The Arena
Since my encounter with the tall man yesterday, my mind had not rested. Arena? What did that mean?
Before I could think further, the door to the room I'd been kept in clanged open. "Come on," the guard barked.
I followed behind him, my stomach twisting. The room I was led into was crowded with the men I'd seen at the tavern and others I didn't recognize. Relief washed over me when I spotted Kumbuye. I ran to him, gripping his arm.
"Do you know what's happening?" I asked, curiosity mixed with fear.
I was the only female here. All the others were men of different shapes and sizes.
"They're going to make us fight," Kumbuye said quietly. "Two opponents each. To the death."
"What?" My voice caught in my throat.
"Yes. No weapons. Hand-to-hand combat."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I didn't want to kill anyone for the amusement of strangers.
"We have to leave," I said, fear lacing my voice.
"We can't." Kumbuye's eyes scanned the room, "I've already gone into the minds of the guards, looking for a way out. It's useless. This place is heavily guarded."
My stomach churned.
"You're strong, Dana," he added, nodding toward certain men in the crowd. "I can tell who's scared and who's fierce. You can handle them."
Before I could reply, a guard stepped in, grinning proudly. "Before you enter the arena, listen carefully. No weapons. Fight to kill. Win, and you fight another champion the next day. This continues until only one remains." He smirked. "This is your penalty for breaking the law in public. If you love to fight, we'll give you the chance."
I swallowed hard. Kumbuye had taught me hand-to-hand combat over months, but this — facing hefty men without weapons — it was terrifying.
The guard added, "Last rule: no mercy."
One by one, we were dragged into the arena in pairs. Some came back bloodied, clothes torn, but alive. Then it was my turn.
My opponent was a massive man, his broad chest and thick arms were intimidating. The crowd cheered for him and jeered at me, underestimating me because of my size.
I looked up, scanning the arena. The tall man who had taken my bag was there, watching closely, and beside him, there was a woman on a high throne — her presence alone was enough to tell that she was of noble blood. Other people who seemed to also be noble flanked her, observing the match that was about to begin. The commoners on the other side jeered and shouted.
I drew a deep breath. My hands tightened into fists. It was time.
The horn sounded.
The man across from me cracked his neck and smiled. He was three times my size.
He came at me fast, swinging wide, to grab me. I stepped aside just in time, his fist cutting through empty air. Laughter rippled around the stands.
"Too slow!" someone shouted.
He charged again, but I ducked low, rolled across the sand, and felt his boot graze my shoulder. Shit, that hurt.
He laughed, very loud and arrogant.
That was his mistake.
When he reached for me again, I moved in close and slammed my palm into his throat, watching him choke, holding his neck, and stumbling back. Before he could recover, I swept his leg and he hit the ground, falling flat on his back.
He tried to rise. I didn't give him the chance. I rushed and drove my knee into his ribs, forcing it down until I heard something crack. He screamed so loud, struggling to push me off him. When his hand shot out for my ankle, I twisted free and brought my heel down on his wrist.
He howled.
I stood over him, breathing hard, sand clinging to my skin. He looked so small now.
I ended it quickly and twisted his neck until it broke. His body went limp.
Silence fell over the arena, with stunned faces staring at me, before it exploded into noise. Some cheered. Others still stared, surprised.
I backed away as the guards dragged his body from the sand.
My hands were shaking as I stood there looking at the cheering crowd. My chest rose and fell rapidly. I lifted my eyes to the stands.
The man that had taken my bag, stood up and walked to the edge of the platform.
They had not expected me to survive.
I was led back into the room I had just come from. The moment Kumbuye saw me, he ran to me and hugged me.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"I'm alive," I sighed, letting the tension in me loosen.
It was his turn. Kumbuye was going into the arena to fight. I was scared for him, no matter how confident he seemed.
"Be calm. I can handle him," he said.
I knew he could handle anyone, they'd be fools to think otherwise but that didn't stop my mind from racing. He held me for a moment longer, before the guards dragged him away.
I stayed still, my eyes fixed on the door waiting, until it finally clanked open again.
"Kumbuye," I whispered, a mix of excitement and relief flooding me.
I ran to him and hugged him tightly.
"I told you I'd be fine," he said, smirking.
By then, the arena had emptied, his pair had been the last to go in. The guards led us back to the separate holding rooms where we had been kept yesterday. All of us who had survived would be paired to fight again tomorrow.
There were only eight survivors left. I couldn't imagine how tomorrow would turn out, but all I could think about was surviving. I had a mission to complete, and I was going to get out of here alive.
The guards brought food and water to keep us strong enough for the next day's fights. I hardly slept through the night.
The next day, the guards came for me, leading me to the room where I would meet the others. This time, I was the first pair to enter the arena. My opponent was huge, twice my size, but I fought him and prevailed. He was stronger than the one I had faced yesterday, but I was smarter. Combat wasn't just about strength, tactics mattered too.
When Kumbuye fought, he too came out victorious.
Only four of us remained.
