Page 5 of House of Serpents and Slaves

After several hours, the wagon rolled through a massive gate into a town. I gaped at the towering stone buildings and grand temples, momentarily distracted from my anguish. I had never ventured far from my village, and the scope and grandeur of the town both awed and intimidated me. Tarus had told me about Veredus, the closest town to our village. He had been once with our father, but I had been promised after the next storm season, my mother would take me to see the stalls and the temples. She had promised me a new dress.

The wagon rattled down the dirt streets, finally stopping before a wide space. High wooden enclosures had been built, reminiscent of cattle enclosures. These were not for cattle. One of the legionaries that had been driving the wagon jumped down to converse with a slimy looking man that came over to meet them. He gazed into the wagon, his blank eyes passing over me and Septimus who still lay unconscious, blood matted in his hair. I shuddered when they reached me. He nodded slowly, and after a few more words with the legionary, I watched as the man counted out several bronze zi into the legionary's hand, who dropped them into his purse.

My eyes widened in understanding. So this was to be my fate - sold into slavery to become property. I swallowed hard, terror warring with anger in my chest. My hands clenched into fists, nails biting into my palms as I fought to keep from being sick from the fear that swept over me. My mind travelled quickly to the worst possible stories I had heard about how slaves were treated in towns, and I began to shake.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the image of Tarus in my mind. His shaved head, his dark eyes that mirrored my own. The way they sparked when he talked about us becoming DragonElites. I swallowed my fear down. Dragon Elites weren't afraid of anything. They could break my body, but they would never break my spirit. I would survive, no matter the cost. For Tarus. I would continue to train, and I would find out why my entire village had been destroyed. And when the time came, I would have my vengeance for what had happened today.

1

The dim glow of torches cast flickering shadows across the arena, as if the very spirits of the fallen sought to reclaim their place amongst the living. My sandals sank into the coarse sand, each grain a testament to the blood and sweat that had been spilled there. The wooden bleachers loomed above me, a silent witness to countless battles fought for the fleeting adoration of the crowd.

My hand slipped down the broom handle and for a moment, I gripped the wooden hilt of a sword. I closed my eyes, feeling thethunder of hooves on the ground beneath my feet, the roar of the crowd around me as I drove my enemy to their knees...

"Get to work, Livia!" Drusus, the arena's owner, barked at me, his voice shattering my daydream.

"Of course, Dominus." I forced a weary smile and gripped my broom tighter. My muscles ached from labouring in this place, but I couldn't afford to show any signs of weakness. Even as a slave, I had to maintain some semblance of dignity.

I swept the sand, my thoughts wandering to the stories my mother and father once told me under the warm glow of the hearth. Of heroes and glorious battles. And dragons. How I'd yearned to see a dragon. Those tales seemed so distant now, yet, even here, in this den of violence and despair, I clung to them as tightly as the broom in my hands.

"Hey, watch it!" A gladiator pushed past me, his scarred face twisted into a snarl. I took a step back, trying to make myself as small as possible.

"Sorry," I muttered, my heart racing. I despised arrogance and entitlement, but I knew better than to challenge those who wielded power over me. Gladiators were still slaves, but they mattered more than me. They brought in the money and Drusus wouldn't be bothered if one knocked me down, as long as I could still get up and work. I tended to avoid most of them when possible.

"Let her be!" Marcus called out, shooting me a quick smile. He was one of the trainers, and a fair one. I’d admired him from afar for years.

A gladiator himself, but one who had fought for many years and had earned himself a higher rank over the others. Drusus treated him almost as an equal and Marcus received benefits the others didn't, like his own room and meat three times a week. He could take any slave he wished for the night too, whereas theother gladiators were only permitted one a week. I'd never heard of him taking one though.

I enjoyed watching him during the battles in the arena. He was tall and muscular, with skin like polished ebony and piercing dark eyes. His voice carried an air of authority, and even the most hardened fighters respected him. Few liked to go up against him.

Here in the small towns of the empire, gladiators rarely faced each other in battles to the death. That was far too costly and a waste of food and training. Instead they fought until one forfeited and fed the crowd's desire for blood by taking on ferocious animals baited and enraged.

Only last week, I'd seen Marcus take down a mirage cat single handed. I had replayed the fight over and over in my head since then, memorising each lunge and retreat until I could tell the story to the other slaves.

