Page 1 of Bloodguard

chapter 1

Leith

The battered wagon wheels rumble over one pothole, then the next, rattling the bars of our cage and scraping the rough metal along the cut in my shoulder. I tighten my jaw in an effort not to wince. It won’t do me good to remind any of the nine fighters locked in here with me that I’m injured.

Instead, I keep my gaze fixed on the dried blood still on my hands from my last match. The blood isn’t mine. It’s Yular’s, I think. Or maybe Mundag’s. Both trolls were thrown into the arena with me yesterday, and, like the rest of us, they chose to fight to the death to feed their families.

They just weren’t as brutal as me. Nor were they as desperate.

Crossing my arms over the thin leather armor covering my bare chest, I lift my chin and stare at the scarred face of the fighter across from me. Two bottom tusks rise over the ogre’s upper lip, the left one jagged and broken next to a gash that stretches from his mouth to his ear. His eyes catch on mine—then harden, letting me know he still has some fight left in him. I openly stare back, letting him know I’mallfight.

The sound of a horn announces our arrival, and the ogre huffs and looks away. No sense kicking things up in here when we might not even get paired today.

I can’t help the slight sinking feeling in my gut as the horn’s final note fades on the wind, reminding me there’s a real chance I won’t ever hear that sound again. The arena is unpredictable as fuck.

The wagon slows when it reaches the outer wall surrounding the coliseum complex, and heavy chains clank as the massive wooden gate swings open with a splintering groan.

Every foot the gate widens, chants of “Bloodguard!” from the arena build in volume like a brewing storm, rolling through the wagon.

Sullivan, the veteran fighter beside me, spits on the floor. “Filthy wretches,” he mutters.

I toss him a raised brow—he nearly spat on my boot—but he just grins.

Like me, he’s human. Unlike me, his skin is lighter and his hair is the color of faded straw. My skin is rich brown from all the time spent outside training, and my hair is black as tar—but both are just as dirty as Sullivan. His scraggly beard may be longer than mine, but it only barely covers the boils thickening his throat above his armor.

Sullivan is a tough old fighter. Slightly taller than my six feet and with more bulk, his size makes up for the twenty years between us. That doesn’t make him better, though. It just makes him someone to watch.

“I want to be a swordsmith,” he once told me. “Spend my life making weapons I’ll never need again.” His blue eyes had shifted to mine. “What about you, boy?”

“Me?” I’d asked. “I’ll be the one you make weapons for.”

Three years later and I’m thinking he had the right of it.

I glance at his forearm, where a sword and thorny vine have been tattooed, each for his two previous victories. For the next two victories he wins, he’ll get a rose and a crown—and finally his freedom again. Lucky bastard.

I shift my weight on the hard bench as the chants get faster and faster.“Bloodguard! BLOODGUARD!”

A young gladiator, his muscles obviously bigger than his brains, seems enlivened by the crowd’s excitement and raises a fist above his cloud of dark curls, barking out a quote from the recruitment pamphlet that lured most of us to this shit life. “‘Fight for the gold,winfor the glory!’”

“Glory never did the dead much good,” I grumble.

“At least they fed us today.” Sullivan coughs and then spits again. He’s been sick for weeks and struggling to hide it. Weakness is the first thing that will get you killed around here. Stupidity runs a close second.

The wizard on the bench across from us clearly doesn’t know that, though. He frowns at Sullivan, the sour expression the only thing marring the man’s smooth, white face.

“What’s wrong? Does my spit disgust you?” Sullivan asks, smiling. “Get over it. You’re just as screwed as I am.”

Sparks of magic light the wizard’s dark eyes. “Youdisgust me.”

“Why?” Sullivan challenges. “We can’t all be fancy little lords like yourself.”

The wizard lunges, and I ram my heel into his chest and kick him back into his seat.

“Save it for the arena,” I warn.

The wizard gapes at me. He likely didn’t expect my strength or speed. Most don’t, which is why I’ve survived this long.

Sullivan nudges me. “Damn shame he needs his staff to control all that magic, ain’t it, Leith?” His smile gathers more of an edge. “Too bad he shattered it during his last fight.”