The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith) (5 page)

Terin flinched when her gaze darted to him, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before glancing down to his collar.

“Quiet! I can’t hear what’s going on,” the guard snapped, lashing out with the whip. The leather cracked against the stone between the benches, missing Terin’s toes by a mere inch. He yanked his feet under the bench, and the man sneered at them.

Instead of the desired silence, the sobs of the younger children drowned out the muffled sounds of speech outside.

“I said be quiet!” The whip snaked out and caught one of the children across the top of his foot. The screams didn’t stop until the whip lashed out one more time, striking the same spot. Blood dripped to the dusty floor.

Terin’s vision narrowed to the guard and his smile. The Citizen’s blue eyes met his, and the smile widened to a grin. Abandoning his spot, the man strode to Terin. Crying out, the children recoiled from the soldier.

Rough fingers grabbed Terin’s chin and forced his head up.

“So, you do have the Daughter’s green. If only I could have fun with you first. I hope they kill you where I can watch. Filthy, disobedient, foreigner scum don’t deserve her eyes.” The guard cracked him across the cheek with the back of a hand before returning to his post.

Terin swallowed and tasted blood. Without knowing why he did it, he stared at the loud-mouth slave sneering at the pleasure girl. “She’s right. You’re just going to get the little ones killed faster,” he said through clenched teeth.

“What would you know, goldie? You’re just a discarded pleasure slave like her.”

Terin opened his mouth to reply. The heat of the collar seared his throat and sucked the breath out of him. It didn’t cool until he stared down. The red of the child’s blood vanished beneath the rain of dust and sand from above as the crowd’s enthusiasm peaked.

His mouth twisted up in a humorless smile. Not even in the final moments before facing the Arena did the collar relent in its duty. Terin couldn’t betray his master, even if it cost him his life.

He hoped it would.

“Well, goldie? What would you do?”

Terin felt the eyes of the other slaves on him. The weight of the children’s hopes  and desires for life fell over his shoulders, and he struggled to draw breath through the tightness in his throat and chest.

The last time he’d stepped into the Arena, tasked with making the battle interesting for the Citizens, he had been ordered to assassinate a man too close to freedom. He’d been doomed to be the only one left standing on the bloodied sands.

Terin’s best effort hadn’t saved the children who had stood with him. He closed his eyes and waited for the crowd above to quiet. “When it starts,” he whispered, “do not run. Stand firm. Hide behind the older of us. When they come for you, run then, but never to the gates. When you can, throw things at them.”

“And what good do you think that will do, goldie? Pathetic,” the boy said, sneer in his voice.

Terin lifted his head, opened his eyes, smiled, and said nothing.

Even if he couldn’t save them all, maybe this time he could spare a few before he died.

Assuming Catsu could strike him down and set him free.

If Terin’s master didn’t reclaim him before it was their turn within the Arena. The crowd erupted into cheers and their stomping thundered in the cell. One word—one name—rang out clear despite the stones that muffled the calls.

Catsu.

“Ready to die?” the guard asked.

The door opposite of the portcullis creaked open and three men with graying hair stepped into the cell, clad in the yellow-tasseled, gray uniforms of a lieutenant. While Terin didn’t recognize any of them as his master’s associates, he ducked his head low and hoped none of them looked at him for too long.

“This all of them?” one of them asked.

“Yes, sir!”

“Very well. Unchain them and get them inside. The crowd is waiting.”

“Surely not without a blessing first,” a low, soothing voice murmured. Terin risked looking up. A man in a long white bishop’s coat swept into the room and stared down his equally long and hooked nose at them.

“How could I have forgotten, Bishop Frolar? By all means, do give them your God’s blessings,” the lieutenant replied.

The bishop smiled, his dark-blue eyes brightening as though sharing some joke with the soldier. “May God grant you His gift of eternal life so that your souls might rise to his Garden, children.”

“That’s more than you deserve,” the lieutenant muttered. “On your feet, slaves!”

Terin defied the order until the collar’s heat forced him to his feet to escape the pain. The pleasure slave rose last, her eyes dark and face pale.

