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This cage is new, and not exactly a cage at all. Just a room with the persistent pounding of feet above me, and a muffled cheering I can’t quite make out. I rise to my unsteady legs and find the bucket of water, scooping up handfuls of brown liquid and bringing it to my lips.
I might have been revulsed by the creature I’ve become, not too long ago.
Now, I cherish every sip of this filthy water, my once blonde hair hanging limp, tangled and brown with grime. Any self respect I might have had is replaced with the animal instinct to survive. Even if they mean to make sport of my corpse.
When my stomach is swollen with water, I stumble to a low bench and rest my head on the cool stone wall. I try not to think about what’s coming next. Instead, I think about Cora, wondering if that demon is treating her well.
She deserves a good life, after everything we’ve been through.
I was too young to remember, but she always told me how she protected me from the dark elves who killed our parents. She fought and struggled to keep me safe, hardly a child, herself. Cora sacrificed everything, and I ruined it all.
Not only that, but I took others with me.
I sentenced them to a new kind of slavery, the cruelty of which I could hardly comprehend until we arrived in this place. And when I thought I was doing the right thing, I spat in Cora’s face. I sneered down at her when I should have listened.
She saw the demons for what they are.
And I was fooled by a beautiful fantasy the King sold me. This is my punishment, and if I have any hope at atonement, I have to accept it. The Thirteen would never shower mercy on a human. They are the Gods of the dark elves, who decided long ago that we are beneath them.
Damned if you do, I think, recalling a phrase the elders would occasionally grumble. And damned if you don’t.
That’s what it’s like, living on Protheka as a human.
We’re damned, either way.
I don’t even react when the door opens again. The same two trolvor enter, their canine expressions unreadable save for their heavy brow over dark eyes. Is it grimness? Do they hate their task of murdering innocent creatures like me?
“Stand up,” one of them barks.
Even as I begin to rise, the other snaps his spear out, using its butt end to clap me on the back of my shins. “Hurry, human.”
I stumble forward, but they catch me in their strong arms. Their warmth is a relief to the ever present chill, and now that I’m soaked, I’ll take anything I can get. But it doesn’t last long as they lead me through a massive archway and under a storming sky.
The occasional flicker of lightning blinds me, and I shrink from the eyes of the restless crowd of demons. Some appear like Aggilas, prim and well dressed, but more are monstrous amalgamations of horror incarnate, with gnashing teeth and cracked horns.
My heart pounds in my ears, and my breathing becomes shallow.
I keep my eyes to the ground, but that is little better. There are bodies strewn about, some quite fresh, still oozing fluids from their torn stomachs. Other trolvor push aside the singed parts and organs, making room for me on the red sand arena floor.
Before we make it into the open, I’m shoved through, and a gate drives home behind me. There’s a chant from the crowd that finally begins to make sense, my mind slow to grasp their gnarled chant in time with their pounding feet. “Gi-lak.
“Gi-lak, Gi-lak, Gi-lak.”
34
REJ’THOREK
“My lord?”
A thin voice is aimed at my knees and I have to stoop in order to find its source. A small, well-dressed zonak bows so low before me that his tiny budded horns nearly scrape the stone road. When he stands again, a jeweled lapel pin of the God of War reflects the red lightning endlessly sparking above us, indicating that he is my father’s emissary.
I might ignore most servants, and I may have spurned Yedina, but my father is not someone I can ignore. Not more than once.
“His Royal Excellency requires your presence at the arena immediately, my lord.”
My eyes must reflect what I think of the request, because the Zonak’s already thin voice trembles so much that the swirling winds threaten to carry it off into the storm.
“My lord, I can send for a royal escort, if it pleases you?”
