Bloodguard (Old Erth, #1)

by Cecy Robson

Sullivan, the veteran fighter beside me, spits on the floor. “Filthy wretches,” he mutters. I toss him a raised brow—he nearly spat on my boot—but he just grins. Like me, he’s human. Unlike me, his skin is lighter and his hair is the color of faded straw. My skin is rich brown from all the time spent outside training, and my hair is black as tar—but both are just as dirty as Sullivan. His scraggly beard may be longer than mine, but it only barely covers the boils thickening his throat above his armor.

A young gladiator, his muscles obviously bigger than his brains, seems enlivened by the crowd’s excitement and raises a fist above his cloud of dark curls, barking out a quote from the recruitment pamphlet that lured most of us to this shit life. “‘Fight for the gold, win for the glory!’” “Glory never did the dead much good,” I grumble.

The promise of housing, food, and money to send home lured me, just the same as all the other gladiators in this cage, to the wealthier kingdom of Arrow. And at first, this really was a land that surpassed my dreams. But only a month after I arrived, an assassination attempt on the queen left her in a coma, and in a blink, gone were the games intended to “train” the finest warriors in Old Erth. Gone were the days of hearty meals and opportunities to heal and rest. And gone were the cheers for besting a competitor without a death blow.

Bloodguard—the name originally coined for the first eight generals in Arrow’s army—standing guard at the top.

I pull in a deep breath and try not to focus on the fact that only two have made it to Bloodguard since I arrived and the High Lord took over Arrow.

“We’re not being paired off.” Sullivan ignores the command, his expression bleak. “It’s all of us. Everyone for themselves.” My breath leaves in pained bursts. We’re not just fighting a single opponent of their choosing—whether man or beast—we’re also fighting one another to the death.

Webbed wings the size of ship sails stretch out as talons the length of my arms slam against the arena floor. The brown dragon chuffs, the fire brewing in its belly hot enough to shoot steam from its nostrils. The elf rider on its back is covered with enchanted leather that protects his flesh from the heat. The dragon’s body is the length of three moon horses. Not as large as they come, but large enough to easily squash us.

“Won’t you consider releasing him?” I whisper, unable to bite back the question. “This again? Maeve…” Vitor shakes his head. “Our kingdom thrives on laws. We can’t bend them just because you’ve asked me to.” His admonishment makes my hands curl into fists, but I continue in an even tone. “I’m not asking to bend the laws or suggesting we break them. My father is innocent.” Papa would never have harmed Grandmother. He loved her. We all did.

I find the young gladiator, his boots digging into the sand, his body poised to sprint, and I refuse to look away. He will win today. He owes me a fiancé.

My sister is only a few months younger than me, but at barely over five feet, she’s short for an elf. I tower over her. It shouldn’t matter, but because of her petite frame and her other, um, abilities, I’ve always felt protective of her.

“Gladiators are not soft—or easy to win over.” She knows me too well. “I mean it, Maeve,” Neela says, her crackly voice stern. “They break those fighters down until they have nothing left to lose—and that makes them more dangerous than even you can realize.” As I head toward the back stairs, I toss over my shoulder the absolute truth. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

I shudder and hope that I really can help him as much as I claim. As committed as I am to healing, I’m incapable of miracles. I couldn’t save my grandmother. I couldn’t heal myself fully. I can’t seem to help Giselle.

He’s only a few feet away, giving me a clear view of butt cheeks capable of snapping a wand in half and making a wish.

“I want the throne, Leith. Do this, and I’ll become queen.” Her bright eyes challenge me. “You want revenge? You want to bring the arena down…be my king.”

“I’m only saying that sometimes you must share wine with those you’d prefer swallow glass.”

“A queen does not give in to fear, anger, or discomfort before her subjects. She overcomes and endures. As will the kingdom.”

I straighten as I realize what he means. “You want them to fear us,” I say slowly. “Of course. They must fear us. Just as they must need us.”

He nods. “Undoubtedly. But the arena serves its purpose. It feeds our greatest weapon.” “And what is that?” I ask cautiously. His eyes gleam with malice as he takes another sip of wine. “Our nation’s soul.”

To them, I was another barbarian fulfilling his duty to entertain.” He looks at me. “They never imagined that me, a gladiator, a murderer, would have the heart to honor his friend.”

The warrior, He led the way, Through blood, Through fear, Through rage, But when death became the foe he could not beat, He faced it willingly and at last won his peace.

I keep my steps measured and my expression even. I’m done hiding. I’m finished with playing at niceties while innocent people like Sullivan die and gladiators like Leith suffer.

“Everyone has their own agenda,” Grandmother used to say.

I thread our fingers together. I don’t question the rightness of it. I just enjoy the feel of her hand in mine and the reassuring squeeze of her fingers as she offers me a silent comfort for all the pains of my past. There is no need. I am determined to live in the present.

“Maeve, you could take on the world.” Her reddening cheeks don’t stir a grin from me this time. I regard her as intensely as she regards me. She looks away first, whispering, “With you by my side, nothing shall stop me.”

“I saw them, Lord Soro,” one of the female guards says. “I swear to you, they came in through the balcony.” That we did. More doors slam as the rest of the guards are likely sweeping through the rest of this home. “I’m not your lord,” Soro says. “What I am is the future king who will cut out your tongue if I find out you have misguided me.”

With this woman…I’m lost.

I’m barely aware of them. Beneath the moon, the stars, the dark-blue sky, there’s only Maeve…

As we turn onto the main road, I see the lanterns lining the bridge, the purple haze of magic in the sky as Aisling and other mages from Damella join Soro on the parapet walls.