A small hand slipped into Terin’s. He jerked and stared down at the brown-eyed child beside him.

“You have green eyes,” the child whispered to him in a calm, steady tone. “Aren’t you afraid? Catsu likes those with green eyes the best.”

Terin didn’t dare bend down to look the child in the eye and settled with shaking his head. “I’m not afraid.”

“God’s Daughter had green eyes,” the boy replied.

“I know,” Terin said.

With a toss of her head, the pleasure slave let out a low, disgusted snort. “What does that have to do with anything?”

The boy smiled and all Terin saw in the child’s eyes was madness.

“Take them in,” the lieutenant barked. Yanking on the chains binding them together, the guard dragged them through the opened portcullis. The three soldiers followed with their swords drawn.

~*~

Terin rubbed at his wrists, staring up at the crowd waiting in hushed anticipation. The circular arena was full, and those in the fifth tier looked more like ants than people.

“Your death is mine,” the bronze-collared slave hissed in Terin’s ear.

Terin managed not to frown. “I thought you said Catsu was going to kill me. Not that I care either way, as it seems you’re determined to see me dead one way or another. Unless, of course, you’re just here to keep things interesting?”

The pleasure slave snorted. “Him? A combat slave? A bronzeling? Maybe your owner really did get rid of you due to your stupidity.”

“Quiet,” the guard snapped.

The lieutenant cleared his throat. “This is how this is going to work. Cadets, give them their ribbons. Your goal is to take as many red ribbons as you can using any means possible. Kill your opponents, steal from them, I don’t care what you do, just take as many ribbons as you can. When all ribbons from a side are claimed, the one holding the most wins.” The man ran a hand through his gray-streaked hair and scowled. “Should you somehow survive, the top three contestants will be rewarded. Don’t leave this spot until the gong sounds. Should you try to attack a Citizen, you’ll be killed immediately.”

A cadet thrust a green ribbon into Terin’s hand. After he took it, the soldier removed the iron collar from his throat. The cadet looked no older than ten or twelve, not much older than many of the slave children sentenced to death. Terin tied the ribbon around his throat tight enough it squeezed him with his every breath before triple knotting it.

“You’re dead, goldie,” the bronze-collared slave hissed in Terin’s ear when the soldiers moved away from them.

Terin ignored the other slave, prodding the sands with his bare foot until he felt the leather and metal of a hilt. Reaching down, he pulled out a short sword. Sand clung to the drying blood until he couldn’t see the edge of it for all of the filth covering it. Tossing it aside, he searched until he found a sharp blade. While it wasn’t his sword, it felt good enough in his hand.

The pleasure slave hooked her foot under something in the sands and kicked it upward. She snatched the wooden staff out of the air and gave it a spin and thrust before jabbing the butt of it into the sand. “Since I’m going to die anyway, might as well make it worth something. One last dance.”

Terin’s mouth turned up in a grin. If she wanted to die with pride, that was her choice.

Better than many others who knew what they faced and wept as the reality of their deaths crashed down on them.

“Remember,” Terin said, thrusting the sword out in a practice jab, “do not run until after the gong sounds, and not towards the gates even then.”

A few sniffles and the shuffling of feet on sand answered Terin’s warning. On the other end of the arena, a portcullis lifted. One by one, tall figures emerged from the tunnel. The bronze of their skin was broken by nothing more than fluttering red ribbons tied to their throats and the pale linen of loin cloths. When they drew closer, the sun gleamed off of the sweat, sand, and blood on each of them.

Terin frowned. The hope some of the children would survive faltered as the convicts stalked closer, halting twenty feet away at the barked order of a soldier.

Moving to stand at his side, the girl gave a few swings of her staff before thrusting it upward. The cries of approval shook the ground.

“I’m ready,” she said.

Someone behind him gave a strangled cry at the noise. Terin twisted around, reaching out with his left hand to try to stop the child. Hair slipped through his fingers, and the child’s rags tore at his attempt to catch hold of the boy before he could run.

Terin’s cry was silenced by the searing of the collar at his throat, and his muscles stiffened from the pain and the cold stabbing at his bones. His blood chilled in his veins.

