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Ironhold, Trial One (Ironhold #1) CHAPTER FOURTEEN 48%
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A bell I have not heard before rings out over Ironhold, waking me along with the others there. We rush from our tiny rooms, gathering in the large hall beyond. We all know what the bell means: it is time for us to face the first day of the trials.

Lord Darius comes in, flanked by trainers and soldiers. "Today, you will face the trials of the colosseum. You will fight deadly foes, beasts, and each other. Look around. Remember the faces here. At the end of today, some of those faces will be gone, claimed by the gods, their power given to Aetheria."

That’s a hard thought to ignore. I can see everyone else there looking around at one another, possibly trying to gauge who will live and who will die. I don’t want to think about it, but I can’t stop myself. Can I bear to see Rowan dead on the sands of the colosseum, or Naia, or even Alaric? How many of them are looking my way, assuming that I will be one of the first to fall?

“You will go now and prepare. Gather your armor and weapons. We will begin the parade within the hour.”

A parade? I'm not sure that I understand. We're going to the colosseum to fight. What does a parade have to do with anything? Still, there is no opportunity to ask questions, because Lord Darius is already leaving.

We start to get ready. We collect our weapons, donning our armor. I see some of the others stretching or receiving massages, oiling their muscles so that they shine in the sun. I get my familiar scraps of scale armor and fish shaped helmet, my trident, net, and dagger. Rowan is dressed in partial plates of armor, with a small iron shield and a leaf-shaped sword. Alaric is lightly armored, with steel vambraces and a sword of hardened glass in either hand. Even Ravenna has swapped her long dress for almost scandalously brief patches of scale armor, a spiked chain and a fan with razor sharp steel edges.

We do not look like an army, because there is nothing uniform or disciplined about us as we get ready to leave Ironhold. We are closer to a circus, a display of physical prowess and magic.

And we are not alone, because beasts accompany us. Stefano and some of the other trainers drive carts with cages, or haul on chains to force great beasts to walk with us, moving towards the great gates of Ironhold. Those gates swing open, letting us step beyond the walls of the place that has held us while we trained, that has seen injuries and blood.

We march down into the city of Aetheria, moving as one. It occurs to me that if I want to try to escape, I will probably never have a better opportunity than during this march. But there are still soldiers watching us, and I know the price of trying to run. Do I want to be cut down by the side of the road?

The road from Ironhold into Aetheria is winding and difficult, taking us through the slums of the city first, then on towards its shining marble walls. People stand in the streets, watching us pass, cheering as we go past them. I see children watching me from windows, see men and women holding brightly colored flags and strips of cloth. The sound of them calling to us is like a wall of noise, almost overwhelming.

Some of the gladiators around me play up to the attention of the crowd. I see Finn, the young man who uses illusions when he fights, conjuring bright images for the enjoyment of children. Vex sweeps through the streets, looking this way and that as if all the adulation is his. Gyra surprises me by juggling a pair of daggers, keeping them in the air easily. One of the shadow cats in the cages roars, sending a child running back into the arms of its mother. I hope that none of the creatures will break free, because the carnage they could inflict is too horrific even to think about.

We continue to march, heading through the slums to the white marble walls of the city. Aetheria’s gates are open to us, waiting to receive us. Even the guards there at the gates wave and smile as we pass through them, as if they are not there to cut us down should we try to flee from our fate.

There are so many people on the streets to greet us that it is like stepping into a sea of humanity. Some hold up placards with the names of favored gladiators. Young men throw roses in the direction of Ravenna. She catches one casually, smelling it and then throwing it back so that three young men start fighting over it while she laughs.

We are not the only entertainment. It seems that this procession is only part of a broader patchwork of performers out on the streets of Aetheria. There are jugglers and acrobats and I hear the sounds of music drifting over the noise of the crowds. There is magic, too, with illusions drifting across the streets, and conjured winds carrying bright powders and paints.

Almost everyone seems to be caught up in the celebrations. I see a few people selling trinkets or food on the street, but no one seems to be engaged in their regular tasks. Here and there, I see servants or slaves carrying the palanquins of nobles, but they are the exception. This seems to be a day of rest and celebration for the majority of Aetheria's residents.

I can see now that our route is not a direct path to the colosseum, but is instead winding this way and that through the streets of the city, so that more people can see us. I can see people looking my way, and I’m surprised to see that they look at me with admiration, even desire. They smile whenever they look my way. It’s hard not to smile back, to feel that these people like me, even as I know that they will cheer at least as loudly if they see my blood staining the colosseum’s sands.

I look around and see that Rowan doesn’t look entirely comfortable, seeming to be one of the few there who isn’t enjoying the attention. He looks grim and determined, instead, as if thinking about everything that is to come.

Alaric, of course, is reveling in it. He spins and dances his way through the streets, bowing courteously to young women by the side of the road, turning a cartwheel at one point, apparently for the entertainment of a small child. He seems to know that he is the center of attention, and he loves it. I must admit it is good to see him so joyous. All the other free gladiators have spoken to me about honor and prestige, the positions they will have in Aetheria once their time is done. It's clear, though, that Alaric simply loves it, that he cannot imagine being anywhere else.

That enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself caught up in it, waving at the crowd, enjoying being a part of the spectacle. In this moment it doesn't matter that I didn't choose any of this, that I am something less, something owned, in the eyes of most Aetherians. In this moment all that matters is that the whole population of the city seems overjoyed by my presence and that of the others.

The houses we are passing are getting grander and grander, lined by columns, decorated with expensive frescos, occasionally decorated with illusions. One has impossible seeming plants growing around it, interweaving with its structure so it is almost a living thing itself. Ahead, I can see the colosseum. It is more spectacular up close even than it seemed from the edge of the city on my first view of it.

It is a large circular space, constructed in the same marble as the rest of the city, lined by statue after statue of figures from myth, or perhaps gladiators who have succeeded. It has gates set at various points around its circumference to allow the crowd to flow in from every direction. Banners hang from it, displaying what I assume are the symbols of various noble houses.

The banner of Aetherian hangs above them all, a sword plunged through an orb of purest power, a corona of blue magic seeming to spill across the rest of the banner. We march beneath it, along a broad promenade with more statues to either side, each dressed as a gladiator, each holding a heroic pose. Great gates wait ahead for us, and we head inside as a group, out onto the red sands of the vast arena.

Already, there are crowds inside, cheering. I can see boxes for nobles and their families, where they are attended by their servants. I can see hawkers moving through the stands, selling whatever food or drinks they have. There is one fenced-off space where bets are being taken on the fights. I wonder what odds will be given on my survival.

We stand there for several seconds so that the crowds can get a good look at us. I wonder if that first view of us will change any of the betting, and, more importantly, if any of those there will see that we are just young men and women, real people, about to fight and perhaps die for their entertainment.

Somehow, I doubt it.

We all take a moment to receive the adulation of the crowd and then we head through a gate at one side of the arena down into a space beneath it that is dark and damp and cold. There appear to be whole networks of rooms here, spaces with slabs for healing and cages to hold beasts. This is the place where we must pause for now, each of us able to do nothing but hold still and wait until we are called forth to fight for our lives.

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