Page 27 of Ironhold, Trial One

The banner of Aetherian hangs above them all, a sword plunged through an orb of purest power, a corona of blue magic seeming to spill across the rest of the banner. We march beneath it, along a broad promenade with more statues to either side, each dressed as a gladiator, each holding a heroic pose. Great gates wait ahead for us, and we head inside as a group, out onto the red sands of the vast arena.

Already, there are crowds inside, cheering. I can see boxes for nobles and their families, where they are attended by their servants. I can see hawkers moving through the stands, selling whatever food or drinks they have. There is one fenced-off space where bets are being taken on the fights. I wonder what odds will be given on my survival.

We stand there for several seconds so that the crowds can get a good look at us. I wonder if that first view of us will change any of the betting, and, more importantly, if any of those there will see that we are just young men and women, real people, about to fight and perhaps die for their entertainment.

Somehow, I doubt it.

We all take a moment to receive the adulation of the crowd and then we head through a gate at one side of the arena down into a space beneath it that is dark and damp and cold. There appear to be whole networks of rooms here, spaces with slabs for healing and cages to hold beasts. This is the place where we must pause for now, each of us able to do nothing but hold still and wait until we are called forth to fight for our lives.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Where before there was joy in the parade, in the depthsof the colosseum,there is tension and fear. The last part was pure entertainment. What will come next is about blood and pain.

I can see the others waiting, each finding ways to deflect the tension. Zara is singing a tune to herself that I do not know. Gyra is flexing her considerable muscles.

“Out of the way, out of the way!” a trainer says.

We move back, and soldiers push forwards a trio of ragged individuals, each armed with only a dagger. The soldiers shove them forwards with their shields, while one of the trainers uses a whip to drive them on, forcing them to keep moving. Once they are in the arena, a voice booms out.

“These three are traitors to Aetheria! They have earned their punishment, and that punishment is death! Citizens of Aetheria, I present to you the shadow cats!”

The trainers bring forward the cage containing the shadow cats, forcing them out from it into the arena, then shutting the iron gates behind them as quickly as they can. I do not look. I force myself not to look, but I still hear the screams.

The cheers of the crowd are worse. They bay for the blood of the victims, roaring their approval so that it’s impossible to hear the snarling of the shadow cats over it.

I head deeper into the chambers beneath the colosseum. There are many small spaces there, presumably to allow the gladiators to prepare for their bouts without distraction. I seek one of them out, trying to shut out the sounds from the arena.

“Are you all right?” Naia asks. She’s obviously followed me.

“It’s just all so bad,” I reply. “Those people… they sent them out into the arena to be torn apart. And that’s just the start of all of this. Soon, it will be our turn.”

Naia puts her hand on my shoulder. “You can’t think about it, Lyra. You need to focus on yourself now, on getting through your bout. Survival, that’s all this is about.”

“It should be about more than that,” I insist. “What did those people even do?”

Naia shrugs. “I don’t know. They said they were traitors. If they were plotting against Aetheria, maybe they deserved to die.”

I shake my head. “Not like that. No one deserves to die like that.”

No one deserves to die in this place at all. We're all being forced into fighting and dying against our will. Well, not all of us.

“I guess Alaric is enjoying all of this immensely,” I say.

“Maybe you’re misjudging him,” Naia replies. “But you can’t focus on him.”

“How are the others doing?” I ask. I find myself wondering how Rowan’s preparations are going for his fights.

"I don't know," Naia says. She stands and starts to stretch. I must remember that she's preparing for her own fights. She has done so much to help me already, but she will soon have a life-or-death fight of her own to try to get through. I hope that she will manage it.

“Is there anything I can do to help you prepare?” I ask.

Naia nods. “Thanks.”

We start to move around together, sparring, but in the lightest possible way. We must be careful not to cause any injury to one another, not this close to the fights. Naia could heal us, but that would take strength from her that she does not have to spare.

I can feel my muscles loosening up, ready for the fight to come. I know that I will need to be ready when the moment comes, that any slowness or stiffness could be the difference between life and death.

I’m surprised to find that I want to live. Why should I be surprised? I do not want to die. I don’t just want to stand there and let someone cut me down. It’s just that the thought of having to kill someone else to do it horrifies me, the feeling long ingrained by a life spent trying to help others. I had thought I might be able to stand there nobly and allow myself to die rather than be forced to kill.

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