Ironhold, Trial One (Ironhold #1)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Where before there was joy in the parade, in the depths of the colosseum, there is tension and fear. The last part was pure entertainment. What will come next is about blood and pain .

I can see the others waiting, each finding ways to deflect the tension. Zara is singing a tune to herself that I do not know. Gyra is flexing her considerable muscles.

“Out of the way, out of the way!” a trainer says.

We move back, and soldiers push forwards a trio of ragged individuals, each armed with only a dagger. The soldiers shove them forwards with their shields, while one of the trainers uses a whip to drive them on, forcing them to keep moving. Once they are in the arena, a voice booms out.

“These three are traitors to Aetheria! They have earned their punishment, and that punishment is death! Citizens of Aetheria, I present to you the shadow cats!”

The trainers bring forward the cage containing the shadow cats, forcing them out from it into the arena, then shutting the iron gates behind them as quickly as they can. I do not look. I force myself not to look, but I still hear the screams.

The cheers of the crowd are worse. They bay for the blood of the victims, roaring their approval so that it’s impossible to hear the snarling of the shadow cats over it.

I head deeper into the chambers beneath the colosseum. There are many small spaces there, presumably to allow the gladiators to prepare for their bouts without distraction. I seek one of them out, trying to shut out the sounds from the arena.

“Are you all right?” Naia asks. She’s obviously followed me.

“It’s just all so bad,” I reply. “Those people… they sent them out into the arena to be torn apart. And that’s just the start of all of this. Soon, it will be our turn.”

Naia puts her hand on my shoulder. “You can’t think about it, Lyra. You need to focus on yourself now, on getting through your bout. Survival, that’s all this is about.”

“It should be about more than that,” I insist. “What did those people even do?”

Naia shrugs. “I don’t know. They said they were traitors. If they were plotting against Aetheria, maybe they deserved to die.”

I shake my head. “Not like that. No one deserves to die like that.”

No one deserves to die in this place at all. We're all being forced into fighting and dying against our will. Well, not all of us.

“I guess Alaric is enjoying all of this immensely,” I say.

“Maybe you’re misjudging him,” Naia replies. “But you can’t focus on him.”

“How are the others doing?” I ask. I find myself wondering how Rowan’s preparations are going for his fights.

"I don't know," Naia says. She stands and starts to stretch. I must remember that she's preparing for her own fights. She has done so much to help me already, but she will soon have a life-or-death fight of her own to try to get through. I hope that she will manage it.

“Is there anything I can do to help you prepare?” I ask.

Naia nods. “Thanks.”

We start to move around together, sparring, but in the lightest possible way. We must be careful not to cause any injury to one another, not this close to the fights. Naia could heal us, but that would take strength from her that she does not have to spare.

I can feel my muscles loosening up, ready for the fight to come. I know that I will need to be ready when the moment comes, that any slowness or stiffness could be the difference between life and death.

I’m surprised to find that I want to live. Why should I be surprised? I do not want to die. I don’t just want to stand there and let someone cut me down. It’s just that the thought of having to kill someone else to do it horrifies me, the feeling long ingrained by a life spent trying to help others. I had thought I might be able to stand there nobly and allow myself to die rather than be forced to kill.

My bout against Vex showed that I will not do that. That I will do all I can to stay alive.

I certainly want Naia to survive.

“Do you have a plan for this?” I ask her.

"I can heal myself as well as other people," Naia says. "It means that if I get hit, I can keep going so long as I'm not killed straight away."

She says it so matter-of-factly, but the very evenness of her tone saddens me because I know what she's saying. Naia is talking about throwing herself into the midst of danger, simply taking the wounds that her foe dishes out, and hoping that she can use that to get close enough to bring them down.

I don’t know what options I have in the arena. Naia’s talent can help her in combat by making her tougher than her opponents. Rowan’s control over earth helps him to feel their every move and shift the ground beneath their feet. Ravenna can control her opponents’ minds, while Alaric can use illusions to deceive them. All I can manage is to talk to the beasts I am matched against while they kill me.

“Naia!” a voice calls. One of the trainers approaches the space where we’re waiting, flanked by a couple of soldiers. It seems that they’re prepared for the possibility of gladiators trying to back out of the fights they’re assigned to.

But Naia does not seem like she’s going to try to back out of the fight. Instead, she hefts a couple of short axes, I help her to put her helmet on her head, and she stands there looking fierce.

“Good luck,” I say. “Come back safely.”

“That’s the idea,” Naia says. There’s a determination in her voice that I have only rarely heard from her. She goes with the guards, and all I can do is watch her walk away, hoping that she will be safe.

I follow, wanting to watch her in the arena, but realize before I reach the gate that I can’t bring myself to watch her. I don't want to see her hurt or killed, and I know that even if she wins, she will be hurt. That is her whole plan.

I walk through the chambers beneath the arena, watching the others preparing, trying to distract myself from thoughts of what might be happening out there on the sands to Naia.

It doesn’t help that I see the spaces where the healers are working on those who have already fought, stitching wounds, applying salves, and using healing magic where they can. There are bodies laid out on slabs, showing where they have not been successful. I recognize some of them.

I recognize Gyra.

She lies there, wounds puncturing her flesh, her throat opened by a blade. Blood covers her, her skin torn in a dozen places. The shock of that hits me hard. I did not like Gyra, had every reason to hate her, in fact, but seeing her like that is still enough to make me rush to the side of the room, fighting the urge to throw up.

Gyra was cruel and ruthless, but she was also tough and skilled, far larger and stronger than I am, far better suited to fighting. She had already survived bout after bout in the colosseum, survived whole seasons of fighting in it. None of that has counted for anything. She is dead, cut down and abandoned. I don’t even know if anyone will mourn for her.

Sounds of violence are coming from the arena, with the clash of blades and cries of pain. I know now that I can’t look away, and I force myself to head to the iron gates, staring out through them, trying to see what’s happening. I can’t help myself.

Naia is out there, in the middle of a fight against a gladiator I don't know, a large man armed with a two-handed axe. Naia is limping, and even as I watch, I see the larger man slam the axe home in her side, making her scream in agony. She collapses to the ground and her opponent stands over her, the axe raised, ready to finish her. He looks up towards the stands, waiting to see whether Naia is to live or die.

“Death! Death! Death!” the crowd chants, the cruelty of the moment impossible to ignore. I throw myself against the bars, wanting to help Naia, wanting to find a way to save her.

In that moment, she saves herself. She rises up, the wound in her side already healing. Her axes slice into her opponent, cutting into his thighs, bringing fountains of blood. She strikes out again and again with a ferocity that seems at odds with her normally placid demeanor. Finally, her opponent falls, unmoving, and Naia stands over him with her arm raised in triumph.

She limps back to the gate, and I hug her as she comes through it. She is covered in blood. Some of it must be her own. More of it must be her opponent’s.

“Are you all right?” I ask. “I thought...”

She grimaces. “I’ll be fine. Although I doubt I’ll have the strength to heal many other people today.”

She looks as though she is about to say more, but falls silent as the attendants drag her opponent’s body back into the space beneath the colosseum. She winces as she sees the damage she’s done.

I put a hand on her shoulder, but in that moment, one of the trainers comes to me, flanked by guards. One passes me my weapons, cautiously, the way he might approach a wild animal.

“Stop standing around. It’s time for you to fight.”