tightened further around her legs. She had to get out of its grip.
The throbbing pain of her jaw receded, and her split skin knitted itself back together.
Whatever she did next, her body would recover. While pain was inevitable, at least she could count on her healing Gift.
Gritting her teeth, she wrapped the whip around her arm and pulled. The Samnite held on tight, but Katell was stronger. Battling through the searing pain, she mustered her strength and kicked her legs free at last.
The burning whip glimmered out of existence, and Katell staggered to her feet, catching her breath. She barely registered the shield slamming into her shoulder with a horrifying crack. White, hot pain rippled through her arm, and she let out a keening cry.
The shield came again, but this time, she grasped its sides, attempting to stop its attack. The edges of her vision grew dark, but she refused to give in to the pain. Backing down meant death. And so, she pushed.
She pressed against the shield, pushed despite her fissured bones, but her leather boots slipped along the sandy ground.
No, she couldn’t die.
Not like this.
Not when Alena was counting on her, and certainly not by the hand of a coward who fought without honour.
Her magic answered her call, blazing through her body like a fiery storm. The Samnite stumbled back with a grunt, overwhelmed by her strength. He gave a warning shout, and two more warriors flanked him. Katell circled them, the ache in her shoulder receding as she grabbed a discarded blade from the sandy floor.
When the Samnite charged again, she was ready for him. Her boot slammed into his shield with a resounding crack. Wood splintered in every direction and the warrior flew backwards, crashing into the arena’s high walls and rocking the stands above.
Panting, she arched a brow at the other two Samnites and returned to her fighting stance, raising her sword.
They surged forward, nostrils flared and murder in their eyes.
More enemies to kill.The thought brought a smile to her lips.
She danced around them and let their grunts and screams wash over her, fuelling the fire that burned within.
Her blood boiled.
She wanted more.
She needed more.
The Samnites were taller and bulkier, but none of them could bring her down.
She was unstoppable.
And she would kill them all.