The Fall of Shadows

Chapter 4: Renna

My mind is dull as a trudge five stories up the dull Combs steps. At every level I walk past more and more fighter cells emerge. So close, it's embarrassing really, having to encourage myself to walk up flights of stairs when I'm one of the most sought-after fighters in all of Lathinia.

I finally reached the top level, or ground level. Fighters aren't really supposed to be out and about–but I need to clear my head. Overhead, the hot desert sun beats down on the city of Mehlar. Slowly, I swing the broad oak door open and step out onto the stone streets. The Trife stadium is in the ritzier part of Mehlar. Just a couple blocks up main street and I could make it to the palace before they put out the first lunch plates.

I blink, attempting to adjust to the harsh glare of the sun lighting up the limestone houses and white-tiled streets. Red and gold flags line the walkway, and as I make my way through the throngs of people I make sure to take in what they're wearing. My sense of time warps when I'm in the Combs. I can't remember the last time I was out. It's only when I'm out here, on the street, do I really understand how much time has shifted from beneath my feet.

"She's for the streets." Eenick had once declared in a cold rage.

I had laughed about that. He'd meant it as an insult. For my bastard, fatherless upbringing. But I couldn't help but feel that if Eenick meant these streets–I'd be ok with that.

I make my way around the stadium, keeping it on my right as a make to pass the entrance. Flanking the two-story arched entrance are two bronze bulls. At least one story high and imposing as hell. Bulls are the emperor's favorite animal, and tomorrow the wealthy populations of Mehlar will be streaming through the grand arch, eager to watch the pain and death that occurs with every Trife.

I hurry past the entrance. I wasn't sure what the popular fashion the streets would boast this morning, so I opted for the safest bet. A loose, black dress flows down my body. Only lightly brought in at the waist. The sheer black sleeves will protect me from the sun, and the shallow v-cut of the neckline gives the dress more definition. Conservatively safe. Better people think I'm a grieving priestess than a Mehlar whore.

I walk confidently in the opposite direction of the emperor's palace. I don't go out of the Combs much, so there are only a couple places I can go where I know my barings.

As I make my way through the streets I catch a couple cutting glances my way, I make eye-contact with a couple individuals, and they're quick to turn their heads away. I'm sure they might recognize me, but shy away from saying anything in the fear of being wrong.

The streets get narrower and the colorful shops more condensed as I reach the slums of the city. Condensation drips down my back as the hot desert sun casts its rays down my black dress and the pungent stench of waste wafts into my nose.  I'm keeping my eye out for anything cheap enough when there's motion in front, and a scuffle within one of the stores draws the attention of the slum civilians.

"I swear I didn't say anything!" A short man, native Lathinian, sputters, panic coating his voice as he's dragged out of the shop from my left. Discouraged murmurs from the crowd ripple through the tight street as the man's legs flail. My heart aches at his voice. The desperation in it.

Each arm is held tightly by two guards, their black armor clinging tightly to their bodies and their red and gold pins glittering in the sunlight. I don't know how they look so ok, I'd be dead from the heat in those uniforms.

A hush rumbles down the street as a tall, looming man slowly stalks out of the shop, trailing the two guards, and the Lathinian man's face blanches.

I recognize the tall man instantly. Everyone on this street does. They've all seen, or possibly heard, of the grief, the death this man leaves behind. They've all had a friend, or family member, maybe a lover, who's fallen to the Emperor's darkness, his shadow.

The executioner eyes the man before him, a pitiful sight really, before murmuring an order to his guards. The guards nod their heads, and drag the man, barely fighting, into a blood-red prisoners wagon parked across the street. The man moans slightly as the wagon doors lock and the pitch-black horses mounted by guards trot him away.

But the Executioner still stands there. His eyes trailing the wagon, before lifting his head to the crowd. He wears all black, the armor etched with scenes of violence. His face is concealed by a stygian helmet, only exposing his eyes and mouth. Slowly, he meets the gaping eyes of the crowd.

"Let it be known" His voice booms throughout the street "That any citizen of Mehlar, or Lathinia itself, who speaks treason against the Emperor or his Cabinet," His eyes meet mine, and I see it, his eyes registering me, "will be subject to the capital punishment of the Emperor's preferred choice." His voice hangs over the silent crowd as the message rings out. Then, eyes still locked with mine "I suggest everyone here continue they're daily activities".

Just like that the bustle of the city continues, everyone rushing for the normalcy they possessed just a couple minutes prior.

Not me though.

I stand reed still as the Executioner makes his way towards me with slow, deliberate footsteps.

I feel people's gaze linger as he stands before me, then, after a moment's pause, states, with a low, matter-fact-tone, "I didn't think the Fighter of Mehlar would be caught in the slums."

I straighten my back, "I like to shop here"

His face still remains "Why?"

Shit. "Uh.." My mind scrambles, "Um..because... it's the most local." My voice pitches up at the end, like I'm asking a question.

He stares down disapprovingly– "I think it's quite a walk from the Stadium."

Shit. I can't let him know. I won't let him know. The real reason I shop down here. I'm suddenly all too aware of the defecation lining the gutters and people lying against buildings, dead or alive, I rarely stay long enough to find out.

I gulp, breaking eye contact, "It was nice to meet you," I murmur, turning away. The crowds continue to move by us, but leisurely, this is surely welcome entertainment for them.

"Renna," His voice is cold, my heart drops and I turn around, once again, and meet his eyes. His armor resembles a chasm, the darkness absorbing the sharp rays of the sun, "Good luck tomorrow".

The surprise must show on my face because as soon as the words leave his lips he turns on his heel and marches down the street, heading deeper into the slums. If the Gods are sending me a warning, this would be it. I turn, and speed walk, practically running up the streets. Cobblestones eventually turning into white limestone tiles and I see the familiar shadow of the stadium, its arched torches lit in the afternoon sun. I don't stop moving until I'm inside the oak doors, slamming them shut behind me. Making my way down the stairs, I descend to my Fighter's cell in the heart of the Combs, the Executioner's last words relaying in my head.

Good luck tomorrow.