Chapter Ten: Becoming a Gladiator

Murtagh rolled up his left sleeve and looked at the large black bruise that had formed just below his shoulder. Below the bruise was the symbol of the Empire that Galbatorix had had forcibly tattooed onto his arm. As he looked at it Murtagh felt a surge of hatred towards Galbatorix and the Empire. Murtagh looked around the slave block for something sharp. Slaves weren't allowed sharp objects whilst they were in the slave block, which was basically a large oblong, stone building that was empty except for the stone benches that lined both walls and were used for sitting and sleeping. But on the floor, not far from where he was sat, was a small, jagged piece of rock. Grabbing it Murtagh began fiercely scrapping the tattoo off his flesh. Fuelled by his anger and hatred of Galbatorix, Murtagh barely felt the pain and was able to ignore the blood that ran down his arm; he also felt a savage satisfaction at destroying the symbol, the King had forced upon him.

After a few minutes, Murtagh became aware that he was being watched. Looking up he saw Apollo standing in front of him, watching him with a concerned expression. Murtagh watched wearily as Apollo sat beside him and waited for Apollo to try and stop what he was doing, but Apollo made no attempt to stop Murtagh's self-mutilation.

"That's Galbatorix's symbol, isn't it?" Apollo asked.

"Yes." Murtagh did not stop what he was doing, despite the fact that his arm was red with blood.

"Will that not anger him?"

Murtagh couldn't help but snort gently at that. He had angered Galbatorix in the past for less and paid the price but Galbatorix was not there to punish him and Murtagh felt a savage pleasure at doing something that would make the King furious had he still been his slave. Ignoring Apollo's quizzical look Murtagh nodded. For a few minutes they sat in silence, until finally Apollo asked the question, Murtagh suspected he had wanted to ask since he sat down,

"Soldier, why don't you fight? We all have to fight."

"I've had of enough of fighting", Murtagh replied quietly. Apollo didn't press the subject but accepted Murtagh's answer with a nod.

Once Murtagh was satisfied that he had managed to scrape off the tattoo, Apollo tore off a strip of his tunic and expertly bandaged Murtagh's arm.

"Where did you learn to fight?" Murtagh asked once Apollo was done.

"My father taught me when I was younger. Told me I might need to defend myself one day. I guess he was right."

"How old are you?" The question was out of Murtagh's mouth before he could stop it, but Apollo didn't seem to mind.

"I'm 34. What about you?"

"Nineteen." Apollo nodded as if he had guessed as much.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I've got something for you", said Apollo, pulling a cloth hand guard that archers used out of his pants pocket and offering it to Murtagh. Accepting it, Murtagh turned the black, hand guard over in his hands.

"Where did you get this?"

"It was lying on a table next to a row of bows that's at the side of the archery field, next to our building. You can't wear a bandage forever and I figured you would want to cover up your you-know-what", Apollo's voice dropped to a whisper as he said this. Murtagh nodded, he had forgotten about his Gedwey Insignia. With everything that had happened since it had been driven from his mind.

"Thank you, for everything", Murtagh said sincerely trying to put all his gratitude into those four simple words and he wasn't sure he managed it but Apollo smiled, nodded and gently began removing Murtagh's bandage on his right hand. He inspected Murtagh's wound for a moment and satisfied he let Murtagh put the hand guard on. It fit well, hiding both his new scar and the Gedwey Insignia.

The two friends talked for a while before a guard yelled through the barred windows for them to go to sleep.

For the next two days all the slaves were given basic training in sword play, all except Murtagh who still refused to fight. As punishment he was given 20 lashes and was confined to the slave block. Apollo didn't question Murtagh's refusal to fight, instead he got permission to tend to Murtagh's lashes. As he lay on his stomach whilst Apollo dealt with his wounds, Murtagh felt Apollo gently trace the scar his father, Morzan, had given him when he had thrown Zar'roc at him in a drunken rage. Murtagh was three at the time. The scar went from Murtagh's right shoulder to his left hip.

"So the stories are true. Morzan did this to you?" Apollo whispered.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry for what you have suffered, young soldier." Apollo's voice was so full of compassion that Murtagh wasn't sure how to respond so he remained silent.

Four days after their arrival Murtagh and the others were once again loaded into the wooden cage on wheels. Murtagh didn't know where they were going and he didn't care. The journey lasted around four hours by Murtagh's reckoning. Looking through the cage's bars, Murtagh saw that they were heading for a large circular building, a gladiator arena. Murtagh knew he wasn't the only one to have spotted the arena, as the atmosphere in the cage changed the moment the others knew where they were going. The quiet, nervous air vanished to be replaced by a terrified tension. Their first fight was upon them.

On arrival, the slaves were led to a long stone-walled room with wooden benches lining both walls. In the middle of the room was a long table full of swords, spears and shields. Taking a seat on a bench next to Apollo, Murtagh sat in silence. No one was saying anything, there was nothing to be said and in their silence, Murtagh and the others could hear the shouts of the restless crowd sat in the stands above them.

