The crowd roared, savagely hollering for more blood. Corpses lay scattered around the thin sand of the arena floor, scarlet drops scattered around the cooling bodies. So little blood, no gore--yet the fighting had never been fiercer. Bets swelled as they rushed to be the first to get their money in. Wenches wore holes in their shoes from trying to serve the frenzied mass.
The king chuckled dryly at the mounting excitement, and lifted a hand into the air, signaling the start of the next match. The cheers were deafening. "This, my son," his deep voice rumbled "is how you keep the masses content." Beside him, the young white-haired prince looked on, his face a stoney mask. Under his gilded cloak, however, his fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were close to splitting.
As the iron gate rose, a thick, caramel skinned man was pushed through, an axe shoved into his hand. The heavy shackles were still attached to his wrists and ankles, though free of chain. He blinked in the harsh sunlight, shading his deep set eyes with a burly hand. One look at his opponent and his jaw dropped.
No one had yet beat the champion.
The king gave the signal to start, and with a grimace, the slave charged forward. Winning meant life. Winning meant his heart could beat a little while longer.
On the other side of the arena, she stood, trembling, barely able to stand. Tears streamed from the child's eyes, but she didn't allow the scream to crawl up her throat. The shackles just added dead weight to her exhausted limbs, but she forced herself to lift the bow. Pinching the pad with her neck and shoulder, her eyes sunk closed.
For a moment, there was no sound. She took a shaking breath, and began to build her energy. Black hair wreathing around her like a storm, feet beginning to lift, she drew the bow across the strings, sound exploding into the air. Her fingertips went numb as they started to glow softly, but she pushed on, gathering every scrap of energy she could force from her soul. Maybe this time, her heart would stop...
The arena was filled with music and hoarse screams. The young prince looked away, unable to stomach another match.
The poor man never had a chance.
YOU ARE READING
After The Arena
Adventure"To a place...where no one knows my name..?" Is halfway across the world far enough? Fate has a twisted sense of humor, bringing runaways so close to those who pursue them. But not all hunters move in the night--can killers fore hire save...
