Page 2 of Bloodguard

Cracking it over an ogre’s skull, if memory serves. It’s what secured him the win and a spot among the ten of us here.

My glare keeps the wizard in place, which is not a hard thing to do. All the rage and bitterness pulsing through my veins is surely reflected in my features.Hisfeatures reflect only terror of the upcoming match now.

He doesn’t stand a chance without his staff, and he knows it.

The rules allow us to use anything we can reach within the arena once the match starts. But even if a staff lies among the pile of swords, shields, and daggers we’re offered, the wizard won’t have the time to bind his power to it. He’s starved and weak. We all are.

“I—I have a family,” he stammers as I continue to glare. “A wife and children who need me.”

Wizards, like elves and other beings with magic, have trouble conceiving, so he likely has no children and is playing for sympathy. He won’t find any here.

Sullivan laughs, as do the other gladiators, and angry tears cut lines into the wizard’s dirty face.

Figures. Those who are scared always cry.

I don’t laugh or sympathize. We all have loved ones. It doesn’t make him special.

My chest tightens just thinking of my little sister, her body ravaged by illness and not enough coin for a proper healer, but I quickly shake off the useless emotion. She doesn’t need my sympathy right now. She needs me to focus—and fucking win.

The cheering builds as we rumble closer to the main structure. I try to let it galvanize me, but after years of this shit, it’s hard to see the joy of either gold or glory in the fight to come.

The promise of housing, food, and money to send home lured me, just the same as all the other gladiators in this cage, to the wealthier kingdom of Arrow. And at first, this really was a land that surpassed my dreams.

But only a month after I arrived, an assassination attempt on the queen left her in a coma, and in a blink, gone were the games intended to “train” the finest warriors in Old Erth. Gone were the days of hearty meals and opportunities to heal and rest. And gone were the cheers for besting a competitor without a death blow.

Decrepit and filthy conditions claim most of us now. The arena claims the rest. Those left standing are rewarded with fairy elm soup that never quite satiates our hunger and a pittance per win. But…even a pittance helps our families, and cold broth is still food.

Eyes on the prize, I remind myself.

I blink up at the coliseum as it finally becomes visible from my spot in the corner of the wagon. A showy display of elven architecture, the stadium is made of glittering stone. Archways mark several spectator entrances, each one with a statue of a different Bloodguard—the name originally coined for the first eight generals in Arrow’s army—standing guard at the top. The main entrance boasts the largest statue of all: a phoenix, the symbol of this empire.

“You can almost taste victory, eh?” Sullivan’s words echo my thoughts, but there’s a bleakness in his gaze. We’re both so close—and yet it’s hard to hold on to something as useless as hope in a place like this.

Still, he only has two matches left. Four for me. Four more out of what felt like an insurmountable hundred, and I’ll win the title of Bloodguard. I’ll be a citizen of Arrow. I’ll be rich. And I will have everything I’ll ever need—and so will my family.

The tall, broad-chested moon horses hesitate as we reach the tunnel that stretches under the coliseum and widens into underground stables and staging areas, but a crack of the whip has them moving again. The steeds cast a faint glow like the moon, hence their name. Their front legs are extra-long and their haunches wide, giving them added strength to pull our heavy wagon.

Moments later, we’re inside the tunnel. The shade is a welcome reprieve from the suffocating heat, but there’s little time to enjoy it before the humid stench of horse manure and death steals my breath.

“Fuck me, that’s awful,” Sullivan mutters, reaching up to pinch his nose. I don’t bother.

Eventually, the horses pull the wagon back up and out on the other side of the stands and onto the main coliseum floor, but they hesitate again, as though they can taste the scent of blood permeating the sand.

“It’s been said that the sand cloaking the arena floor was once as white as the snow on the mountains of Amdar,” the young fighter says with awe. New Guy must’vememorizedthe damn recruiting pamphlet.

As a group, we eye the arena floor. After the last three years of brutality, only a field of sickly gray remains.

The carriage driver curses and snaps his whip at the steeds again, and they trudge forward, jerking us backward in our cage. This time, I can’t hide my grimace.

“What do you think they’ll throw at me this time?” Sullivan asks, absently scratching under his breastplate.

“Maybe a pair of fire elks?” a dwarf with a septum ring and a thick gray braid suggests, rubbing her hands along her thighs. “Those bastards from Canvol will burn through you if they don’t eat you first.”

“It could be anything,” I answer truthfully, my tone bored.

Usually, we’re paired to fight each other one-on-one, but sometimes they like to throw in a few beasts to keep things interesting. And although not a rule, everyone knows the closer a fighter gets to winning Bloodguard, the more shit they give you to try to take you out.

I pull in a deep breath and try not to focus on the fact that onlytwohave made it to Bloodguard since I arrived and the High Lord took over Arrow.

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