The scarred gladiator grumbled, stalking away from me, and I continued to sweep the area. There was a battle planned for the night and the arena needed to be cleaned and ready before the sun reached the horizon. Cleaning around training was tricky, and I had to dodge several sparring pairs as I went. One pair came towards me so fast, I stumbled to the side out of their way before they collided with me.

I turned to see Septimus striking hard at his opponent again and again, leaving no time for the defending gladiator to do anything except block his strikes, until his back was against the arena wall. I grinned, recognising one of Septimus's signature moves. Tarus had taught him it when we were children.

Until five storms ago, Septimus had been a slave like me, working at the arena rather than fighting. Not content to sweep floors and scoop up blood and guts from the arena floor, he'd argued repeatedly with Drusus to allow him to try out as a gladiator. Five storms ago, a wasting sickness had taken the livesof six gladiators and laid up another four, leaving Drusus with only twelve gladiators to please the crowd and Septimus had been only too pleased to step up.

Now he was a crowd favourite. He was a great fighter and he inspired me, though I'd never tell him that. He was a slave who had become a gladiator. If he could do it, then so could I, and if I could gain access to the arena then I would be unstoppable. Of course, he was still a dick. Apparently even gladiator training couldn’t change your personality.

I swept slowly around the fighters as they trained, my eyes flicking up to watch each man or woman, studying their moves. I had been blessed by the gods with a very good memory, and I could often recreate fights I'd seen when it was just me and my poor excuse for a sword.

Vaius looked up and caught me watching them. "See that you stay out of the way, girl," he growled, his muscles rippling beneath the scars that crisscrossed his chest and arms. He wore leather armour and carried a sword and shield, like many of the other fighters. Their visages were fierce, reminding me of the very tales I crafted in my mind during brief moments of respite.

Girl, I thought with irritation. I was nearly twenty six storms. Had I not been a slave I would have my own business by now, or be joined to another and have a family. Or have graduated from the military academy, I thought wistfully. That had been my dream. Mine and Tarus. And Septimus too, I supposed. To attend the academy, to graduate with honours and rise up the ranks until we received the most prestigious military reward one could receive - a dragon egg presented by the emperor himself.

I shoved the thought away. I was about as far from dragons as we were from the fabled ocean. Sighing, I bent down to yank a stray bone from the sandy floor, throwing it into the wooden bucket I carried along for that reason. Carrion birds would descend on the arena after a fight, drawn by the blood,and although the majority of remains would be removed, there would often be the odd limb they could strip back to the bone.

I had been unsuccessful again the previous week in persuading Drusus to let me at least demonstrate my sword skills. He had looked me over disdainfully and laughed at the very idea of me going into the arena, before telling me I was lucky to hold the position I did where I wasn't called upon to risk my life. He continued to tell me how blessed I was after he'd ordered me to my knees and fucked my mouth.

I couldn't blame him. I didn't exactly fit the ideal image of a female gladiator. The two we had at our arena were slaves taken from the west of the empire, where it was said that the trees were tall enough to tower over your head and the leaves were copper green. They were as tall as most of the men, with broad shoulders, heavy breasts and arms as thick as my thigh. They were impressive and I loved to watch them fight.

Although I wasn't short by any means for an imperial woman, I barely reached the shoulder of most of the gladiators. My frame was slender, and I had sadly never been overly blessed with womanly curves. Drusus was right, I couldn't compete in strength against a gladiator, but it didn't stop me from being determined to try. I just needed someone to take a chance on me.

Suddenly, the sound of trumpets blared, signalling the end of training and the serving of evenmeal. I hurried to finish my chores as the gladiators left the arena to return their weapons and armour to the armoury. I finished cleaning the arena and made my way back to the slave quarters. The other slaves were already there, preparing and serving the evening meal. I joined them, taking my place at the table and waiting for my small portion of the food.

Gladiators were served first. They needed to eat and prepare for the upcoming fight. They also got meat on fight days, and one other time during the week. Slaves got meat once everytwo weeks and on festival days. Today was not a meat day, but there was the broth left over from cooking it, and a serving of flatbread. The fight the previous week must have brought in a good amount of money, because there were also three dates apiece tonight.

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