Page 3 of Caged

“You’re not going anywhere until you are attended to, Sylas.” The captain has his hands spread, doing his best to appear calm.

I am anything but calm. I am anything but controlled. And I still have my sword. There’s the scent of burning in the air, and I lift it up, ready for battle once again.

“Maxym. I need to see him,” I snarl.

“Gak! Sylas.” The captain looks around at the clerks. “Relinquish your sword and you can check on Maxym.”

I do not want to give up my weapon, or at least my hand doesn’t. The sound of the water pouring onto Klynn is in my head and it is too loud. I spread my wings, attempting to center myself as I slam the weapon into the hard packed ground and the blade goes deep.

“Take him to the medic,” the captain orders. “Do I have to put you in restraints?” he fires at me.

“Depends,” I snarl, “do you want to survive until the next suns-rise?” I rasp.

The captain shakes his head deliberately at my threat, motioning over his shoulder. One of the bolder clerks darts in and the arm irons clamp around my wrists, the cold metal slicing into my flesh.

I fire out a wing, and the clerk goes sliding across the ante-chamber floor into the puddle surrounding Klynn, who immediately pounces on him.

In the midst of the chaos which follows, I walk sedately down the passage leading to the medic area.

Maxym is watching as a laser is used to stitch up his wound, one hand behind his head, wings flowing over either side of the bed.

“Who got you?” I ask.

The medic-tech looks up at me and squeaks in surprise. I lift my wrists to show I’m bound. The last thing I want is to stop Maxym’s treatment, given he’s the only one out of all of us who requires a medic today.

“Blayn, of course. He’s always a liability for the first few games,” Maxym replies with a sigh. “No matter whether we’re supposed to be fighting each other, all comers, or the pathetic prisoners sent to die in the dome.” He raises his top lip in disgust. “Hardly much of a match.”

“Presumably it’s been slim pickings for enemies of the Galaxy Council,” I reply, pulling up a chair, spinning it around to straddle it as I glare at the medic-tech, clasping my bound hands together and resting my elbows on the bed.

I look down at myself. One arm has a large gash, almost down to the bone. I have a number of smaller wounds on my abdomen, none of which I noticed, and given I have a higher pain threshold than the others, I probably wouldn’t have done for a while.

“Maybe they’re keeping the best until later,” Maxym says. “Who the vrex knows, Sylas.” He drops his head back and looks up at the ceiling. “All I know is we’re here until our debt is paid, or we die fighting.”

“Why are you Gryn always like this at the first games?” The captain stomps in, snorting up a storm.

“Because you make us fight without winning, and we always win,” I growl. “Until you accept it, we will remain the danger you so clearly believe us to be.”

ALEX

Ixor snores disgustingly on the sofa, dressed only in a pair of underpants. His blubbery skin shakes as he scratches himself somewhere unmentionable.

“Go to the dome. The gladiator games are starting, and I need you to get me a pass,” he slurred at me earlier.

“How?” I asked.

He had tossed a small piece of clear perspex across the table as he shoveled the meal I made between his tusks and down his gullet. It was a map device which showed a route into the dome which clearly wasn’t made for the general punter.

The dome. I shiver at the thought of the imposing building as I hide the various items I might need about my person. I have one outfit, a pair of dark-colored pants, a shirt with a silvery sheen to it, and a jacket in a soft green. Over time, I’ve learned enough about sewing to be able to make additional hiding places. I don’t just have to hide stuff for Ixor but from him too.

Sassy Cleaner rolls out from under a threadbare chair but thankfully stays silent, even if I feel like it’s looking at me. With a deep breath, I remind myself I’d rather be anywhere other than in the presence of Ixor, even if it does mean entering the place where the violent and bloody gladiator games are held.

Outside, it’s early morning, and the air is fresh before the heat of the day rises. It means the city smells like less of an armpit than usual. I hurry through the streets until I reach the place I’m hoping is open.

“Hello, human.” Ginka grins at me, inclining her horned head at a basket on the counter. “Baked this morning but not good enough for sale,” she says.

I grab one of the hot rolls, shaped into a complicated twist. I can’t believe there’s anything wrong with them, but given Ixor didn’t leave anything last night, I’m too hungry to care. Biting down into the soft fluffy middle through a perfectly crisp outer means I’m inadvertently groaning out loud.

“Good?” Ginka asks.

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