Ironhold, Trial One (Ironhold #1)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Don’t just duck,” Rowan says. “Strike back!”

I roll out of the way of a blow, but cannot avoid the next. Rowan’s wooden blade comes to rest against my throat.

I am able to practice with wooden weapons against people now, but I still don't like striking out at my opponents with them. I'm fine when we just run through sequences of moves, but actually lashing out at them in even mock combat is still a problem for me.

“You can't just be defensive,” Rowan insists. “You had an opportunity there to strike with your trident. You need to take those chances.”

“I'm not sure if I can,” I say.

“You must,” Rowan says. He seems to train with me more than he needs to. He is powerful and strong, a good match for almost anyone there, but instead he takes the time to work out with me. I know our practices must be frustrating for him. An opponent who does not attack him is hardly a real challenge.

“Maybe you should work with someone else,” I say.

He shakes his head. “I don't want to work with someone else. I want you to fight back. Think of it this way. If you don't, then I'm not getting proper practice. I need to learn to defend, too. Are you going to put me in danger, Lyra, by not letting me practice correctly?”

I know he has a point, even though I also know he's trying to force me into practicing the way he wants. Can I have it on my conscience if Rowan is hurt because he has spent so much time helping me?

I know I cannot, and so I start to fight back, jabbing with my trident, sweeping my net around to try to catch his legs. He deflects the attacks with his small shield and cuts at me with his wooden sword, so that I am forced to keep moving. My attacks buy me space to avoid his blows, and when he leaves an opening, I move forward.

It's a trick. Rowan also moves in, so that now we're in grappling range, and he takes me to the floor, landing on top of me. For a moment, we are just inches apart, his strength holding me there. I can't help thinking about how easy it would be to reach out and kiss him. Maybe that shows on my face because he's looking deep into my eyes, as if he's unable to look away. As if I somehow had the kind of powers Ravenna has.

A cough interrupts us, and Rowan pulls back from me, regaining his feet.

“That was better,” he says.

I scramble back to my feet and look around to see Zara standing there.

“He's right,” she says. “That was better, a little. But I thought you'd want to know that the pairings are up.”

“The pairings?” I say.

Zara looks serious, almost haunted. “For the next set of trials at the colosseum. The holy days are coming. It's almost time for our first season there to begin.”

That thought is anything but welcome. Ironhold is harsh enough, but at least the training is not actively designed to kill us, only to prepare us. In the colosseum we will be facing foes who are determined to end our lives, and one good practice session with Rowan is not enough to prepare me for that.

“We should go look,” Rowan says.

Zara leads the way inside, to the dining hall. A board has been set up there at one end of the room, the names of the gladiators spelled out. A crowd of them is in front of the board, each trying to find their own name, each trying to work out who they will be facing in the coming days.

Alaric is near the front, of course, along with a cluster of the free gladiators. He looks delighted by the proximity of the games, while most of those with him look serious, determined, or afraid. Ravenna is there, and Vex. It seems that the healers have done a good job of patching him up after the shadow cat’s attack. He shoots me a baleful look, then turns and leaves as I approach with Rowan and Zara. I do not push my way through the crowd; I am in no hurry to learn my fate.

Rowan’s presence means that we make our way through the crowd quickly, though. Our little group moves to the front, and I quickly find myself staring at the names. There are brackets set out there, showing who will fight and who will face the winners of those fights.

Mine seems to show me having three bouts over the three days of this set of trials. It doesn't seem like many when others have four or even five. My first bout is simply marked as me versus a beast, with no clue as to what that beast might be.

“They're throwing you in against a beast for your first bout?” Zara says. Her eyes widen slightly.

“Is that a bad thing?” I ask.

“Beasts are trickier than human opponents,” Alaric supplies from the side. “They do not move in trained ways. You can spend your life learning the nuances of swordsmanship, and then find that none of it applies when trying to take on a chimera or a griffon.” He looks at me and seems to realize that his words are hardly going to fill me with confidence. “Although in your case it may have something to do with your connection to such beasts.”

“Is that the real reason for it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “My guess is that the organizers think you aren’t going to survive even your first bout, so they want to ensure that there is at least some spectacle to your death.”

“Do you think telling Lyra she’s going to die helps her?” Rowan shoots back. “Do you think she needs the opinion of some pampered noble?”

“I said it is what the organizers believe,” Alaric replies. “Not what I believe. And when I want the opinion of a former slave, I’ll ask.”

The two of them square up to one another for a moment. Rowan is larger, but Alaric looks confident. He even conjures a small illusion of himself, which floats around Rowan’s head, tiny sword jabbing at him, mocking him further.

“Alaric,” I say. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t display my obvious brilliance for all to see?” He snaps his fingers and the illusion vanishes. “For you, anything.”

“What about my other bouts?” I say. “Will I just face whoever has won in the previous rounds?”

Alaric shakes his head. “It doesn't work like that. The organizers are interested in putting on the most spectacular show they can. They choose the next fights after each round is done.”

“And this mark by my name for the third round?” I ask.

“That implies a doubles bout,” Alaric explains. “You and another gladiator will face a pair of foes. It will be a question of not just how well you can fight, but how well you work with another person. Their life will be in your hands, and yours in theirs.”

That feels almost more terrifying than the idea of facing up to some great beast or a skilled gladiator, determined to kill me. If I fail in the colosseum, it will cost me my life, but if I fail in that last bout, I could get someone else killed.

“Why do I only have three bouts when other people have more?” I ask.

Alaric gives me an apologetic look. “As I said, it seems that the organizers do not have much confidence in you. They have put up only three because they are certain that there is no way you can survive them. I hope you prove them wrong, Lyra.”

“Why do you even care whether the likes of us live or die?” Rowan demands, glaring at Alaric again.

Alaric shrugs. “Oh, I don’t care about you . Feel free to get yourself eaten by a creature at the first opportunity, Rowan. But Lyra… her presence brightens up Ironhold considerably. The view in the bathhouse is certainly improved by her being here.”

I blush as I remember my first encounter with Alaric. Rowan doesn’t seem happy about it either. For a moment, tension hangs in the air again.

“Save it for the colosseum,” Ravenna says, and her voice seems to whisper out over everyone, calming them. Now that I know what she can do, I shiver at the touch of that voice. “It’s tempting to fight one another now, to attack the people you’re going to fight to get an advantage, but we can’t.”

I don't know if she's actually stopping us or planting the seeds of an idea. Even so, it seems to be enough to stop Alaric and Rowan.

I’ve heard enough, heading out of there, making my way down to the beast pens. The shadow cat is there, still separate from the others, and its ears prick up as I approach. I go to it, running my hands through its fur, happy to see it.

I look out over all the other creatures there. There are so many of them, from the ordinary to the impossible seeming, from big cats to great snakes that seem large enough to swallow me whole.

Which of them must I face in the colosseum? Which of these creatures will stand across the sands there from me? Will I face the great ape held in a cage, which bares its fangs as I watch, or one of a cluster of scorpions, each the size of a large dog?

Whatever I will face, it will be deadly, and I will not have forged the kind of bond that I achieved with the shadow cat. Can I survive this? Will my first bout in the colosseum be my last?