Page 17 of Ironhold, Trial One

But I do not pick up the sword, even as my opponent approaches, circling me as if suspecting some kind of trap. I just stand there, even when she sweeps the weapon around to knock my legs out from under me. Even when she brings the blade down towards my throat, in what would be an easy kill in other circumstances. I do not react, just lie there.

“Begin again!” Lord Darius commands. There is anger in his voice now. My opponent backs away and still I do not pick up the sword.

She moves forward once more, and again, I just don't want to harm her. I know that this is my route to freedom, but I'm not prepared to kill other people along the way. I stand there, and I let her defeat me again, as quickly as the first time.

“Enough!” Lord Darius snarls. “This coward is making a mockery of the honor of Ironhold, and you will see her punished for it. Seize her!”

A couple of soldiers move in, and I don't fight them either as they grab me and lift me, hauling me to the stone pillar at thecenter of the sands. They tie me to it, my hands stretched above my head, and I find myself thinking of the young man who was killed on the road for trying to escape. Is that what they will do to me here?

I'm afraid, and yet also strangely accepting of it. If this is the price of not being a killer, it is a price I will pay.

But when the soldiers come forward again, it is not with blades in their hands, but instead with hard canes, held loosely, waiting for a signal from Lord Darius.

“Let us be clear,” he says. “Some of you have entered this place voluntarily. Some of you have done so because you feel you have no other choice. Some of you have beengivenno choice. That does not matter when it comes to fighting. You will train, and you will fight. If you do not, you will be punished. Begin.”

The men swing their canes, striking me again and again. The pain of it is incredible, and it is ceaseless. They have no mercy, not when I scream, not when I find myself begging in spite of myself, not even when I weep and promise I will fight. They beat me until I hang limply against the pillar. Only then do they pull back.

Lord Darius comes forward, speaking in a low and angry tone. “I don't know if you're doing this because you're a coward, or out of some misplaced sense of doing the right thing, or just because you want to be defiant. But I will tell you this… the next time you refuse a command will be the last.”

He steps away from me and Naia moves into his place. Her hands are already seeking my injured flesh, making me wince and cry out again as she touches me, but I can also feel her healing magic starting to run over me.

“Why, Lyra?”

“It was the right thing to do,” I say. “I don't want to hurt anyone.”

“Do you think I do?” Naia says. “But we don't get a choice. Not if you don't want to die. You need to learn to fight, Lyra. You need to pick up a blade and beat your foes. Because if you don't, you won't live very long, even with my healing.”

CHAPTER NINE

My back aches even with everything Naia has done to help me. I walk the confines of Ironhold, a part of me wondering if I should simply throw myself from the highest point I can find.

I know that I will have to fight again soon, and I can only guess at the things that will happen to me if I refuse to do what they want. Will they kill me? I look over to the impaling spikes. Will they drive one of those through my flesh and lift me high above the walls as a warning to the others?

Will they simply sell me at market the way they did with those who did not make the grade in the first trials? What fate would await me then? I would certainly never be free. But I’m still not sure if I can trade the lives of others for my own freedom, the way everyone seems to assume they must. I have a lifetime of training to heal and help others. It is not so easy to put that aside.

I walk, and it's easy to see the divisions within Ironhold. There are the barracks on the lower levels, there to hold those of us who have either been captured or forced into this against our wills. There are rooms higher up for those who have entered this life voluntarily, seeking glory or position, fame or wealth.

I cannot imagine how someone like Alaric decided to become a part of this place just for the glory. He has already survived one set of trials in the colosseum, and I know that he has killed at least one person, probably more. Does it not trouble him that people are dead because of his desire for fame and honor?

I almost turn to seek him out, but I do not. I need to be alone right now. Turning away from the fine rooms of the wealthy who have come into Ironhold because of tradition or the need for prestige, I head into the bowels of the fortress, and I find myself drawn along twisting pathways. There are storerooms here, anddungeons. Will I find myself in one of the latter if I refuse to fight again? Am I brave enough to risk the tortures they will inflict on me for the sake of my principles? Naia has healed me, but I can still remember the pain of every blow that landed on me during my punishment. I am not sure I can endure that again.

I go beyond those spaces, because somewhere ahead I believe there are animals. I can hear them now, their scratching and their snorts, the roar of a big cat and the huffing of some large creature. I follow the sounds, intrigued now, wanting to see more.

It is not long before I come out into a huge underground space filled with animal pens. Some hold livestock, either there as food for the other creatures or to produce food for us. More of the pens hold other, stranger things.

I see bears with claws like knives. I see antelope whose horns seem to be made from iron. A great snake slithers in one space, while a cage holds a chimera with lizard, lion, and goat heads atop the body of a big cat. I see shadow cats in cages, each midnight black, each with a shadow that moves independently of them. I see one of them step into that shadow, appearing across the cage, emerging from another patch of shadow to pounce on one of its fellows.

Everywhere I look, I can see creatures being bred to fight and kill. I can feel their hunger, their frustration at being contained, their desire to lash out on command. I feel something else, too. I feel fear and pain.

I follow those sensations to another pen. There is a shadow cat there, smaller than the others and with a wound on its side that appears to have come from claws. A heavily built, middle-aged man is kneeling next to it, laying hands on it, healing magic flowing into it. He looks up as I approach. His dark beard is flecked with grey, and his eyes are almost as dark as the shadow cat’s fur.

“What are you doing down here?” he demands.

“I was just exploring,” I say. “And I… felt the animals.”

“Felt them?” he says.

I shrug. “Understanding animals is my talent.”

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