Page 21 of Baited

The clerk gets as close as he dares. “You have a mark. A thousand credits if the Natar warrior with the red armor is killed and his right lower arm severed,” he murmurs before raising his voice again. “Gladius or broadsword?” he queries

“Both,” I reply, the word rasping in my throat.

I haven’t had a mark for a long time.

The nova-minutes are counting down, and the games are almost ready to begin. The mood in the ante chamber is darkening, the scent of what is to come burning in my nostrils.

“In three,” the captain bellows.

Swords are placed in my hands, and the huge doorway slides open, revealing a shimmering forcefield beyond. All four of us step out as the door slams shut behind us. The noise of the crowd is deafening, but unlike the ante-chamber, this is a noise I can manage.

It is the dark and the light. It is the thing I have to defeat. It is everything in my head I cannot see, do not understand.

It is what I will defeat to get to my Izzy.

With a sizzle, the electrified barrier drops away, and we’re all in the air, swinging around the dome in search for our prey, to take in the lay of the battle ground. All except me. I have marked out my challenger, and I dive for the mined area where multiple males wait for us. Some are fighting each other. A lumbering Habosu sets off one of the mines, and I dodge the plume of dirt and debris, spinning in the air as below me fighters scatter and freeze.

My mark is attempting to get to the water’s edge where floating platforms have been placed just out of reach. With a single horn protruding from his head, he, like all Natar, is unbalanced in weight, and his multiple limbs make him slow rather than swift. The bright red of his skin makes him an easy target.

I don’t even know what a thousand credits is or how much it will buy me, but I want to nest for Izzy, and I want the credits so I can.

Capa leap from the water, their teeth humming with blue flame. They snap at my feathers as I skim over them and get to the Natar.

He sees me, rearing up, sword trembling in one of his five hands, his armor glinting in the light. As I reach him, a capa beaches itself and clamps onto his leg, tearing the bottom half away. He screams out in agony, his mauve blood covering the ground and causing more capa to force their way out of their natural habitat.

I hack and slice at them, knowing I have to be the one to make the kill, not the capa. When I’ve disposed of them all, he is a bloody mess. I take his arm, the one I’m tasked with removing and then glare down at his ruined body.

“Kill me,” he moans. “Just kill me and be done.”

I lift my gladius to the crowd, waiting for their chant to let him die, and when it comes, I bring down my sword to dispatch him into the dark and the light, only for it to be stopped by another blade, one which plunges deep into the chest of my mark.

The bulk of a second Natar fills my vision.

“Not your kill,” I growl.

“Go gak yourself, gladiator,” he sneers. “There are plenty in this arena for you.”

I stand swiftly to one side as yet another capa leaps from the water, latching onto the Natar’s head, nearly swallowing him whole. His sword arm flails at nothing, his cries of horror muffled.

And I feel the cold hard slide of steel into my gut.

My mark’s final passing gift.

With a roar, I’m in the air again, joining in the mayhem, the killing, the very end of it all. If the dark and the light are to take me, it won’t be today.

IZZY

It’s been two nova-days since Blayn was at the house. I’m halfway between being worried about him, especially after watching all the vids Riklinn was able to find on the gladiators (ones we didn’t have to pay for), and wondering if he’s decided not to come back, given his profession.

The dome is an unbelievably violent place and the Gryn gladiators considered fair game for anyone who wants to have a go.

Not that they don’t hold their own. From what we could find, I saw Blayn, covered in blood which was clearly not his own, hacking at other species as they fought back. Three or four other Gryn joined him, and they made the dome an unrelenting, dangerous place.

I am left in no doubt that the Gryn are killers. Predators every single one of them, each as dark and deadly as the next, and Blayn is the most feral of them all.

Finally, I get the call to go to cubicle 5-YV1, although the comm I receive tells me nothing about why I need to be there. I reach the passage by way of the servant’s elevator, and as I hurry onwards, I’m met by the huge Xnosson bull and the madame, who has her arm linked in his.

“He went missing for a nova-day in the undercroft,” the bull is saying to Madame as I approach. “It’s something he often does with one of his fellow gladiators. They’re often uncontrollable after a bout in the games, normally after they’ve done…what needs to be done.” He shrugs his massive shoulders. “That’s Gryn for you, law unto themselves.”

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