Page 17 of Shackled to the Orc

“Grommash is a real bastard. Only one loss, to Khan. Good fight. Khan took out his eye, and it only made him meaner.”

There’s a grunt of pain as one of the charging gladiators knocks down the trainee with the broken teeth, who slowly picks himself up, just in time for the next attack. They have no respite. It’s like a sick, twisted sports drill, only the men clutching spears won’t just get a goal scored against them.

They’ll lose their lives.

I shiver, not from the cold, but from the image of them butchered on the ground. “Do you know whohe’sfighting?” I don’t have to name who.

“Yeah. Big draw. Thrukarr, a big fat fuck of an orc they captured in the Kabi desert. Don’t look so worried. Your boyfriend will make mincemeat of him.” Garvin pulls a flask from his coat, the coin disappearing, and pours more brown foul-smelling liquid into his coffee. It must be mostly whisky by now.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

One of Garvin’s grey eyebrows rises. “Oh? Then what do you get up to all night? Discuss philosophy?” His eyes narrow. “What I don’t understand is why he turns down his prizes, tells Shug to take the other women to work the kitchen, yet he tells you to bunk with him. Now you’re a fine-looking young lady, but what’s so special about you? He’s been given women before. Never touched them.”

“Gladiators, break for lunch!” Khan booms out the order to stop, clapping his huge hands together. Weapons are lowered, gladiators put their hands behind their heads and breathe, and the two trainees with spears collapse to the ground, panting as they lay on the sands.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Khan roars it out, limping to the two men lying on the ground. They look up, wide eyed. “I said gladiators. You think you’re gladiators? When you haven’t tasted the ring, you take that honor? Get up!”

They pull themselves up, legs shaking. “Spears over your heads.” Khan growls it out, in his deep, demanding voice, knowing he will be obeyed. With great exertion, the two men lift the wooden-tipped spears over their heads. Sweaty gladiators in light leather armor chuckle at the scene as they file out of the training arena towards the mess hall for lunch. As they pass me, they nod, some touching their foreheads in a respectful greeting.

“For how long?” The bald one’s voice is weak, his neck vein throbbing as he fights to keep the spear in the air.

“Until I tell you to stop. Whichever of you drops the spear first, the other spends the night sleeping out here,” states Khan, and the two men exchange looks, fighting to keep the weapons over their heads. While neither of them wants to be the one to sleep in the cold sands, they must fear that Khan has another, worse punishment in store for disobeying his order.

Khan strides towards the exit, but his right leg is dragging in the sand, leaving uneven tracks. His left arm is hanging, the flesh under his bicep inflamed and swollen. When he was demonstrating techniques, it was like he was another person, no hint of his injuries, but the mask slips off after combat. He’s been worn down by years of injuries that he does not treat, and though Garvin is confident, he won’t be fighting a human that he towers over in two days.

He'll be up against another of his kind.

Khan doesn’t even look at me, stomping down the hallway towards the mess hall.

The only two people left are the two trainees struggling in the center of the arena. I’m not squeamish about blood or injuries. That wore off fast during my year as an apprentice healer. This...this is different, the way Khan hulks around the arena, directing the choreography of violence, and every red welt on the two trainees is part of his symphony. They’re terrified, arms shaking like leaves, desperately trying to hold their spears over their heads with weakened muscles.

“You aren’t going for lunch?” I say to Garvin, the only other person who hasn’t left. If he’s bothered by the abuse of the two men, he doesn’t show it.

“I’ve got my lunch right here,” he says, patting his metal flask. “The food here’s shit anyways. I’ll go to the city tonight, get some grub from the street market. You got a sweet tooth, Maya? I can get you some candy.”

“They let you leave?” I ignore his offer, because I can’t tell if it’s earnest or condescending.

“Yeah, I earned that privilege. Never wanted to escape. What else could I do, after all these years? Couple of the other old hands get weekends free, too. ’Course, never the orcs. King’s decree. You got a drop of orc blood, the only way you’re leaving these walls is shackled.”

“Is Khan really going to make one of them sleep out here? It’ll be below freezing.”

“Yep. Only, well, you’ll see.”

“What?”

He smiles at me. “Go get some food. Khan always eats alone in his room, give him some company. Hey! You! Keep that fucking spear over your head!” Garvin yells in a raspy voice as the bald man nearly drops his weapon, and he recovers, his entire body trembling, sweat dripping down his red forehead. Bruises are swelling over his thighs.

It’s some sick hazing ritual. Newcomers to the arena get a violent welcome before they earn the right to be called gladiators, and it’s disgusting. They have to fight in two days, and they’re going to be so worn down and injured they will be helpless against the half-orc.

I can’t just stand by and let it happen.

Useless pain is the thing I hate most. I stalk through the corridor and turn to Khan’s room, throwing open the door. The gladiators might be intimidated by him, but he’s about to get an earful.

10

MAYA

He’s leaned over the table, a huge wooden bowl of roasted meats, steamed carrots and turnips over a bed of brown rice in front of him. There’s a smaller bowl across from him, and a new chair, sized for a human, has been brought to the room. Thick, crusty bread is slathered in butter, fresh out of the oven, and my stomach grumbles. I barely touched my food last night, and I’m starving.

---