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Sooner or later, the morazeth trainers would force him out into the main arena in front of the crowds. He was sure they would make him face some horrific opponent, like the two-headed warrior. What if Nicci and Nathan saw him from the stands, in the same way Bannon had recognized Ian? He could only imagine what the sorceress would do then, and a smile crossed his face, though he tried to hide it.
But Bannon wasn’t sure he would even survive his training. Each day the work was more rigorous, more deadly.
Gazing at him from across the corridor, Ian rested. Initially, his friend had angrily ignored Bannon, but after their duel, the hardened champion more often came to the bars of his own cell to stare at him, as if memories had broken through the scar tissue in his mind. Once, Bannon awoke in the middle of the night to find that Ian had let himself out of his unlocked cell and stood outside of Bannon’s bars, just looking at him. As soon as Bannon stirred from his pallet to go speak to his childhood friend, Ian had melted back into his own cell, closed the barred gate, and stayed out of view, not responding when Bannon called his name in a desperate whisper.
Today Ian watched him with narrowed eyes, his face showing no expression as Lila brought Bannon out to Adessa near one of the sunken training pits. The morazeth leader met them, her face grim, her dark eyes darting. He could tell she was upset about something.
That was never a good sign.
Adessa’s skin was mottled with yellow and purple bruises, as if she had been badly beaten. Bannon took a hard pleasure from seeing that. “It looks like you lost your last combat,” he said, knowing it would provoke her.
They stood above one of the sunken pits, similar to the one where he had first sparred with Lila. Adessa’s face turned glacial, her lips drew back. “I survived, and my opponent did not. Therefore, I didn’t lose.”
Bannon couldn’t imagine what sort of enemy might have inflicted so much physical harm on the powerful morazeth.
Lila handed him Sturdy, and he squeezed the leather-wrapped hilt. He still wore only a loincloth and sandals, and he wished he had decent armor. He stood with his muscles tense, his knees slightly bent in a crouch, at the edge of the pit.
“We are preparing for the next arena exposition,” Adessa continued. “Let us see which of our two new combatants survives today’s training. Will you survive, Bannon?” She gave a quick nod to Lila.
In a flash, the young woman shoved him backward, and he tumbled more than twelve feet to the floor of the pit. As he struck the soft ground, he managed not to break any bones or impale himself with his own sword. Lila had trained him how to fall, how to land, how to recover. He sprang back to his feet, ready.
He saw another barred opening at ground level behind which lurked … something.
Adessa stood on the rim above with arms crossed over the black leather wrap. “Thanks to the rebels and their sabotage a week ago, we lost half of our fighting animals, and we no longer have Chief Handler Ivan to control them. But the sovrena insists that we hold an exhibition to calm the people of Ildakar. Very soon, we will lose hundreds of slaves.” She shook her head, muttering to herself, “Such a waste, when they could become fighters and die in the arena.”
Bannon planted his sandals on the soft ground and held up his sword. “I’d rather you fought me,” he shouted up to her. “That way I’d have more of an incentive to win. Or are you afraid to get more bruises?”
Lila looked offended. “Am I not enough for you, boy?”
Adessa did not respond to the provocation. She turned her head and called, “Summon the other fighters so they can observe which one dies. It is always good for them to smell fear and see fresh blood in the morning.”
Lila whistled, and workers ran through the tunnels. Soon a group of spectators arrived, seasoned warriors, including Ian, who peered down into the pit to watch.
Bannon glanced up at his friend, swallowing hard, but then he focused his attention as he heard movement in the tunnel. The barred gate opened, and a creature padded forward from the shadows, growling. Bannon’s skin crawled when he saw the golden eyes, the rippling predatory form. A well-muscled tawny shape emerged into the pit, an enormous sand panther, whose hide was branded with spell symbols.
The big cat curled back lips to expose saberlike fangs. Her gaze locked on Bannon, who stood in the middle of the pit, sword upraised. She growled a low threat; her long tail thrashed like a fleshy club.
Bannon caught his breath in surprise. “Mrra!”
