Chapter 1

15 years later

Laughter filled her ears, breaking the sweet sense of peace that always followed the familiar dream. Lizzy slowly opened her eyes, startled but not surprised by the dampness on her pillow.

Crying in my sleep again…great.

She scrubbed her face with both hands, hoping her eyes weren't red from tears. She kept a careful ear trained to the door and the waking inhabitants roaming the rest of the training barracks. Lizzy grunted and with a shake of her long braids swung her legs over the side of the bed to pull on her boots.

It wasn't as if anyone would make a comment about her red-rimmed or not eyes anyway. Being the strongest fighter in the Citrine Troupe did have its perks of deterring any unwanted remarks, but it didn't stop the constant stares or whispers once people became used to her strange looks.

Being the only orc in the group earned her more attention than she ever hoped to have, and being a half-orc at that made her a spectacle that drew in crowds like kobolds to precious stones. It brought Master Yanis good business, but it only seemed to blacken her soul with every kill she was forced to make.

Her hands stilled on her boots, the laces falling through her loose fingers. Her chest tightened and her eyes began to burn as she desperately tried to hold on to the dreams still lingering in her mind. Of the last time she remembered being genuinely happy. When it was just her clan, mother and father.

Smiling.

Laughing.

How was she to know that it was not to last? Their peaceful lives had come to a screeching halt when the Luruar Clan sold them out and allowed the Many-Arrows kingdom to attack.

Her clan was strong, as evidenced by their title of Proudfists, but had been greatly outnumbered from many of their fighting members out raiding cargo wagons. Her father had been one of the few selected to stay back and defend the remaining clan members in case anything happened, but even he couldn't withstand the strength of the enemy.

He had given his precious weapon to Lizzy, the knowledge that his family would escape safely putting a smile on his face even as his lifeblood flowed onto the cobbled stone beneath him as he traveled into the Nishrek.

But even his final memory had proven false.

Lizzy took a shuddering breath and hurried to tie her boots. She tried to push the image of her mother from her mind, the arrows piercing the woman's back and her frantic cries for Lizzy to keep running and not look back.

If only she had listened. If only she hadn't taken up her father's glaive in a feeble attempt to protect her mother's still, cold body, then maybe she wouldn't have had to kill for the very first time.

With a low growl to cut through the thickness in her throat, Lizzy shoved to her feet and barged out of the room, not caring if she woke her sleeping roommates. She charged through the housing area, an itch beneath her skin. She needed to move, to feel the sun on her skin and feel the fresh air deep in her lungs.

The image of Master Yanis' sneering face, the same, cold eyes she had seen on that road so many years ago, thrust away the final remnants of her warm memories. The walls of the housing unit closed in around her and the stale air threatened to suffocate what little rest she had gotten that night. The wide doors leading outside loomed in front of her and Lizzy nearly ripped the wood from its hinges in her hurry to be free from her apartment in the "paid fighters" area of the building.

Even I know that's just a way for him to get outta trouble.

Oh yes, they might be paid for every fight they entered; paid in bronze or silver for wins, beatings for losses. But every fighter in the housing building knew they were just glorified gladiators and pawns to line the master's pockets.

And besides, Lizzy was fairly certain paid employees didn't have metal rings around their necks at all times.

Lizzy scratched the skin of her neck, making sure to keep her fingers away from the metal. She had never tried to take off the cold metal circle, not after seeing what happened to the last bloke who tried, but lately she had started to become restless. Dreams of her home came more frequently during the night and made her long for a home of her own where she didn't have to fight for her survival at every waking moment of every day.

Muscles itching with pent up frustration, Lizzy crossed the wide courtyard to the practice grounds. She easily hopped the fence surrounding the grounds and stomped over the packed dirt ground to the weapons rack. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had yet to head to the mess hall that morning, but she ignored her body's warning and narrowed onto her target.

Her shoulders sagged in relief the moment her hands grasped the cool metal handle of her glaive. The restless energy writhing within her calmed to a soothing warmth. She smiled and rasped a hand down the length of the handle, fingering the leather wrappings gently. The worn leather strips had been hard to form around the handle, but they served their purpose to make her weapon look less…deadly.

Shaking her head to dispel her ugly thoughts, Lizzy gave her glaive a practice swing and made her way to the center of the ring. Her father's numerous instructions whispered in her ears and by some instinct her body began to move as one with her weapon. She moved calmly, stealthily, letting her muscles stretch and twist away the final stages of sleep.

Her legs loosened and her arms grew strong. Her feet turned her faster and faster until her glaive was cutting through the air in deadly arcs over her shoulders, around her back and above her head. She was a blur of motion, always moving, always twisting, until she lost herself in the dance of her people.

Sweat had just formed on her brow from the rising sun when the shuffling of footsteps startled her from her dance. Lizzy kicked the handle with her heel, bringing the sharpened end over her shoulder and downward in an air-cutting swoosh. Her blade narrowly missed slicing off the nose of the gnome attendant Master Yanis assigned to her.

The gnome let out a startled squeak, his normally ruddy skin turning pale. A bead of sweat hovered at the tip of his trembling nose. "M-master says you need to head to the mess hall. You have a fight this afternoon." The gnome's eyes never left the weapon.

Lizzy bit back a sigh and set her glaive across her shoulders, staring at the top of the trembling gnome's head. "What kind of fight is it this time?"

Please say hand to hand…please say hand to hand…

"Weapons," the gnome replied in a small voice, "...to the death."

Lizzy groaned and leaned her neck back until she could feel the cold metal of her glaive. "And what if I say I won't go?"

She did everything she could to avoid the dreaded weapon fights and would outright refuse to take any part in the bloody "death tournaments" that were steadily becoming more popular among the more unsavory spectators.

"Then the master says the others won't have any dinner for an entire week."

"The p'tahk!"

The curse and insult escaped her lips before she could catch it. She spit on the ground next to her feet for good measure, certain her mother would understand the need to swear just that once.

Of course Master Yanis wouldn't allow her to refuse. Once he realized torturing her did nothing to change her stubborn mind, he quickly switched to the most underhanded tactics she had ever seen; threatening the little ones around her. Lizzy could easily handle beatings, missed meals and the occasional whippings, but one slap to one of the youngin's and she had instantly caved to the master's demands.

With a heavy weight settling onto her broad shoulders, Lizzy walked to the weapons rack and placed her father's glaive back with it's cellmates. Soul feeling as if it were being carted away, she nodded to the gnome and followed the much smaller creature into the bowls of the building, not even bothering to give the sun a final farewell.