A stone hurled from the stands struck the child in the chest. The second caught the boy in the shoulder and drove him to his knees. The crowd quieted to listen to the shrill screams.

With a crack of bone and the thud of a body falling to the sands, the third stone heralded silence.

Stones rained down from above, thudding down on the body to bounce among them. One struck Terin’s shins, but the collar refused to let him acknowledge the pain. It forced him to watch as, stone by stone, the slave’s body disappeared.

A lone cheer was answered by the rest of the crowd. The collar released Terin, and he staggered a step. The pleasure slave grabbed hold of his elbow and shook her head at him. Terin’s cheek twitched. He lifted his head and turned to face the convicts.

With their delighted cries filling the arena, the Citizens waved red cloths and pounded the stones with their feet.

The gong sounded.

Terin tightened his grip on his sword and turned his back to the pleasure girl, sparing a glance at the bronze-collared boy. The slave’s eyes widened and he scrambled back a pace. The men stepping toward them grinned, their weapons lifted high in acknowledgment of the Citizens.

One of the convicts didn’t lift his weapon, and he was one of the few men wielding a staff instead of a blade. Terin tensed. If the man had lifted his weapon like the others, he wouldn’t have noticed him at all. Neither short nor tall, with plain features and a brown hair tinged with yellow, nothing set him apart from the others slated for execution within the arena. 

As one, the convicts stalked forward, weapons held at the ready. The staff-wielding man moved with such grace that Terin didn’t dare look anywhere but at him.

A child cried out and Terin crouched, lowering the tip of his sword so he could bring it up to parry when the first wave of men struck at them.

The convicts strode forward, and as soon as they were within reach, the pleasure slave advanced. Leaping high, she spun around and kicked out her leg. Her golden hair fanned out around her, each strand lit beneath the glow of the afternoon sun. As she dropped down she smashed the end of her staff against the collarbone of the leader.

The blow knocked the convict back a pace and the girl spun out of reach, her body swaying to the beat of some melody only she could hear.

A low, appreciative huff escaped Terin before he could stop it. The girl whirled to glare at him. Terin offered an apologetic shrug and forced himself to stare into her eyes despite the temptation to let his gaze wander.

“I’ll save you for last, little girl,” the struck convict snarled. The girl turned back to face him, her grip tightening on her staff.

Terin didn’t wait to find out if the girl had a reply for the man.

The fleet-footed convict holding his staff smiled, and Terin hesitated. With a shake of his head, he leaped forward and entered the fray.

Chapter 3

Blaise forced a smile for the benefit of those staring at him and tried to ignore the pounding in his head. The pain surged with each cheer of the Citizens in the Arena. He kept still, and the throb in his temples prevented him from succumbing to the temptation to reach over and throttle the violet-robed man at his side.

Murdering the Emperor of the Erelith Empire, however satisfying wringing the man’s neck might be, wouldn’t do him or the church any good, and it’d certainly get his immortal nature revealed to the worst people.

At least he had a real chair instead of having to share a bench with those who would inevitably jab him with their elbows due to their excitement.

“I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, Bishop,” the Emperor said, his tone lacking any real emotion. Blaise turned to face the man, swallowing back the surge of rage and self-loathing as he bowed his head as was expected and proper.

“It is an unmatched view, Your Imperial Majesty,” he murmured. It was the truth. His normal seat in the arena was on the highest tier on the furthest bench from the rail. It was seating designated for the poorest of Citizens who managed to somehow afford attending the events.

For once, he didn’t need to rely on his heightened eyesight to make out the faces of those below.

“I do hope you don’t mind your garb.”

Blaise’s cheek twitched. The blue and green doublet lacked any sign he belonged to the Church, save for the rose-patterned cuff-links he had insisted on stealing from his frock coat. It clung to him in all the wrong places, tight across his shoulders instead of hugging his chest. “I’m honored, Your Imperial Majesty,” he replied, matching the man’s serious and dour expression.

“I trust you’re well. I’d rather not have to go explain your unfortunate accident to the Archbishop.”