Giselle’s body is shaking. Ripples of multicolored sparks spray from her hands. Her eyes are a blend of swirling hues. I think I understand the need for the gloves now.

With his careful hold and sweeping movements, Caelen makes certain Giselle knows that she is the exquisite beauty he’s honored to stand by. Caelen loves my sister, even if he knows he shouldn’t.

“Please, Leith. I need you.” I’m not thinking of the throne now. No, I’m terrified for him.

That coveted mark—the one with the sword and vines, the one I’m all but throwing myself into a lion’s mouth to earn—is etched into several of those dead soldiers’ arms. They’re faint but definitely there.

Vitor doesn’t react. Which means this ball-less bastard already knew what I do now. I don’t bother to sugarcoat my response. “Nine,” I say. “I count nine dead Bloodguards. You see an amazing woman,” I tell him flatly. “I see a killer queen, a fallen king, and too many who recklessly died for glory.” He doesn’t react other than to say calmly, “We saved Old Erth that day. The phoenix was a herald of death, razing friend and foe in the thick of battles.” “How many died so that Arrow could claim victory that day and every one since?” Vitor chuckles. He nods as if I didn’t just insult his precious Avianna. “One of our most costly victories, indeed,” he says and looks at me. “I should know. I was there.”

He looks up, so I do, too, releasing a string of curses when I catch the name of the pub. Your Mother’s Bloomers Now there’s a place you want to meet the man charged with your mother and sisters’ safety.

“A man, even a man as strong as Leith, does not come back from losing someone he loves.”

Father reaches the wagon. I swing my sword, straining to help him. But the guards are many, and I don’t see the one with the spear aimed at my back. Father does. He doubles back, leaping in front of me. And spares my heart… With his. I drop my sword, trying to catch him in my arms. We fall together, the torment he feels reflecting in his dulling eyes. No… No… No! “Become the queen,” he says. His words waver, each one barely above a whisper. “Arrow needs you.”

It takes a moment. Just a moment. For him to swing, and for my father, my hero, to die.

“Neela, don’t,” I beg. Her tears run faster, coloring her face as her blood drains out of her. “My dear child. I must join him in death. Who else will take care of him if I don’t? It was my time long ago. I only stayed for him. Now…now it’s time for me to go.” And she does. I’m numb, unable to feel anything. Empty space is all that remains. They’re gone. They’re all gone. And they’re never coming home.

The last thing I see is Aisling unleashing her rage and her magic…and what’s left of my home crumbling to dust.

“Yes,” he says finally. “When?” Fuck yeah. “I don’t know. We need to organize.” He nods. “How many?” “Two gladiators so far,” I say. He tilts his head. “Then…four?” “No. You and me are the two.” Luther makes this odd choking sound. I think he’s swallowed something the wrong way until I realize he’s laughing. At me.

“Tell her,” he says. “If you really see her as a daughter…” It takes a strange amount of effort for Vitor to speak. “You were right, Maeve. All these years, you were right to believe in Andres’s innocence. Even when his own lover lamented over his sentence, you kept the faith.” Soro slowly releases his hold on my hair. “Then who killed my grandmother?” I ask. Anguish destroys what remains of Vitor’s resolve. “You did,” he says.

Grandmother slits the young girl’s throat in one swift and merciless motion. Lexanne’s blood splatters, spraying my face as I tackle my grandmother to the ground. We slam against a stalagmite. I roll off her and shoot to my feet, my fists up. But Grandmother doesn’t rise. She lies motionless, bleeding from her temple. My hands fall to my sides. I’m reaching for her when something hard strikes the base of my skull, and the catacombs explode with light and fire. “Someone had to take the fall, Maeve,” Vitor says, bringing me back to the present. Numb and trembling, I stare at him wordlessly. “But neither Andres nor I wanted it to be you.” His voice breaks. “At eighteen, your life was just beginning. The insight you provided was well beyond your years. We knew you’d make a better queen than he would a king.”

In horror, I watch helplessly as Soro slashes his father’s throat and shoves Vitor’s limp form toward the phoenix. In her excitement, the phoenix explodes in light, flames sparking in all directions, burning the walls and ground and ceiling…exactly like she did three years ago.

Another sob breaks through my throat for Vitor, for Papa, for Father and Neela and everyone I lost today. And another sob, and another for the knowledge I have gained. My grandmother didn’t make sacrifices to make Arrow great. She offered sacrifices.

A dagger lies beside a dwarf whose smoking asshole was made larger than his head.

The arena suddenly clears, and noise destroys my ears. The guards charge. I do, too. There’s no reason left to live. But there are plenty of reasons to die.

A long, heavy breath leaves her small body, and she holds up her gloved hands. “My tongue is the only weapon I can control,” she says.

“It’s time to save Maeve,” I say. Giselle shakes her head. “No, Leith.” She rights herself. “It’s time to take back Arrow.”

I’m supposed to bow, I guess. I don’t. I was never here for them. I was here for my mother, who gave what little she had to her children, even at the expense of her life. I was here for Rose, who placed her heart into each word she wrote. And for Dahlia, who told me I was a hero long before I became one. They’re not here. So now I must be. For me. And for the one I will love for eternity. Me and Maeve, we’re going to be together, build a family, and take back Arrow.

This is one of those moments and the first for which I am grateful. Maeve launches herself into the arena as a swarm of guards tackles Ugeen. Her feet stomp into the sand, releasing puffs of dust into the air as Soro’s decapitated head rolls past her.