Page 3 of Ironhold, Trial Three

Even a noble such as Alaric must abide by the rules of Ironhold or face punishment. In the mornings, we work under the eyes of the trainers, lifting rocks, running and striking at wooden posts with weapons. We move in long lines, each of us with our preferred weapons, practicing the basic movements. Such practice has hardened my body, although I will never be as heavily built as some. It has left me lithe and athletic, able to push myself further than I might have thought possible.

I head for the training ground now, making my way through the corridors of Ironhold, the fortress given over to containing and training gladiators. It is a granite walled place, not far from the city, with soldiers walking the tops of the walls, looking down on us to make sure none of us escape. They call it a fortress, but in reality, it is a prison. The only ways out are during the games, or if we are summoned by noble patrons who wish to spend time with us, to be seen with us, or to try to seduce us.

There are already plenty of others gathered by the time I reach the main training ground, a vast sandy circle designed to replicate the conditions of the arena, but set with training gear. Zara is there, with her flame red hair and pale skin, her skillin manipulating water so important to her that she carries vials of it wherever she goes. Like that, she will never be unarmed. Rowan is there too, heavily muscled, his auburn hair falling to his shoulders, covering the silvery scar that crosses his square-jawed features. He looks out at me with an unhappy expression that says he knows exactly where I’ve been.

He is not the only one. Ravenna is there, lovely as always, wearing silken robes over her gladiatorial gear, her jet-black hair falling to her waist. She smiles in a way that suggests she approves slightly, but I don't care what she thinks now. With her power to whisper in people's minds, I am sure she played a role in what happened to my friend Naia last season in the arena.

Naia betrayed me. I wear a dampener on my left wrist, a leather cuff worked with runes of power, designed to limit the magic I can employ until I show that I am no danger to the citizens of the empire. My talent is with animals, for connecting to them, even controlling them. But I am not fully in control of myself. Indeed, there are those who fear that my power controls me, that I will become little more than a beast myself.

Naia cut that cuff from my wrist in the middle of a bout in the colosseum. A wave of power flowed out into me, like water rushing through a collapsing dam. I almost lost control, almost got myself and others killed. And the time it took for me to regain control meant that a gladiator named Vex was able to kill Naia. I will not forgive Ravenna for that. Not when I know it was her whispers in Naia’s ear that controlled her actions.

Vex is here too, golden haired and wearing the colors of his noble house, his face scarred where a shadow cat under my command has clawed him in a past fight between us. His family has a long history in the games, and he doesn't see why common-born gladiators such as myself should have any part in them. I cannot forgive him either.

We are not the only ones in the training ground, of course. There are plenty of others, even given how many have died in the games. Soldiers bring others to Ironhold all the time. The large gladiator Arctus paces back and forth near Vex, having decided that loyalty to him represents his best chance of an easy way through here. A dark-haired young woman named Cesca is near Ravenna. It seems that Ravenna has already gotten her claws into her, even though Cesca has only been around a single season. A strange, bald, silent gladiator named Vesper paces the edges. I'm told he can speak but mostly doesn't bother, as if the rest of us aren't worth talking to. A woman named Malira is new, sallow skinned, dark haired and a little shorter than me. They say that she is a former pit fighter who made her name fighting on the fringes of the empire before being brought to Aetheria. She looks across to me with silent dislike. I don’t even know why.

No one talks to me because we are too busy starting training. We run, we work. It is the same each day because there is no time to simply rest. We all know that when the next set of holy days rolls around, we will all need to fight again. If we fail to prepare enough, we will die, despite the magical powers most of us possess.

Yet, it is not long before Lord Darius Blackthorn steps onto a platform at one end of the training area, his dark eyes scanning over all of us. He is still in shape in spite of being in middle age, with the hardness that comes from being a former gladiator. His control over fire is why each of us here has a brand on our left shoulder, representing the colosseum, along with marks across it showing the number of seasons we have survived. Five seasons, and we are free. Those of us who have been enslaved become noble citizens of Aetheria, and any children we have will count as noble born. For those who are already noble, it is a path to glory and prestige among their peers. A way to find better marriages and alliances, money and power.

That is our incentive, but we also have no choice. As powerful as we are, there are many in Aetheria who have magic, and we cannot take on the whole army.

"Stop and listen, all of you," Lord Darius calls out, his voice rolling around the training area. "I have an announcement."

We come to a halt. In a place like Ironhold, any news matters. Are we about to be faced by a fresh batch of recruits? No, Lord Darius doesn't usually announce that. They just show up, a horn blaring to declare their presence. Something else then? Something about the next set of games? But we have weeks to prepare yet for the coming holy days.

We stand staring at him, waiting for whatever the news is with anticipation. My nerves thrum with it because Lord Darius has yet to announce anything that has been good for me. Perhaps this is going to be some new training regime or some brutal practice fight between us.

"Today, the emperor has declared the revival of an old tradition," Lord Darius says. "The Champions Trials will be held in just a few days. I have been asked to provide some of the best gladiators for it. Those who take part will face challenges in the arena over five rounds that will include shifting battlefields that go beyond the usual fights. This will count as a season for those who survive it."

That catches my attention. Anything that will shorten my time in Ironhold has to be taken seriously. But is there really a chance I will be a part of this? With the emperorwantme as a part of it? Everything I've seen so far suggests that he wants me to die, and that he resents my growing fame among the citizens.

“The gladiators for this have already been selected,” Lord Darius says. “Step forward, Alaric.”

Alaric does so, bowing as if there were an audience watching beyond his fellow gladiators.

“Rowan!”

Rowan moves forward with purpose, standing a little way from Alaric, clearly not wanting to get too close.

Others are called up. Vex is next, then Ravenna. Silent Vesper is there, and Malira. More are called, because over five rounds the assumption must be that many will die.

“Lyra.”

I start as I hear my name. I know I have some fame in the arena, but it still didn't occur to me that I would really be called for this. I step forward to join the others. The ones who have not been chosen look jealous and relieved in equal measure, both wanting the chance to move closer to freedom and knowing the dangers. Zara gives a rueful shrug. Cesca looks as if she wishes she could run to Ravenna’s side to join her.

Something like this will not just be a normal set of games. The challenges will be greater, and there will be more of them. Worse, with only the strongest gladiators chosen, if we are to fight, then there will be no easy victories. Just the thought of it fills me with dread.

I suspect that the Champions Trial will push us to our limits, and, with my powers still limited by the dampener I wear, I am not sure if I can do what it takes to survive.

“Now, those of you who are going to compete, come with me,” Lord Darius says.

Where is he leading us? What does he have planned? We don’t know, but all we can do is follow.

Chapter Two

Lord Darius leads us into the depths of Ironhold, past storerooms and rooms reserved for punishments. The sight of them brings back unpleasant memories, and makes me wonder if maybe the selection of gladiators was just to get us alone, where we can be harmed more easily.

But no, that doesn't make sense. In Ironhold, Lord Darius already has power over us. He could command the soldiers to do anything he wished, including to kill us, if he thought he could justify it to the emperor as a punishment. As powerful as we all are, we would not survive long against a hail of arrows from the walls.

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