Day three arrived. I won again against my assigned opponent. The crowd's jeers had turned into cheers. They no longer underestimated me.
After Kumbuye emerged victorious in his fight, the weight of reality hit me. We were the last ones standing. Tomorrow, we would face each other.
That night, sleep was impossible. My mind replayed every fight, every punch, every shove. My arms and legs ached, but worse was the thought of what tomorrow would bring. I would face Kumbuye. My friend. The thought made my stomach churn.
When the guards arrived to fetch me, I moved, already knowing the time had come. Kumbuye was there, opposite from me in the room but I dared not to look at him. They took us into the arena. That particular morning was colder than usual. The crowd were cheering and buzzing with impatience, seeing two champions about to face one another.
As we stepped into the center, my eyes finally came up and met his. My heart stuttered.
The horn blew.
Kumbuye gave a single nod and smiled, but there was something in his face, a hint of surrender. He was going to hold back, giving up... for me.
I couldn't fight him. I couldn't. It wasn't possible.
"Fight!" Someone screamed from the crowd.
We just stared at each other. He didn't step forward and neither did I.
The cheers began to turn to jeers. No one wanted to see two people refusing to fight. They wanted blood.
"Fight!" Another person screamed.
People began throwing things at us, mocking us, daring us to move.
Then, the woman on the throne rose, her presence instantly commanding silence.
My eyes drifted from Kumbuye to her. She was dazzling in every way. Her hands were covered with silver rings and jewelries. She wore heavy necklaces that hung across her chest. Every piece of jewelry seemed to announce her wealth. But it wasn't just that, it was the way she carried herself, it screamed authority.
She motioned toward the man who had my bag, and he stepped up immediately beside her, shouting in a language I didn't understand. The crowd reacted instantly — screaming and fighting each other. These people were so barbaric, but she held her hands up, and just like that, the silence returned.
Then, speaking in the same strange tongue as the man with my bag had spoken, she gave an order. The guards surged forward, seizing Kumbuye and me. Strong hands gripped our arms, and we were dragged back through the same door we had entered the arena from.
Kumbuye and I were led into a huge hall. A single silver throne was placed at the end of the hall, elevated by a few stairs.
Moments later, the doors behind us groaned open, and she stepped inside. She was fascinating. Seeing her up close, her skin was smooth and pale. She was skinny in a really pretty way. She had sleek, long black hair, high cheekbones, and almond shaped eyes. Servants trailed behind her like shadows. She wore a very long silver dress that sparkled like diamonds. When she passed us, she kept her eyes straight ahead, never throwing us a glance until she reached her throne.
Two men stood beside her — the man who had my bag stood by her right, the other man, by her left, and the servants lined the steps.
She tilted her head and spoke, "Kuu ke saima?"
I blinked, confused, not understanding a word.
The man by her left stepped forward, translating quickly.
"Who are you?"
I met his eyes for a moment before turning back to her. "My name is Dana Snide."
He translated for her. She crossed her legs, adjusting herself on the throne, and asked again,"Akaida fi Dana Snide?"
I turned to the man, waiting for him to translate.
"Dana Snide from where?" he asked.
I hesitated. I couldn't tell them I was from another world. I swallowed and said, "Dana Snide from Thyr Vael."
He repeated it to her. She nodded, then asked again:
"Ka pai?"
"And he?" The man's eyes flicked to Kumbuye.
"Kumbuye from Krythmoor."
She nodded."Koi ke saida halia e Noxara?"
The man translated: "What are you doing here in Noxara?"
I froze for a moment. I couldn't admit the truth — that I was tracking the Cranium, so I had to think fast.
"I... I'm... uh... I'm looking for my father," I stuttered.
The man relayed it, but she nodded negatively, like she knew that I was lying.
The man spoke again, "Do not lie to her."
She leaned forward on her throne, narrowing her eyes as she spoke.
"Kumbuye," she said boldly. The translator kept mute and she continued. "Warrior of Krythmoor. Why do you travel with her?"
She knew the common tongue well enough to understand most of what was said, and to speak it in broken sentences. But she had a really thick accent. It was clear that she was not comfortable speaking it. Perhaps that was why she relied on her own language, and why she had a translator by her side.
Kumbuye didn't answer the question she had asked him.
She straightened herself and held out her hands, "Castellan Ormric." She called.
The man by her right stepped forward, she gave him an order in that same strange language and he approached Kumbuye and struck him in the stomach. Making him cough out and fall to his knees.
Her hands rose slowly, adorned with rings. She let them rest on the arms of her throne, then spoke again, "You will serve. You will obey. And she..." Her eyes flicked to me, "...will be my slave."
My stomach dropped. "Slave?" I blurted out, the shock evident in my face.
What did she mean slave?
"You... You do not have choice. You will serve me. Your life... mine."
Then, without waiting for a response, she stood. Her jewellery chimed as she walked out of the hall, servants falling into step behind her.
I remained frozen where I stood, my heart pounding.
What was happening?