Page 133 of The Shadowed Oracle
The crowd had quieted, their noise lowering to a simmer. It felt like the calm before a storm. The six gladiators paced backward, bowing, then took their places as the gate opened once more with a metallic creak. From the archway, a sealed crate the size of a small boat was dragged out behind four Occian soldiers holding the rope. They struggled mightily, grunting and resting in intervals.
“HAXUS!” The crowd had synced up in a chant.
“HAXUS!”
“HAXUS!”
The sealed crate began to shake, rattling so intensely the soldiers who’d carried it broke into a jog back to the main gate after unlocking the door.
Ingrid knew who was inside, knew what monstrosity lay behind the cage, and so she looked to Lucilla to offer some kind of support. The kindly lady’s maid had taken to hiding behind Enitha’s chair, unable to watch as the creature formerly known as King Horace was released into the arena.
“HAXUS!”
“HAXUS!”
His veiny neck and arms were chained in the same manner as Callinora’s. What his followers had once described as a round and jolly face was now a mess of sharp angles, patches of unkempt fur, and sharp tusks jutting from his bottom jaw. Only a small loincloth gave any indication that the creature was once similar to a Viator. It was, in no uncertain terms, a monster. Enitha’s miscarriage of justice. A killing machine.
“HAXUS!” The crowd continued to cheer, unaware of what they were actually witnessing. What they encouraged.
Horace had deserved punishment for his greed, but this? This creature wasn’t afforded even the basic rights of a wild animal. Violence and captivity were all it knew. Enormous paws with long talons dug into the soft mud as it paced back and forth, teeth gnashing.
As Haxus drew closer to Ingrid’s friends, even Raidinn was dwarfed by the mass of him. Dean examined the beast studiously, then conferred with Veston and the twins, coolly pointing to spots in the arena and offering up strategies that Ingrid wished she could hear.
“May the games…” The orator paused dramatically, hand raising up in a closed fist before bringing it down on the railing of the balustrade. “Commence!”
The crowd gave one final shout as the Occian gladiators dispersed, looking for an angle to Callinora. Immediately, the added condition of the princess being placed like a trophy for the warriors to claim seemed to be an advantage for Dean andthe twins. They formed a wall, spacing out evenly, and using the barricade of the arena behind them to avoid being surrounded.
Enitha had a talent for theater, yes, but not for war. As if ordered to do so, the gladiators began charging one at a time. Dean took the first warrior head-on, putting him down with only two moves. Then Veston and the twins easily handled the next three that charged.
Blood spewed into the mud. The crowd guffawed and booed, but cheered again when the next gladiator took his turn.
The newest gladiator’s pace was much slower, buying time for Dean to shout some command to the others. All three nodded. Tyla and Raidinn took steps toward their opponent while Dean rummaged through the four dead soldiers’ battle belts, looking for weapons superior to the ones Enitha had provided.
The remaining two gladiators only watched. It would’ve been so easy for them to join forces, to use their numbers to their advantage, but it was more obvious than ever that their master had forbidden them from doing so. The queen of the Isles wanted it to be Haxus to lay the final blow on Callinora. A plan she seemed to be regretting as the fifth gladiator was nearly cut in two by Raidinn’s overpowering strike.
“Lucilla,” Enitha called out. “Lucilla, where are you!?”
“Here, my queen.”
“Fetch me the arena coordinator at once!”
“Right away,” Lucilla bowed. “Your majesty.” With a panicked hop, Lucilla ducked away and out of sight.
“Something wrong, Enitha?” Sylan was visibly amused, eyes flickering at the violence before him. “Did we, perhaps, underestimate the Earth-scum?”
The Queen ignored him. She still had a painted, closed-mouth smile for all her people, taking another long swig from her wine chalice like nothing was amiss. Even as her own orderswere backfiring, she cared more for appearances than anything else.
Sensing she was near her breaking point, Ingrid joined in. “You were right, Enitha.” She said it softly, but with enough cloying cadence to catch the queen’s attention. “This is so much fun. Can’t imagine why we stopped doing this back home.”
She waited for a threat, but only got that same strange look from Sylan. He looked to be ready with another underhanded insult for the Queen, but the crowd erupted at that very moment. Dean had just taken out the next gladiator with a harmonious combination of strikes. Using the new sword he’d vultured from the fallen, he beheaded his opponent so swiftly the body continued on for a few steps before thudding to the wet ground.
As disgusted as she was, Ingrid couldn’t help swelling with pride. She scooted to the end of her seat, taking full advantage of Sylan’s insistence she didn’t need to be in chains. Dean was an artist with the sword, begging to be studied. With blinding speed, he jabbed at the next gladiator’s neck, stopped just as it was parried, then spun down to a knee and cut through an ankle with the other blade. That decade of training had never left him, ingrained into his mind, his bones, his very nerve-endings.
Only one more Gladiator remained. He circled on his heels like a frightened cat as Dean approached, but behind him, Haxus tugged harder on his chains. Stuck between the world-walkers and the creature, the final gladiator could only remain in place and quickly make his choice on how he wanted to die.
He looked to the crowd, screaming something inaudible. He was begging, Ingrid realized. Pleading with his Queen for his life.
He received no mercy.
