Ironhold, Trial One (Ironhold #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

“Welcome to Ironhold! I am Lord Commander Darius Bloodhawk.”

The man who says it looks to be in his forties, armored as if for battle, his dark hair greying slightly.

We stand in the middle of a huge, sandy enclosure. He stands above us, on a platform, looking down. I have the impression from him of strength, that he has as little give in him as the fortress in which he stands.

Only I see now that it is not a fortress in the traditional sense. Those are designed to keep people out. This is a prison, the walls ringed by guards, designed to keep us in.

“This place exists for one purpose: to train and house those who will fight for the entertainment of the masses in the colosseum of Aetheria,” Lord Darius explains. “ Almost all of you have magic. We will see which of you have heart. Those of you who are judged worthy will fight there, maybe die there.”

If so, I’m not sure I want to be judged worthy. I have no wish to fight anyone, especially not for the simple entertainment of others. The idea of having to hurt someone… I was raised to be a healer.

"Those who are not worthy will be taken to the slave pits to see what price can be gotten for you," he continues. "Or you will be kept here to serve those who do fight.”

That makes fear run through me. The thought of being dragged up onto some slaver’s block, sold to the highest bidder, is somehow even worse than being made to fight.

“The worthy ones will have a chance,” he says. “A chance to live. A chance at greatness. A chance, perhaps, to be free.”

He looks us over, his eyes seeming to fall on each of us in turn. “I once stood where you stand. I was once as you were, a prisoner, a slave, a mere hopeful. I survived. Aetheria holds games on its holy days, celebrating the strength and magic that make it great. Feeding the stones that are the source of all magic, honoring the gods.”

Games in which people fight, in which they die.

"Five seasons. That is what it takes. Five competitive seasons in the colosseum, and a gladiator earns his or her freedom. Their children will be noble born citizens of Aetheria. That is what you are aiming for here. Do not forget it. Let the flames of that need carry you forward. For now, though, you will be assessed. Strike their chains! ”

Figures move down among us. They are heavily muscled and dangerous looking. I get the feeling that these are gladiators, moving among us as much to test how we react as to simply set us free.

They do that too, however. One of them, a large woman with a shaven head, unlocks my manacles. She gives me a contemptuous look.

“Too scrawny. You will be lucky if you lose a single bout. More likely, you're going back to the slave pits. Some noble will keep you in chains and take you to his bed until he tires of you.”

She moves on before I can reply. Naia is free of her chains now too, although we both still have collars around our necks, marking what we are. Soon, we are all free of our bonds.

This just means that the testing can begin.

“Run!” Darius commands. “Around the training area. Begin!”

We run, and when we do not run fast enough, the gladiators hit us with switches. There are few guards here. The others are on the outer walls, keeping us in, presumably with magic of their own to contain such dangerous figures.

My breath comes in ragged bursts. After so long walking, I'm not sure I have the stamina for this, but I force myself to keep going. The alternative seems far worse. A couple of people collapse and stop. They are quickly dragged to the side. The sight of that is enough to spur me on.

After the running, we are made to do basic physical exercises, lifting stones above our heads and pulling ourselves up on bars. After that, we are made to run across beams and leap between posts while the gladiators laugh at our lack of skills. I get the feeling that skill isn't the point, though. At each stage, the ones who are dragged to the side are the ones who stop, who collapse, who give up. That is the way to fail, and I know what failing means.

I do not give up, and I don't allow Naia to, either. In one exercise, carrying baskets of rocks back and forth she looks as though she is ready to drop to her knees and surrender. I look over at her, shaking my head.

“If you stop, they will take you to the slave pits,” I say. “You won't even have the chance of freedom. You can do this, Naia.”

She groans, but she keeps going. We both do. At the end of our first day there, we are shown to rough barracks and given rougher clothing to replace our own. It is brief and clinging, as if not wanting to give an opponent anything to hold on to. I get a loincloth, skirt, halter top and sandals, all in the same dull brown. I feel far too exposed in it, especially when the eyes of some of the gladiators rove over me.

I get a small room, barely more than a cell, with a bed and a chest for my clothes. The same gladiator who taunted me earlier walks by.

“Still too scrawny, even if you did last the day. What are your powers? What magic do you have?”

“Does everyone here have magic?” I ask.

She laughs. “This is Aetheria. Magic runs through the air and the water. There are nulls, even here, but most people have at least a glimmer. And if someone as scrawny as you wants to survive here, you'd better have more than that. So what can you do, new meat?”

“I can… communicate with animals,” I say, slightly uncertain about admitting it.

“And you?” she asks, looking over at Naia.

“I can heal people,” Naia says.

The gladiator snorts. “So neither one of you has a skill that's actually useful in a fight? At least the healer might have a place here, patching up wounds. You…” she shakes her head as she looks at me. “You have no chance.”

She walks off, not even giving us her name. Perhaps she doesn't think it's worth giving it to someone who isn't going to be here for very long.

Naia reaches out to put a hand on my arm. “Don't listen to her. You helped me before. We will get through this together."

That is easier said than done, though. Already, our numbers are lower than they were when we arrived. I try to get some sleep, but that is hard. Now that I am here, everything that has happened to me in the past few days hits me all at once. I cry silent tears because I know that I cannot risk anyone else hearing me cry in a place like this. Eventually I sleep, but that only brings with it dreams of being chased by the soldiers, dragged from the roof again and again.

It is light when I wake, the rest of those in the barracks stirring at once.

“Get up!” a soldier roars. “Back out onto the sands! Did you think we were done?”

Of course, they are not done with us. Those of us who are new file out, and today it seems we must strike at posts and pillars with a selection of different weapons. I can see the gladiators who have already made it into Ironhold watching us. Some seem to be taking bets on which of us will make it through the process, which will drop out quickest. When a young woman drops her weapon, unable to continue, one man in the stands holds out his hand to another, collecting on some wager.

Icy cold floods through me as someone throws water over me, making my teeth chatter. The shock of it is intense, and my every instinct is to stop, to try to take a few moments to recover. But I know that if I do that I will fail. I cannot fail. I keep going, forcing myself to swing the weapon again and again.

More drop out, or are pulled out when they collapse. I am not one of them.

“Halt! That is enough!” Lord Darius moves into the training arena. “Those of you who are left have shown that you have the main thing we look for here: determination. Any fool can show skill, but we can teach skills. Anyone can be strong, but we can build strength. Even magical power is not enough. What matters is that you have the will to continue, and all of you do.”

He stands there, seeming to concentrate. Agony bursts in my shoulder, fire seeming to play across my skin. I know that I am not alone because there are cries of pain from all around me.

I look at my shoulder and see a perfect circle of scorched flesh there, a brand mark, as surely as if they had held me down and pressed metal to my flesh. I’m marked as if I’m livestock, as if I’m nothing more than property.

“That mark represents the colosseum in which you will fight,” Lord Darius says. “It shows the world that you are one of those who has been claimed by Ironhold. It is also a reminder. If you rebel, if you make me do it, I will burn you.”

The threat is almost enough to overwhelm the pain.

Lord Darius keeps going. “Each season you complete, you will earn a mark across the circle. Gain five, and you will be free. From this moment on, you are ours. You will train, you will learn, you will fight. And if you fail… then you will die.”