Page 176 of Bloodguard

As my vision clears, the spears retract, vanishing as if they’d never existed.

The degree of danger hits me hard.

Impaled. I was almostimpaled.

I rise carefully and lift my discarded axe from the ground. I’ve reached the first crate. I press my ear against the door.

Nothing. Only silence. As I strategize, what sounds like an angry swarm of hornets buzzes from the ground.

Having been stunned into immobility by the spears, I expect actual hornets. I forgot about the creative efforts the engineers undertook to develop this torture chamber, and it almost costs me.

More out of instinct than skill, I skid out of the way of a spinning saw. The blade doubles back. It doesn’t traverse back and forth, side to side, or even zigzag. It doesn’t follow any pattern I can memorize. Instead, it travels as unpredictably as a fish in a large lake.

The diameter of the blade is about the same as a supper plate and the thickness comparable to a thin sheet of ice. It can tear up my feet and calves with ease. And if I fall, it will finish me off.

A second saw blade appears as the first continues on. I avoid it and the other when it returns. And as quickly as they appeared, they disappear beneath the sand.

The audience cheers, either for me, the saws, or the contents of the crate. It doesn’t matter. They all suck.

My need to survive heightens my reflexes. Fueled by rage, I lift the axe and bring its butt down in a straight line.

One.

Two.

Three locks break open from my single strike.

I kick open the door and sidestep left to avoid anything that might charge.

The time it takes me to break the locks and move aside is a matter of seconds. So is what happens next.

With the taste for war burning deep within me and my weapon in the air, I release a battle cry and prepare to attack, but I never get the chance to swing. The moment I see my opponent, I know I’m done for.

Wrapped in chains and wearing nothing but a burlap sack is Pega. Blood oozes from two large gashes on her head, staining her wild yellow hair orange.

Those bastards.

Thoseruthless, conniving bastards.

To become a Bloodguard, they expect me to kill another gladiator.

A new kind of wrath envelops me, tightening my throat.

I don’t think things through. In fact, I do everything a gladiator who wants to be a Bloodguard shouldn’t do.

Instead of taking my opponent’s life, I offer it back. I tug at her chains—they’re knotted. Pega should have been able to get free, but her eyes open and close when they see me. “What did they do to you?” I ask.

“Drug,” she slurs. The injured side of her face is droopier, and she’s drooling. “Druuuug,” she says again, dragging out the word.

I undo the chains and slap her. When she doesn’t wake up, I slap her again. She startles this time and slaps the ever-loving shit out of me.

I fall backward and laugh. “Good girl,” I tell her. “Now, time to go.”

I glance behind me when that buzzing sound returns. The saws are back. “I’ll keep you safe,” I say. “You just need to keep moving. Understand?”

Pega nods slowly. I help her to stand, and that’s when I realize she’s holding on to her broken arm. “Shit,” I say.

“They wanted to get back at me for having nice things.” She mumbles something else, but I don’t catch it.

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