The Sands of Rhun: A Middle Earth Story(Book 2)

Chapter 7: They Don't Even Bury Our Dead

My heart stopped and I rushed madly forward, oblivious to all around me. Please no, I thought to myself in panic.

The corsair looked up at the sound of my approach, giving a wicked grin as he aimed his sword downward.

Ready to deliver the finishing blow to Layala.

She was already badly injured. Blood gushed openly from a wound in her side, and a long gash ran across her forehead.

She turned her head to face me, her eyes meeting mine. They were filled with terror, a horrible image that would scar my mind forever. I let out a wordless cry of anguish just as the corsair stabbed downward.

Time slowed as I threw my dagger at him with all my strength. I saw it bury itself deep into his shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain. But my attack came too late, for his blade had already stabbed into Layala's chest. No, no no... This couldn't be happening.

I screamed and rushed the corsair in a frenzy, grabbing a nearby spear and lunging at him. He jumped back and pulled my dagger from his shoulder. He seemed to be losing consciousness, and he dropped the dagger immediately. But I wouldn't have that. He would suffer for what he did.

I strode to him and grabbed him roughly by the neck, lifting him a few inches off the ground with the strength that came with the rush of adrenaline. He struggled desperately, trying to free himself.

"You'll pay," I spat at him. I threw him to the ground and picked up my dagger, then jumped on top of him. I slowly brought the dagger to his forehead, cutting a deep gash in it.

"You made her suffer... I'll make you suffer the same way!" I screamed, my voice hoarse with emotion. At this the audience, which I had until now forgotten about, screamed madly with excitement at the prospect.

Suddenly I stopped, the sickening cheering bringing me back to reality. No... I wouldn't draw this out. Not for their entertainment. I wouldn't become the barbarian they wanted me to be.

I let out a shout and brought the dagger down, quickly ending the corsair's wretched life. The crowd roared in what seemed to be excited, yet slightly disappointed glee.

I ran over to Layala, tears running down my face. Snap out of it Rukil! Tears are for the weak! I tried to tell myself as I fell to my knees beside her. I lifted her into my arms, praying to any gods above that she was still alive.

Her eyes suddenly opened slightly.

"Rukil? Where am I?" She said weakly.

"You're... You're in the Pit. But you're safe now, everything's going to be okay." I looked down at her wound. When I saw it, I realized that it wouldn't be okay. She was dying.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

"No no no, please don't go!" I held her tightly and let the tears fall, my voice quivering in fear.

Her eyes opened again and she looked up at me. "Rukil... I'm sorry I didn't do better," she said the words with sorrow. "I dreamed of the life we would have had if we both made it..." She trailed off.

"No listen to me. We're going to see your family, and after that we'll... We'll... You're going to be alright, please be alright." I was panicking. I couldn't lose the only person I cared about.

She smiled weakly. "I would've liked that. But you have to let me go. Promise me you'll make a new life for yourself. A good one. Please?" She reached a hand up, loosely taking mine in hers. I felt the cold steel of the necklace I had given her against my skin as she gave it back, and I could hold back no longer.

"I can't have a good life without you Layala, please don't go... I need you." My words fell on deaf ears. She went limp and her hand fell to her side, and her eyes closed.

"Layala no, stay with me... I can't...." I broke down crying, not caring if another opponent saw me and killed me. I drowned out the sound of the crowd, the sound of the fighting, everything. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't live without her.

Just then I felt a gentle hand touch my shoulder.

"It's over. We won."

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I stayed next to Layala until soldiers entered the arena and forced me and the few other survivors to the center. I was numb. I had seen death before. Many times I had been the executioner. But it had never hit this close to home. Not even the first time I killed.

Kirtra had stayed next to me the whole time after the battle ended. She looked terrible, and she was mourning the death of her husband. But I also saw in her eyes the resolve of a survivor.

The voice of the announcer was a dull thud in my ears. The only thing I heard was Layala's name when he listed the fatalities. The audience grew louder when he named the "winners."

Two other warriors I didn't recognize had survived as well. One was clearly a Haradrim, his scarlet clothing and the serpent tattoo on his arm a testament to his heritage. He was burly and muscular, and seemed mostly unscathed from the fight despite his lack of armor. The other was an unusually pale man with blond hair. I could tell that he wasn't from the East at all.

As the announcer droned on and on, I took the opportunity to look around, scanning the faces in the crowd. They, not us, were the real barbarians. They watched killing of their own free will. Most of us were forced to fight. Their gleeful expressions betrayed their inner intentions, and for that I hated them. I hated them for their freedom. I hated them for their bloodlust. But most importantly, I hated them because they had taken Layala from me.

The announcer finally stopped, and streamers of colored paper fell from boxes above us as we were escorted out. As soon as we were out, I grabbed one of the guard's shoulders.

"What do they do with the... With the dead?" I forced out.

The guard callously pushed me away. "They load them onto wagons at the back entrance and dispose of them."

"They don't even get a burial???" I yanked the man around, forcing him to face me. The other guards drew their scimitars and pulled me back.

"No! They didn't win."

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The three other survivors and I all found ourselves at the back entrance. We had been released when we left the arena, without any guidance or words of comfort.

Nearly forty bodies lay in rows, covered by thin white cloths. We all stood in silence, watching the undertakers load them unceremoniously onto the wagon.

Kirtra seemed on the verge of tears, but didn't cry. The Haradrim stood slightly behind us both, his expression unreadable but his dark eyes betrayed sympathy. It seemed as if he had just followed us for the companionship rather than to say farewell to anyone. The blond man was crying softly. I guessed that his teammate had been close to him.

I watched without expression. I felt hate welling up inside me once more that I struggled to suppress. What kind of people kill their own for sport? Who would watch one man kill another willingly?

On top of the hate, I felt sorrow. Unbearable sorrow. I had lost the only person dear to me. She had died before even having a chance to live a normal life.

I slowly produced the necklace from my pocket, bringing it to my lips as the tears began to fall. I didn't stop them this time; I didn't care what anyone thought of me.

I hadn't even gotten the chance to tell Layala what I truly felt. That I had loved her. And now, as I watched the covered bodies being loaded into the cart, I couldn't help but feel like a coward. I thought myself fearless, but my own fear had kept me from telling her. And now I would never get the chance to.

I lifted a hand to my forehead in silent mourning, until the wagon was filled and the undertakers slowly guided it away.

I turned away and silently walked away from the others, into the darkening streets of the city that had killed my love.