Page 21 of Ironhold, Trial Two

We are accompanied by trainers and soldiers to guard us, since this is the moment when we are probably the greatest danger of escaping. Not that anybody is likely to try when the penalty is death. We are also followed by a train of creatures, some kept in cages, some pulled by trainers using chains.

I am used to the spectacle, but I can see the new gladiators looking around as if not sure what to do. Arctus looks confused by the whole thing. Cesca is staying close to a group of other new gladiators, carrying a slender, curved sword as her only weapon.

As we march down into the city, we take the usual circuitous route, designed to show us off to as many of the citizens as possible. They line the route, and it is impossible to ignore the fact that this is a public holiday, because there are colorful banners out in the streets, and music plays everywhere. There are tumblers in the crowd, and food merchants. Faces stare down us from balconies, and it seems that every business is closed, so that people might turn out for this. At the side of theroad I see a priest intoning blessings on everyone who comes to him.

As usual the gladiators react in different ways to the attention. Vex treats it as if it is all his right. Rowan moves forward as if none of it touches him, as if he is determined to ignore the crowd. Ravenna waves and blows kisses. One enterprising young man throws himself forward to place a rose in her hands. Ravenna takes it, then promptly passes it to someone else a few strides later.

As usual, Alaric seems to enjoy being the center of attention. He seems to come to life in moments like this, as if you live for the fame and the joy of it all. He is not aloof like some of the noble gladiators, but twirls and leaps, as if striving to do out do the tumblers.

There are cheers from around us, and also some boos. It is clear that people have their favorites, but also those gladiators they love to hate. The cacophony of it all is all-consuming, seeming to fill the world. I force myself to smile and wave, trying not to show any of the fear that starts to rise up inside me with the knowledge of what we are walking towards.

We head into the city, along streets lined with statues and trees. Illusions provide some of the decoration here too, and they seem to have been changed for our arrival, showing gladiators in the midst of great moments that may or may not be real. I see an image that looks curiously like Rowan, standing atop the body of a fallen foe. I see images of flickering blades and spraying blood that seem all too real.

I am shocked to see an image of myself there. It is undoubtedly me, standing with my net and my trident. I am standing surrounded by beasts, from sinuous snakes to calling songbirds. I am reminded uncomfortably of the statue of the goddess down in the temple of the beast whisperers.

All around us, people call the names of their favorite gladiators. Many call for Alaric. Some cry out their love for Ravenna, or demand that particular gladiators slay their foes in spectacularly bloody fashion this time.

“Lyra! Lyra!”

Even after seeing the illusion of me, it is still a surprise to hear my name being called by some of those in the crowd. It is the strangest thing to know that there are people who are following my efforts, who seem to care about me.

Will they still care if they see me fall on the sands, or will they move on to another gladiator just as quickly?

But just as there are those who are cheering for me, there are also those who don't seem to like my presence.

“Coward!”

“Beast whisperer!”

Someone throws something at me. I'm so used to the violence of the arena that I ready myself to dodge it the way I would a blade, but Rowan is already moving, lifting his shield to intercept it. Something slams into it and falls to the ground. I see a dead bird lying there, blood staining Rowan’s shield.

There is something unnerving about the sight of it. I have seen people killed in the arena. I have seen them executed. Blood and pain are part of my daily life, however much I might wish that they weren't. But there's still something wrong about somebody throwing a dead bird at me. It feels like a peculiar kind of hatred for them to care so much about me to do something like this when they don't even know me.

Thankfully the parade carries me past the spot with the dead bird in a matter of moments, and we keep heading through the city, towards our waiting fate. It is easy to forget sometimes just how spectacular Aetheria is, with its grand buildings constructed from marble, its integration of magic into it everyday life. Wepass by temples and statues of heroes, the houses of the wealthy, decked out in their finery.

Even compared to all of that the Colosseum is incredible. It is huge and circular with multiple entrances, broad promenades leading to it, lined with statues of gladiators from ages past. Arches and niches line the outside, decorated with more statuary. Already the crowds seem to be pouring in, by the way has been left clear for us, our parade leading to it as surely as a river will reach the sea.

Trumpets announce our presence as we head inside. Already the stands are filling, and this bookmakers’ stands at the sides are taking bets on the first matches. I know better than to check the odds on myself. I don't want to know what they think my chances are. We head into the middle of the great sandy circular space of the arena, congregating there for people to see us. Nobles are up in their boxes, attended by servants, looking down on us with a familiar mixture of admiration and contempt. We represent the twin virtues of the city: martial skill and magical might, but so many of us are captives, enslaved by the city, and the rest have chosen a difficult and dangerous life.

The emperor is not there yet. He will not arrive until later, when the bouts are to begin. He is not someone who will wait while the Colosseum fills. Rather, he will enter when the crowds are already there, and his arrival can cause a stir among them.

An announcer is there though, his voice carrying through some hint of a talent.

“Citizens of Aetheria, your emperor gives to you games on these holy days, celebrating the power that built this city, the magic on which it is all founded. The gladiators who stand before you will fight and die for the glory of the Aetherian Empire!”

That gets a cheer from the crowd, and several of the other gladiators wave. I'm not one of them. Spectacular is this all is, Iknow that it is founded on blood and death. That the crowds will cheer just as loudly to see us die as they would if we won.

We head for a pair of great iron gates, leading to the places below the Colosseum. They are vaulted stone spaces arranged to hold the animals and the gladiators until the time is right for the bouts. There are places there for us to warm up, to oil our skin to make us harder to grapple, to receive massages to soothe our muscles.

I want to tell myself that I am prepared for this, but it is still different standing waiting to fight for my life.

Finally, they come for me. A trainer and two soldiers stand there, ready to herd me into the arena. It is time for me to fight or die.

Chapter Twelve

“And now, for your entertainment, we present the gladiator who tamed the Ironhide and slew Lazlo! Lyra!”

Cheers and boos resound around the arena in seemingly equal measure, filling my ears until I can barely think as I step out onto the sands. The sunlight is glaring after the dimness of the spaces beneath the Colosseum. I test the ground beneath my feet, digging them into the sand, knowing that I cannot afford to slip in this place.

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