Page 33 of Shackled to the Orc

“Cordell, I need blue lotus root.”

“I can’t give you that, it’s for valuable gladiators—”

I give him a venomous look, and with my other hand, I grab a surgeon’s knife. He clears his throat, nervous, and reaches into his pocket, bringing out the only thing I know that will give Ethan a chance to survive. His chest is caved in, and it will be months of recovery, but his body will have the chance to regrow. I pack his wound full of the plant while Cordell moans and complains about wastage, then bandage him up. His life is going to be agony for the next months, but he will have a chance. Ethan passes out from pain and exhaustion, which is for the best.

“Open his mouth,” I say to James, and he does so, and I go through the painstaking process of clearing his throat so he will be able to breathe again, when there’s a dark presence at the door.

I look up. Two of Shug’s guards are there.

“Maya. Come with us.”

“I’m in the middle of—”

He reaches to his sword threateningly.

“Can you finish this?” I ask James.

He looks to the guards, then to me. “Yeah. Sure.”

I grab a towel, cleaning my hands, and go to the entrance of the medical bay. “What’s going on? Khan’s fighting next, I need to stay focused.”

“Oh, you’ll see Khan fighting,” grins the guard who leered at me in the wagon. “Take that bloody apron off.”

“Why?”

“I told you I was excited for the show. You better hope your boyfriend wins,” he grins, and grabs my arm firmly, dragging me forward. I stumble along, trying to fight out of his grip, but he’s too big, and I’m pulled towards the fighters’ entrance. Khan is shackled by the portcullis gates, and his eyes widen as I am dragged past him and into the arena.

“No! Bring her back!” His yell is agony as he fights against his chains, every muscle in his body bulging, but I am pulled into the sands of the fighting pits.

The gladiator ring is huge, a sand-filled arena, packed stands filled with a mass of humanity. The sun is a hazy white dot against the smog, which is held at bay by some sort of air-field generated, and I am pulled into the center, while the crowd stares down at me.

From the opposite side of the ring, portcullis gates stop the huge, hulking opponent of an orc, with a massive belly and light leather armor, a huge battle-axe on the ground in front of him.

At the seat of honor, in a raised section away from the crowd, I recognize Lord Corwin’s heir, not yet twenty, a skinny brat of a boy who is looking down at me with an eager smile plastered on his face, guards looming behind him. Shug is sitting near him in the VIP section, next to Alf, who is wearing a finely tailored purple cloak secured with a golden brooch.

“What are you doing to me?” I gasp out, terror gripping.

“Corwin’s boy’s a real pervert,” grins the sadistic guard. “Early twentieth birthday present for him.”

“Watch your fucking tongue with that, you want us both killed?” hisses the other.

“No one can hear us. And no one would believe this slave bitch anyways.” He tightens his grip around my wrist. I look back at Khan. He’s pulling against his chains, and I know the shackles are digging into his flesh as he fights to get to me.

The arena ring has four portcullis gates, and from under the seat of honor, the gate slowly rises, and four burly guards drag in a horrific torture device. It’s a wooden table, with four shackles, meant to keep a victim in place.

“A little twist Alf does to draw in an audience. People like to see if the woman can survive the victor after,” says the sadist, his grip so tight he’s hurting me.

I look over at the huge orc on the other side of the arena. He’s pacing, hungry for the fight.

The wooden table is brought into the middle of the ring, and I’m lifted up onto it, my legs and arms shackled, my legs forced open by the cruel metal clasps, and instead of fear, all I’m filled with is hatred, hatred for Corwin’s heir, for the guards, for Shug and the pitmaster, hating every person who fills the crowd to watch bloodshed.

My clothes are ripped from my body, and I am exposed in front of the crowd, but the wolf whistles and jeers only make me more determined, my fear disappearing in the wave of hatred.

The two orcs are unshackled, and Thrukarr stalks forward. Khan stays near the wall, sidling right, drawing his opponent to him, so that the fight will be far from me. He’s moving easily, his limp gone, and he grips his sword tight in his hand, staring down his foe. His features are emotionless, his body pure death, the black runic tattoos glowing against his jade body, his eyes two burning emeralds that fix on his enemy’s every movement.

Thrukarr charges, swinging his axe backwards, and I see the point of Khan’s huge sword extend out of his back, as Khan lifts him in the air by his blade, driving forward to meet his charge, impaling him. It’s over before it could begin, the crowd deathly silent as Khan drops him to the ground.

There is no coup de gras, no formal execution. Khan pulls his sword back and Thrukarr’s heart’s blood pumps out. Khan’s giant foe is dispatched, the mighty beast of an orc felled. Khan takes his bloody sword, snarling as he strides to me, and brings it up in the air to break my bonds.

---