Chapter 2
The large, battered wagon hit yet another hole in the road and emitted a loud chorus of creaks and groans. Lizzy bit back her own groan, gingerly touching the bruise on her side from a lucky hit from the broadside of a sword.
One of the youngin's looked at her side and tears filled his eyes. She smiled at him, gave a small wave of her hand, and waited till he turned back to his friends before allowing the smile to fade. She leaned an arm on the side of the wagon, content to watch the tall buildings of Resken gradually fade away while the trees around them grew larger.
The master always took the long way home. To hear the nobles talk, the fighting arena was one of the capital's best kept secrets. Located on the opposite side of Resken and beneath one of the numerous mansions littering the landscape, they were well hidden from the prying eyes of the guards who patrolled the city. But the secrecy did little to soothe the master and there was never a time when Lizzy's ears didn't ring with his warning to keep her head down and remain silent.
Lizzy raised her head and glanced over her shoulder to where the master sat at the head of the second wagon. His head swiveled back and forth as if the city guards would arrive any minute. She frowned and turned back to the front.
She knew the fights were illegal in some way; even someone like her, with more brawn than brain could figure that out. Between the collar around her neck to the way the spectators cheered and threw their money around, she could almost smell the corruption everytime she entered the fighting ring.
The cheers of the crowd still filled her head. Their mead-fueled shouts for the Lightning Beast, for her signature maneuvers that left her undefeated for years. Her ears rang and her skin tingled as if a thousand tiny insects climbed all along her skin. Her cheek twitched, an itch from the drying blood she knew didn't belong to her. She had fought for her life, spilling precious life-blood into the sand beneath her feet, yet the more red she spilled the louder the cheers became.
She longed to rant and rave, to cut through the cheers and the corruption she knew was crawling among the spectators. But she could not consider them monsters. How could she, when it was her heart that always raced during the fight? Her blood that rushed with the thrill of the fight. Her muscles that never grew tired, not even when they set her against five opponents at once.
Am I really becoming the beast they say I am?
Lizzy flexed her hand and stared at the shadowed trees, trying to count them as they went past. The horses snorted at the front of the wagon and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She leaned forward, her hand inching toward her weapon.
Her fingers had just grazed the leather-wrapped metal handle when the forest erupted in war cries. A band of orcs burst through the trees. Gleaming weapons swung above their heads as they sprinted toward the wagons. The little ones screamed and cowered against one another as the master yelled for arms.
"Stay in the wagon!" Lizzy shouted and jumped from the wagon.
She landed on her feet with a soft thump and took a few, precious seconds to study her surroundings. More than a dozen orcs oozed from the treeline, heading straight to the wagon holding Master Yanis and the rest of the gladiators. She caught a glimpse of the master from the corner of her eye.
He was surprisingly agile for a human and wielded his sword with ease. His dragonborn guard fought alongside him and cut through the horde, not seeming to have her same hesitation for ending lives, deserved or not.
Muscles still warm from her earlier fights, Lizzy entered the fray and focused her attacks on the largest orcs in the raiding band. She swung her glaive in wide arcs, aiming for the orcs' legs…shoulders…the soft part of their arms. Anything to immobilize the threat but not outright kill.
The battle lasted for only a few moments.
Weapon poised and ready, Lizzy watched the remaining orcs run into the woods and out of sight. Blood pounded in her ears and her heart thrummed with energy. It had been an easy fight, easier than her regular bouts in the arena, and thankfully she could defend the wagons without using a single killing blow.
She headed back to the wagon and stepped over the numerous orcs the master and his bodyguards had taken care of. The stench of unwashed bodies and fresh blood made her nose twitch. Her stomach heaved and she turned her back to the corpses, looking instead at the wagons and the young soon-to-be gladiators huddled inside.
"Good. Now that that's taken care of, get back inside...you still need to earn your keep. I need you fresh and ready to fight by this evening." The master's sneering voice drifted toward her and her pounding heart stilled in her chest.
The leather around her glaive's metal handle creaked with the force of her grip. Her master's numerous commands, yelled and snarled at her for so many years, swirled like a whirlwind in her mind.
