The Darkness Before the Dawn - By Ryan Hughes Page 0,109

by the minute as one execution after another sped past, and when he took Kayan’s hand in his she didn’t pull away.

“We’ll survive this,” he told her.

“Why?” she asked him. “Just to fight again next week?”

“We’re buying time,” Jedra said. “We’ll eventually find a way out of here. Maybe Kitarak will come back for us.”

“Hah. He’s too smart to put himself in this situation twice.”

Jedra was about to protest, but the crowd cheered as the final execution drew to its inevitable close, and Sahalik stuck his head over the railing and said, “All right, you two. You’re on.”

Guards led them up the stairs to the packed sand floor just inside the arena entrance. Bright sun streamed in from beyond. Lothar the dwarf stood there in stark silhouette, wearing a few plates of kank-chitin armor over his chest, legs, and forearms. He looked them over appraisingly as they approached him, taking in their worn leather armor over every vital part of their bodies—armor that did nothing to mask their terror—then he smiled. He had only one tooth sticking down from the top.

“Give me a good fight,” he said. “Make me look good, and I’ll kill you quick and clean.”

Jedra’s mouth was too dry to answer. He clutched at his lucky crystal. He should have bought a real luck charm from a mage in the market when he had the chance, but it was too late now. Sahalik handed him his club and shield, gave Kayan her spear, and shoved them out into the arena. His last words to them were, “Remember to bow to the king when you win.”

“Right,” Jedra said. They hadn’t received any instructions for what to do if they lost—Lothar would no doubt take care of all that needed to be done.

The sand was hot even through his sandals. He squinted to see against the glare from the ziggurat and the stadium. The stands were full of people, but they all blended into a single seething mass of bodies. The only recognizable figures were the crier in the middle of the arena and the guards, both military and psionic, who stood at regular intervals all around the edge. Jedra felt the psionicists’ presence hovering over him, ready to smother any attempt he made to escape or to use his own power to win the battle.

The noise of the crowd seemed to weigh down on him almost as hard as the psionicists did. The hot, red sun also beat down on him, and the odor of blood from the previous battles filled his nostrils. He was aware of Kayan walking out into the middle of the arena beside him, but at the same time he seemed completely alone, facing the entire world aligned against him.

Then Lothar stepped out of the gate, and the crowd cheered twice as loud as before. He walked up to within a few paces of Jedra and Kayan, his sword held casually in his right hand. The crier moved off a few yards, then shouted, “Begin!”

Lothar jumped forward, his sword suddenly a blur, and swung the blade toward Kayan’s left side. It chunked into her leather armor and stuck for a moment, but he pulled it free and swung at her again. She brought the shaft of her spear down on his head, and Jedra swung at his exposed back with his club, and both weapons struck just as his sword hit her in the same side again. That was where the laces were tied; his second cut sliced the seam wide open and exposed her entire left side.

“Look out!” Jedra shouted, lunging forward with his club for another blow, but the dwarf had already jumped out of his reach.

“I am looking out,” Kayan said. “You’re supposed to hit him!”

“I’m trying.” Jedra swung again at Lothar, but at the same moment he saw the dwarf’s blade slice toward his head. He got his shield up in time and blocked the blow, and even managed to connect with his club against Lothar’s armor, but it did no harm.

The dwarf was fast with his sword. Jedra barely had time to leap back before a sudden onslaught, and if it weren’t for his shield and armor he would have been cut to ribbons within seconds. He dodged to the side, but Lothar was already there.

He tried pushing the dwarf aside psionically, or at least slowing his sword arm, but he felt the arena’s judges smother his power before he even had a chance to ruffle Lothar’s hair. He