Murtagh watched Proximo walk to the table and pick up a short sword, twirling the sword in his hands, he walked up and down the room observing each slave one by one, his eyes lingered on Murtagh as he began to speak,

"Some of you are thinking you won't fight, some that you can't. They all say that until they are out there. Thrust this into another man's flesh and they will applaud and love you for that. You may begin to love them for that. Ultimately, we're all dead men, sadly we cannot choose how, BUT we can decide how we meet that end in order that we are remembered as men." Murtagh listened intently to Proximo's speech and thought about the blood oath he had made over Tornac's grave. He knew that if he didn't fight then he would die and he'd never be able to fulfil his oath. And then there was Thorn, Murtagh couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone in the world and also if he was going to die then Murtagh wanted to die fighting. He would not lose his honour.

"Pair them up. Reds with yellows", said a guard, hauling unwilling slaves to their feet and dragging them into an ante-chamber, where the slaves were being chained together. Murtagh was paired with Apollo and was then handed a shield while Apollo was given a sword.

Lined up behind the doors to the centre of the arena, Murtagh found himself behind Demetri, who was chained to a slave who was so frightened his entire body was shaking. Murtagh, watching the terrified slave, knew the poor man wouldn't survive this fight. Murtagh knew from experience that fear in small doses was fine, you could use it to drive you on during battle but too much of it and your body freezes. Even as Murtagh thought this he heard a soft tinkling sound, looking down Murtagh saw that the terrified slave had wet himself. Taking a small step back, Murtagh turned his attention to the wooden doors that separated him from his unknown opponents. Feeling the weight of his shield in his left hand (his right was chained to Apollo) Murtagh felt oddly naked without a sword to defend himself, he would have to rely on Apollo until he could procure a sword. Looking across at Apollo, Murtagh shared an understanding nod with his friend; they both knew they would need to work together in order to survive.

The doors opened to the open air arena; stood in the middle were seven experienced Gladiators, whose weapons varied from swords and spears to maces. All were well built and wearing helmets that hid their faces. Following Demetri and his partner into the arena, Murtagh and Apollo found themselves facing one of the gladiators armed with two swords. Ignoring the screams of terror and cries of agony that surrounded him, Murtagh emptied himself of emotion and focused on his opponent and Apollo.

The gladiator swung his right hand sword up towards Apollo but Murtagh stepped in front of Apollo and blocked the strike with his shield. Quickly stepping round Murtagh, Apollo aimed a blow at the gladiator but his strike was blocked by the gladiator's left hand sword. And so their fight continued, with Murtagh using the shield for both defence and attack to distract the gladiator while Apollo tried to find an opening in the gladiator's defence. After a few moments it appeared when the gladiator launched an attack on Murtagh giving Apollo the opportunity to stab the gladiator in the neck. With their first opponent down, they were quickly facing a second. This one was armed only with a spear. As their next adversary approached Murtagh took up a position in front of Apollo making sure to leave him room to attack.

The gladiator attacked first, thrusting his spear at Murtagh, who quickly dodged the spear and just as the spear's head was level with him, Murtagh grabbed hold of it and pulled it as hard as he could; taken by surprise the gladiator lost his spear to Murtagh, who didn't hesitate to stab the gladiator in the gut. But this gladiator was made of stern stuff; he yanked the spear out of his gut and was clearly about to try and launch an attack on Murtagh and Apollo but the two friends never gave him the chance. Extending the chain that bound them together to its full extent so that it was a taut line between them, they ran at the gladiator and their chain ripped open the front of his throat.

Tugging the chain out of the gladiator's neck, Murtagh and Apollo straightened up and looked at each other and Murtagh felt bound to Apollo. They had fought and survived together, fighting as one. Suddenly, Murtagh became aware of rapturous applause and cheering coming from the crowd. Looking around the arena, Murtagh saw that all seven gladiators were dead; one had been impaled on one of the large spikes that lined the wall of the arena. As he looked down at the dead that covered the arena floor, Murtagh noticed that the majority of the 20 slaves that had fought had died; he and Apollo were one of three pairings who had survived. Demetri had also survived but his partner lay dead several feet away from Murtagh.

Murtagh felt a sudden surge of rage and pity, pity for the slaves and rage for the cheering crowd. Those slaves hadn't asked to die; they didn't want to fight but were given no choice in the matter. How dare these people cheer the deaths of innocent people!

His rage must have shown on his face because Apollo gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and forcefully steered Murtagh back into the ante-chamber and away from the crowd. Murtagh's rage was making him feel sick. He had never felt more ashamed to be human. Looking at Apollo and one or two of the surviving slaves, Murtagh saw his sick feeling reflected on their faces and Murtagh was reminded that not all humans were cruel. Murtagh allowed that thought to give him something he had not had in quite a long time, Hope.

Author's note: Thank you Saraackles for the review. I really appreciate it x