Chapter LVIII
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"Kill him! Kill him!"
The crowds had aligned for the first time — left and right, suburb and merchant class, every old grievance dissolved into one hungry chant. The bloodlust was the only thing the city ever fully agreed on.
Dot looked at Reek for a long moment, hand still wrapped around his throat.
"Kill — Rusty — Reek—" Reek's mouth moved, but his eyes, locked onto Dot's eyes.
Dot let go. Dropped him.
"What—" The announcer's voice cracked, the banter dying mid-chant as the crowd registered what they'd just seen.
The Hound approached, axes resting on his shoulders. "Kid. Leave it to me. You've got no stomach for this."
"Stop." Dot didn't even turn fully. His eyes alone said how serious he was.
A pause.
"Suit yourself." The Hound turned around.
Across the sand, the mysterious swordsman dropped down cross-legged, popped the cap on a flask, and drank like he was at a tavern instead of a death pit.
"Hey — jerks — open up, we're done here," the Hound called toward the gate.
"I didn't pay this much to watch nothing happen!" someone screamed from the right stands.
"Me neither!" another voice answered.
"KILL HIM!" The chant rebuilt itself, ugly and fast.
"BE QUIET!"
Dot's voice tore out of him, raw and enormous, loud enough to flatten the entire arena into silence.
Cottage's mouth fell open beside Astrid, who hadn't taken her eyes off the floor.
In the VIP section, Ozym watched, lips curving slightly.
"Should we end this, my lord?" Sera asked, standing tall beside him.
"No." His eyes drifted to the VIP man who'd made the bet — sweating now, visibly unsteady. "It's getting more interesting." The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Heh. So that's how it is."
The arena stayed quiet for one more second.
Then laughter erupted from the right side, scattered at first, then spreading.
"He must be joking," someone muttered.
"Part of the show, I guess," the man beside him added.
"JERKS!" Dot's voice rose again, cutting the laughter dead. "These are people's lives." He pointed up at the stands, breathing hard. "Get your lousy, cowardly arses down here and kill yourselves if it means that much to you."
Even Astrid went still. Cottage's jaw hadn't moved from where it had dropped.
The laughter continued anyway — louder this time, like his anger was the funniest part of the show.
A bell rang from the VIP section — small, almost delicate. Reek's ear twitched at the sound.
The man who'd made the bet held the bell, smirking as he watched the twitch ripple through him.
"Kill — Rusty — Reek—" The voice came again, and Reek's whole body responded before his eyes did, his hand reshaping into a long, claw-like spear aimed straight at Dot's throat.
"It's started again!" the announcer yelled, and the crowd's eyes went wide with renewed excitement.
Dot dodged the claw and smacked Reek's forehead with almost no effort behind it.
Reek sidestepped, grabbed Dot by the cloak, and slammed their heads together — a glancing, half-hearted impact, the two of them staring at each other in the tense aftermath.
"Wait. Reek." Dot held him by the collar. "Are you truly fighting?"
Something flickered behind Reek's dark eyes.
"You're not truly fighting. Are you?" Dot said again, quieter.
Reek went still.
A memory surfaced from somewhere deep, pulled up by a small voice.
"Dad."
He turned.
Tears were already falling from his dark eyes before he understood why.
"Honey." A woman called out, lifting a little girl up onto her hip.
"You're off to fight again," she said, smiling. "For us."
"Dad is strong," the daughter said, flexing a tiny arm.
Reek tried to say something. It came out as a long exhale instead.
The memory broke and changed without warning.
"Reek, you fool." A man in a cloak kicked him hard in the stomach.
"I'm sorry," Reek muttered, waving feebly at the men watching.
"He's not usually this unstable. He needs more testing before he can be bought," the cloaked man told someone offscreen.
"Because he's a Sand. I'll wait," a voice answered, and the man turned to leave.
"What are you doing, Reek?" Another man, this one in white, turned to find him eating bugs off the dirt floor.
"You fight for me. No one else." A pause. "Whether you want to or not."
"Fight. Rusty Reek." Reek muttered it to himself between mouthfuls.
"Dad!" The voice called again — this time from a bed, somewhere quiet, the light wrong, draining slowly out of the room.
"Dad — strong — keeps fighting for us," the daughter said, smiling through something neither of them wanted to name.
Reek's tears fell freely.
"You're not truly fighting," Dot murmured, and the memory dissolved.
Reek fell to the ground.
"Get up," the VIP man muttered, ringing the bell again, sharper this time.
"Rusty." Reek's voice cracked. "Rusty — rusty — Reek—" A clump of sand gathered and hurled itself upward, fast and sudden, straight at the VIP section.
It arrived almost instantly. Sera cut it apart mid-flight, the sand dissolving harmlessly across the railing.
"Ahhrg—" The VIP man scrambled backward, nearly falling out of his seat.
"Lord Ozym — should we kill them?" Sera asked, looking down at the floor.