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Fight to earn your keep
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Fight and you'll get paid
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Fight and eventually you'll earn your freedom
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Fight
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Fight
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Fight
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It was always fighting!
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Her knuckles turned white against the handle of her weapon, her arms trembling with the effort to keep them still.
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Fight
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Fight.
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Fight
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The echo rang in her head until she had to close her eyes to keep herself from falling to the ground. She cradled the side of her head with a hand. Her master yelled to get in the wagon and fight…fight…fightfightfightfightfight-
"NO!" She yelled, opening her eyes.
Her chest heaved. Her lungs struggled to take a breath. The other slaves shied away from her, their faces twisting in fear. They were just boys and girls. So young, hardly even older than she was when the master had taken her. Would they last as long as she had?
She stared at their tattered clothing, their tapered ears, thin arms, slender builds. No, they wouldn't last. Not if she didn't do anything to help them.
"What did you just tell me? Get back in the wagon, you worthless animal!"
"No…" she repeated, her voice deepening into a low growl as she turned to face the master.
Her chin jutted out, showing off her bottom fangs that had grown long and sharp over the years. She glared at her master with all the hatred and fear and loathing that she had kept hidden for so long. A ghost of a memory tickled her mind and she knew her father would be proud.
Her master's eyes widened for a single heartbeat before he snarled, "What do you think you are doing?"
"I'm not fighting for you anymore. And neither are they." She jutted her chin out to the other captives and widened her shoulders and legs, trying to make herself even larger than normal.
The master snorted and pointed to her. "I'll make this easy for you to understand...you have one job and one job only, and that's to-"
"Tell me to fight one more time...and I will kill you." Her challenge and glaive cut through the air, silencing her former master's words. Her hand trembled slightly and she willed her heart to stop pounding.
"What...what is this?" Lizzy held back a flinch as his laughter cut through the trees. "Is this really...is this the best you thought of? Some harebrained, stupid plan to get rid of me?"
Master Yanis moved around his bodyguards and took several steps toward her. Lizzy's legs remained firm, even as her pulse thundered in her ears.
"Who do you think you are, to challenge me? You're just a big...stupid...orc. No one wants you. No one cares about you. You're a tool, just like those yahoos behind me." Lizzy risked a glance behind the master and her rigid stance loosened for a split second as she watched the dragonborn look at each other and drop their weapons. "So let me repeat myself...slowly...so you can keep up. You have one purpose, and one purpose only. Fight and make me bag-fulls of-"
Her weapon arched through the air. The slave owner brought his own broadsword up and over his head, barely managing to block her first attack. Lizzy twisted her shoulders and aimed down. A satisfying yelp escaped his lips when he stumbled backwards, his newly shredded pant leg swinging with the movement.
"Wait! We can make-"
First rule of fight club: never let your opponent recover.
Lizzy swung at his head, his shoulders, his legs. Each movement a deadly arch of metal and power, but only enough to allow him just a split second to block her attacks. The bodyguards stepped to the side, well out of reach of her weapon, and she heard their own swords scrape the air as they were sheathed back into their homes.
Lizzy and her opponent spun in a tight circle. His chest heaved and sweat plastered his thin hair onto his head. Lizzy fought relentlessly, hundreds of fights honed into her body until she moved like the wind through the trees. She never let up, never let him pause for a rest. When his feet finally stumbled, she spun, ducked, and with a final burst of power and strength brought her glaive up and diagonal. A resonating clang filled her ears and the metal beneath her hands vibrated. The master's broadsword sailed through the air and into the grass well beyond the road.
He stood staring at his flying weapon, fear deep in his eyes. With a final yell, Lizzy twisted around and swept her glaive in a final, wide arch. The man coughed, a hand clutching the front of his shirt and the large, red stain that rapidly spread across the fabric. He dropped to his knees, red liquid dribbling from his mouth.
Lizzy stepped forward and jammed the base of her handle into the ground. She watched with no satisfaction as the man's pain-filled gaze squinted up at her.
"I will never kill again," she vowed, staring into the dying man's eyes until they dimmed completely and he toppled backwards.
There were a few times while writing this where I had to pause with a hand on my chest because "oh, my heart!" That last little bit was one of those times.