The Fall of Shadows

Chapter 7: The Executioner

The heat is oppressive as I stand beside the Emperor. A seat was provided for me when we first walked into the stadium, but I opted to stand. I figured it would send a message to everyone, including the fighters, that I was not to be messed with. Now, I can't help but feel a little bit silly. Sweat drips down my back, and it's a hard effort to not shift constantly to attain more comfort.

The audience has completely filled the stands when the trumpets start. Again with that awful anthem. Just hearing it causes my pulse to race through my veins. I run a hand over the lapels of my black uniform just as silence fills the arena–signaling the officiator's speech. I glance over at Hadrian. He looks almost as uncomfortable as I feel. He doesn't know about the deal I made with the Emperor, but by the look on his face, I can tell he's heard whispers of something being different about this Trife. Soon he will know. When I'm called out of the Emperor's box he will know. But for now, all he can do is sit next to Prince Cadman and watch the Trife unfold.

A deafening roar fills my ears. The officials have stopped speaking. I quickly bring my hands down and place them behind my back, straightening my posture as I do. The roar of the audience grows louder as I see the iron gate at the left side of the stadium begin to slide up. There is about a twelve-foot drop between the Emperor's box and the sandy oval pit of the stadium–meaning that I have a bird's eye view of the action that will unfold for the next two hours.

Then I see her. Dressed in pure white and gold armor–like an archangel descending to bring death. Her ice-white hair gleams under the hot Lathinian sun, and is neatly plaited in two long strands down her back. The heat does nothing for her pale complexion, which grows slightly flushed amidst the chanting. Her stunned look melts into on of satisfaction as she gazes around the stadium–then, she looks towards the Emperor's box, either for confirmation or just to get a glimpse of the Emperor, and I meet her eyes. I stifle a gasp, like obsidian among pearls, her eyes bare a stark contrast to the rest of her face. She holds my gaze, as if in challenge, and I continue to hold my stare into those rich, brown eyes. My pulse begins to quicken–and it's not from anger. 

No, it's from something far more dangerous.

I remember my words to her yesterday.

Good luck tomorrow.

Gods I had been so stupid to even attempt to talk to her. I know how I came off. Aloof, haunting.

Breaking my stare, she looks across the sand to her opponent who has just emerged. I unwillingly break my gaze from her and look at who she's facing. He's no older than Hadrian. And dressed in much more drab attire than his female counterpart. He's sporting a steel armor set, and holds a matching steel sword.

"Boring," Cadman states. I nod my head in agreement.

I hold my breath as Renna strides across the sand towards the other fighter, casually swinging her white-and-gold axe . The other fighter, to his credit, looks absolutely petrified. I mean, I would too if I was facing her. You are, that little voice in my head says, You are facing her. Shit. I watch as the other fighter, as if finally realizing his surroundings, draws up his sword in a fighting stance. But it's too late.

The crowd grows feral as Renna lunges, swinging her axe across her body and counter-spinning away from the other fighter. Her hit is successful, and the white blade of the axe lands on the fighter sword-wielding arm. He yelps in pain and drops his sword. I turn my attention across the Stadium to the betters–who stand on their feet embracing and cheering with each other. I furrow my eyebrows. I've always thought of the betters as shady, always getting rich and becoming lords and nobles just from placing the right bets on the right fighters.

The fighter shrinks back from Renna, who stands tall with the axe. He's bleeding badly from his right arm, and his left hand goes up to cradle the injury. I know that stance. That's the stance of prey giving up when confronted with predator. I see it in his eyes, pleading. She notices it too. It's subtle–but something experienced fighters can recognize with ease. He mouths something to her, something that I can't quite figure out, but she stiffens. I glance at the Emperor, pride radiating off of his smug face. He understands what the Empire gains from Renna winning the duels.

The male fighter has now fully been backed into the wall of the stadium, and the front-row audience member throws jeers and insults at him for giving up so easily. He cowers as Renna approaches, her back is to us, but I see her contemplation. She's thinking of if she should draw out the end of this battle, or finish it quickly, sparing the fighter from further embarrassment and injury. She chooses the latter. And with one smooth swoop of her willowy arm, she sends the butt of her gold axe into his head. He crumples to the ground–not dead, but definitely not here. She kneels, placing two fingers on his wrist, making sure his heart is pumping. Carefully, she moves the hair out of the fighter's face and leans down to kiss his forehead. A gentle gesture, and a signal to the crowds that she has just officially won.