The panther padded out, slinking low, her ears pressed back against her wide skull. Her whiskers fanned outward like sharp wires. She snarled, ready to attack any tormentor.
Joining the spectators at the rim, the three apprentice animal handlers gathered, peering down at the lone panther. Mrra looked up at them and roared. Even Lila flinched, though she was far out of reach. The handlers stood together, chattering, fascinated, as if it were an analytical exercise.
Then the sand panther locked her gaze on Bannon again. Her opponent.
He took two careful steps backward, holding the sword but raising his other hand in a placating gesture. “It’s all right, Mrra. You know me. You remember me.”
Mrra padded closer on her huge paws, leaving broad tracks in the sand. Bannon slowed his breathing, tried to exude a sense of blank calm. The golden feline eyes were sharp and hot, as if candle flames burned behind them. She sniffed the air, looked at him, then took several more steps forward as Bannon cautiously backed away.
“You remember me,” he whispered. “Think of Nathan. Think of Nicci, your sister panther. I know there’s a spell bond. We fought you, and we saved you.”
Adessa shouted down, “Fight! What is wrong with you?” She turned to the handlers. “Have you not trained this one, Dorbo? Why isn’t she ready?”
The three apprentices lifted their hands and released their gift, directing magic down at the big cat. Mrra tensed, flattening her ears even further, and her eyes squinted. She snarled and spun around, roaring up at the rim.
The handlers looked at one other, troubled. Their lantern-jawed leader gritted his teeth, pushing more with his magic. Mrra spun back to look at Bannon as if some puppet master were forcing her head around. She obviously felt pain. Bannon saw the muscles ripple beneath her beautiful tan hide, but he saw no recognition behind her eyes.
He held Sturdy, its point extended and ready, afraid he would have to fight and kill Mrra, the same way he and his companions had been forced to kill her two sister panthers out in the desert. Bannon could see murder in the big cat’s eyes, the bloodlust, the pain that blinded her to memories and personal connections. Mrra did know him, but the provoked ferocity seemed to overwhelm her.
She prowled closer, fangs bared, pushing him toward the back wall.
The spectators yelled and hooted. Lila called out, “What are you waiting for, boy? Kill it before it kills you.”
“Her name is Mrra!” he shouted.
The sound of her name sparked something within the sand panther, and she bounded forward like a tawny thunderbolt. Bannon braced his legs and held his sword, sure that the big cat would impale herself on the blade. But Mrra’s paw knocked his arm away, and her weight drove him to the ground. The heavy cat was on top of him, snarling, pressing her fangs close to his face. He knew she could rip out his throat with her teeth, slice him to ribbons with her claws.
But Mrra just pressed him down, breathing her warm breath in his face. Bannon froze, staring into the cat’s eyes. She roared one more time, then stepped off his chest, leaving him flat on his back in the sand.
Bannon’s heart pounded, and warm tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes. “Mrra…” he whispered. The sand panther moved away, though he lay there, vulnerable. The cat crouched in front of Bannon, faced the apprentice handlers and the spectators, and let out an earsplitting roar.
Clearly upset, all three handlers blasted Mrra with their gift. She thrashed her paws in the air, clawing at imaginary tormentors. Though she circled around B
annon, she refused to harm him.
With a mighty leap, she sprang up toward Adessa and the others and almost reached the rim of the sunken pit. Her claws scrabbled on the stone wall, caught the edge, and she kicked with her back paws, but she slipped back down and landed heavily on the floor of the pit.
The spectators retreated, frightened now.
“Do something,” Adessa said. “Control the thing.”
The handlers were furious, redoubling their attack. Mrra, seeking escape, bounded back into the dark tunnel, where she vanished from view.
Panting hard, Bannon picked himself up and stood with his sword hanging loose at his side. He glared up at them. Among the silent fighters, Ian stood watching with a deeply troubled expression on his face.
Feeling foolishly brave, Bannon shouted, “Adessa, why don’t you jump into the pit? I would be happy to fight you—and I’m sure Mrra would join me.”
The morazeth leader darkened with fury. She glared at the apprentice handlers. “They are not ready. Fix that!” And she stalked off.
