Page 1 of A Lick of Flame

1

Orion

“Devil! Devil! Devil!” The chanting echoes around the stadium above. The words are so loud that they ring in my ears, even though I am well below the ground and caged like the animals I will soon be expected to fight.

I wonder what they have in store for me today. Something even more terrifying than last week, I am sure. Something quicker, stronger, infinitely more difficult to best. The odds will be stacked against me.

I sigh.

“Jessop’s great tit, man, you look defeated already. Where is the champion everyone tells tales about?” The newly captured man clutches the bars of his cage. He looks over at me like I’m something special when I’m not. Being a killer doesn’t make you special.

I smile; even that feels like a task. “Not defeated, just tired. Bone weary and to my core. That’s what over two years in this place will do to a man.” I stand and start my stretches, beginning with my legs. I have a routine that has worked well for me thus far, and I follow it religiously.

“Come on! It isn’t that bad. When I felt the sun on my face yesterday, I wasn’t nearly as upset at being captured. The food is good. I haven’t slept so comfortably in years. This place isn’t all bad. You should be grateful that you’ve outlasted every fighter who has come before you. You’re a legend.” His eyes shine. “Listen to them.” He lifts his eyes to the roof, a wide smile breaking out on his face. “That’s all for you.”

The ground vibrates as booted feet crash against the floor above with every chant. “Devil! Devil! Devil!” The crowd is growing restless. They want their champion. They want me. I’m stronger, faster, and more agile than your average man. Up until now, I have been invincible, and they love it. I know that they would cheer just as loudly were my blood to soak the ground and the light to leave my eyes.

They’re a fickle bunch, the crowds that attend the fights. They’re mostly made up of fae bastards, but there are plenty of human faces, too. The one more disloyal than the next. When I am gone, another will become their favorite, and I will be forgotten.

Forgotten.

I feel an ache in my chest, even though I don’t care if the crowds forget me. I’m not sure why the thought evokes such a strong response in me. It doesn’t make sense. I ignore it and start stretching my arms, making sure that the muscles are warmed. That I am ready for the battle to come.

“I am no legend. I’m lucky. I was born to fight.” I shrug. “A mercenary, just like my father and my father’s father. It’s in my blood. I hate that I am pitted against petrified beasts. They’re starved and fearful. It’s wrong! I’d prefer a whole horde of those fae pricks,” I grumble.

“Be careful what you wish for,” a voice says from the darkness. It’s Fred. I hear the strain in his voice.

“How are you faring?” I ask, staring into the darkness at where I am sure he is curled up on a pallet, but I don’t see much of anything.

“Better than yesterday, worse than two days ago. It will be a miracle if I make it to tomorrow.” He groans, his pallet creaking as he moves. “I wish they would give the rest of us a week to recover,” he grumbles. I know that the taunt isn’t aimed at me, so I don’t react. Fred was gored on the right side of his torso by the long fangs of a burcees two days ago. His right just happens to be the side of his sword arm. The chances of him making it through his bout today are little to none. He’s feeling prickly, to say the least. I can’t say I blame him. Pain, together with the certain knowledge of his impending death, will do that to a person.

The reason the fae only have me fighting once a week is because it helps build excitement. It has nothing to do with my recovery. They couldn’t care a damn about that. The longer the wait, the higher the intake, especially since they are pitting me against insurmountable odds each time I step into that ring. I know that my days are numbered. Perhaps they’ll burn both Fred and me in the same pit come darkfall.

I almost don’t care either way. This is no life. I will keep fighting to the best of my ability, but when my time comes, so be it.

If Kakara will accept me, I am ready.

The sound of heavy boots on stone echoes through the cavernous bowels of the stadium. It’s where they house the fighters and the beasts. It smells of musk, sweat, blood, and excrement. Oh, and of wet fur. A fine combination – if your sense of smell is faulty.

Part of me is dreading what I will find up top, while the rest of me can’t wait to be in the sunlight and fresh air.

The heavy footfalls grow louder and fae guards turn the corner, entering the holding area. There are four of them. They are dressed in leather and plated armor that glints in the light of the burning wall torches. They all have sheathed swords at their sides.

The closest of the fae smiles. “Dante the Devil,” he mutters. “Your fans await.”

The second one chuckles. “I doubt you’ll make it out alive.” He shakes his head. “Not this time.”

“That’s what you said last week, Nicholas,” I throw back.

“And the week before that.” The third fae laughs. His name is Florian. By now, I know them all. Each and every one of the bastards. I’ve even grown to like a few of them…begrudgingly.

Nicholas chokes out a laugh. “Yes, but this time, I am almost sure of it, and I must say, I think I might actually miss you, human. You’ve become a fixture.”

“We should get going,” Florian announces, looking up. The chants have grown louder. The rhythmic sound of boots hitting against stone is almost deafening as the crowd stomp their feet and clash their swords against metal shields. “Before all hell breaks loose.”

“You know the drill,” Landril says.

I nod, walking over to the exit. Then I turn, putting my hands behind my back.

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