"No." Ozym stood, smoothing his sleeve. "I'd love to watch them fight again." He turned toward the exit. "Let them go."
He rose, the Knights of Valor falling in behind him with Sera and Lora. At the door he paused.
"Make sure he pays up," he said, without glancing back at the trembling VIP man.
"Let them out!" the announcer's voice echoed across the arena.
The gates groaned open.
"Boo!" The crowd hurled whatever was in reach — cups, food, a shoe — none of it landing close enough to matter. Dot walked through it completely unbothered, Reek trailing behind him, the swordsman and the Hound flanking on either side.
"What a turn of events," the announcer said, recovering his showman's polish fast. "Some rage clearly expected — but it's not over, ladies and gentlemen! For the next phase, we introduce ruthless killers — fighters you have never seen before!"
"Yeah!" The crowd answered, instantly forgetting what they'd just been angry about.
"Where—" Astrid turned, looking for Cottage, who was no longer in his seat. She stood to leave.
Deep Below — The Cell Block
Dot lay face up on the stone floor, staring at the rotten ceiling. Reek sat handcuffed beside him, chewing on something he'd found between the cracks in the stone.
"That's him," a guard muttered to another as they passed.
"Freaks in love," the second one said, laughing.
Armor clicked closer.
"Hound." A knight stopped outside the cell. "Congratulations. You've been selected to fight for a nobleman."
"And if I say no?" the Hound rumbled.
"You stay here. Probably with no resources to fight your way out of this tournament at all."
A pause.
"Open it," the Hound said.
The cell door creaked.
"Guess you're on your own, kid." He glanced at Dot as his cuffs came off. "Hope to fight you again." He turned and left with the knight.
Minutes turned to hours in the tight cell. Dot paced, sat, paced again, tried to stay still and failed each time.
"Hey — you." The knight called toward the swordsman, who was shaking the last drops from an empty flask. "What—"
"You have sponsors to pick from." The knight opened the lock. "Be fast."
The swordsman stood, glancing at Dot first. "Hey, kid. Why didn't you kill him?"
"I don't know," Dot said honestly.
"You can't win fights if your opponent's still alive."
"I know that." Dot looked at the ceiling again. "I've seen what it looks like when someone's not in control of their own hands." — quieter, and it implies Dot recognized Reek's state because he's afraid of it in himself.
"Is that how it is." The man stood. "See you again, kid."
"Yeah."
"You have a visitor," the knight said, locking Dot's cell again as the swordsman left.
"Dot."
Astrid's voice came low and sudden.
"Astrid." He exhaled, sitting up, turning.
Jeffery stood behind her as she gripped the bars.
"You saw it, didn't you?" Dot asked.
"Yeah." She looked down. "Can't we just break you out of here? Leave?"
"No." His eyes shifted to Jeffery. "We have to do this the right way. I have to fight."
"Who's that?" Jeffery squinted, leaning closer, just as Reek — still chewing — turned slightly to face him.
"Ahh—" Jeffery dropped straight to the floor.
"This is Reek. My roommate," Dot said, turning back.
Astrid gave a small, awkward wave.
"This isn't important right now." Jeffery stood, dusting himself off. "You have someone interested in having you fight for them."
"A rich man," he added.
"What does he want?" Dot asked.
"He says he's an old friend. You'll meet him soon enough."
"Huh."
Somewhere in the Capital
The door creaked open.
"There you are. Lord Wulfram. And you, Lord Eryl." Ozym stepped in, smirking.
"Seems you enjoyed yourself," Eryl said, eyes fixed on the chessboard between him and Wulfram.
"Checkmate." Eryl's smile widened. "You still don't have it, old friend."
"I suppose it's the old age," Wulfram replied dryly.
"Hear, hear." Ozym crossed the room.
Caesar, standing near the two lords, bowed slightly as Ozym approached.
"I heard you've taken an interest in a fighter," Eryl said. "Perhaps I heard wrong."
"You heard right. I want him to fight for me." Ozym took a seat nearby.
"Too bad," Eryl said.
"What do you mean?"
"He's already been bought," Caesar said, stepping into the conversation.
"By who?" Ozym's voice changed.
"A rich man. After the fight," Caesar added.
"I'll top his offer."
"Checkmate," Wulfram said again, moving a piece.
"You can't buy someone already sold, if the buyer doesn't want to sell." Eryl shrugged. "Look at the bright side — there are other toys to play with."
"He must be something, to catch this much attention," he added.
"Excuse me, my lords. It's been a long day." Ozym stood, turning for the door.
"Caesar — go with him," Eryl said. "Make sure he doesn't do something stupid."
Caesar fell into step behind Ozym.
"Have fun, Ozym."
"I sure will, Eryl."
In the corridor, Ozym turned to Caesar.
"You answer to my interests now, Caesar." His voice dropped, all the earlier lightness gone. "Find who bought the boy. And I need to know why."
✦
— To Be Continued —