Page 36 of Bloodguard

I jerk my chin toward the sky. “That’s a magical storm,” I say, not that they need me to tell them.

“It is,” Ned agrees, tugging on his beard, twirling the hairs into a finer point. “The bastards are trying to draw out the day. Too many died too fast, and with little effort.” It’s only now I see how gray his skin appears. Ned is never one to panic. Usually. “I overheard a herald in the town square promise today’s game would be never-before-seen levels of horror.”

My only answer is a grunt. Not much more to say than that.

Sibor stomps on the chain binding her, attempting to break it. She’s ready to run, forgetting there’s nowhere to go. “Whatever they picked this time must be worse than the dragon you and Sullivan met,” she says.

Ned wipes his nose with the back of his hand, soiling his face further. He grimaces, shaking his head as his red eyes glisten. “Luther was the only one who put up a fight against them, and he just about died doing it.”

“Them?”I question.

Pega scratches her hurt ankle. It’s infected and raw from the shackles. “We’re here for their pleasure, and their pleasure means our hides. One way or another.”

My voice comes out hollow. “What exactly happened to Luther?”

Sibor motions to the right. “Nothing good.”

Several moon horses whinny and neigh, protesting the large, flat cart they’re struggling to pull. Luther is stretched across it, secured by chains wrapped around his chest and arms.

But there’s no need to shackle him. He couldn’t escape if he tried.

He’s pale as white ash, saturated with sweat, and naked except for the loincloth barely covering his groin. Bite marks as long as my arm ransack his body, face, and what remains of his legs. His left foot dangles, barely held on by a flap of muscle.

Luther’s head droops to the side. He sees me, his expression anguished.Water, he mouths.

“Poor bastard,” Ned says. He spits. “Those ruthless shits won’t even give ’im a drink.”

“Who’s going back to the pen with him?” I turn to the gladiators when no one responds. “Is anyone going back with Luther?”

“Nah,” Ned replies. “There’s no one alive to go back with ’im, remember? No one else made it.”

My focus returns to Luther as he continues to roll past us. It’s another way to humiliate him and intimidate us.

Water, he mouths again.

I curl into myself like I’m just stretching my muscles. Instead, I dig into my shirt and pull out the vial Maeve sent me earlier, still half full. I kept it on me in case I needed to push through the agony again. But Luther needs it more.

“Pass this down,” I mutter. “Make sure Luther gets it.”

I’m met with frowns or others outright looking away. I shove it into Sibor’s hand. “Do it,” I hiss.

Sibor clenches her fists. I lower my stance, prepared to fight.

“It’s for Luther,” I snap, keeping my voice low. “It’ll help him.”

She eases her posture then and does as I tell her, passing the small vial down the line until it reaches the following pen. As soon as a troll takes it, he tries to pocket it.

My words slice at the air. “Do you know who I am?” I ask him. He shakes his head. “You will if you don’t get that to the giant suffering on the cart.”

An elf gladiator smacks the troll on the arm. “Do it,” he orders.

Down the line it goes in whispers. A few guards move in to inspect the commotion. I can’t let them see it. I kick, pelting them with mud. They turn around, their whips and swords raised.

“Who did that?” one demands.

More mud is flung at them, this time from three pens down. Ned kicks more at them as the wagon carrying Luther nears the exit. There’re too many of us in these pens and not enough space to see for sure if the numbing vial reached him.

A guard opens the gate to my pen, and in my determination to see Luther, I don’t realize what’s coming until it’s too late. I’m hauled out by another guard who caught me flinging mud.

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