As they tool around the Arena floor, I can see that the drivers are tall men with ebony skin, solid frames, and long dreadlocks. They wear brown linen pants topped by black leather tunics. The image of a looping Egyptian eye is sewn onto their chests in bronze thread.
The chariots ride in different formations, their paths creating a complex series of circles and lines. Golden bridles glimmer in the horses’ mouths. The chariots crisscross into the most complex pattern yet. Then, they stop in neat rows in one corner of the stadium. Whoa. I can’t believe they didn’t bump into each other at least once.
I clap wildly, but everyone else is silent. Oops. I pop my hands behind my back.
“Second is the House of Striga,” says Verus. “Their skills in sorcery and witchcraft are famous across the five realms.”
From the opposite archway, two-dozen men march onto the arena floor, their bodies thin and lanky. All have olive skin and square faces. Purple beads are woven into their long brown hair. They wear the brown leather pants, silver chain mail, and velvet tunics decorated with a purple pentagram. The stick-men march into the middle of the stadium floor, align themselves into a huge circle, and quickly bow their heads. A low chant echoes through the air. A massive ball of red flame appears by the stadium floor.
I gasp. I’ve never seen magic before.
The scarlet orb zooms up into the sky and bursts like a firework. The Striga men march to another corner of the Arena, taking their place beside the House of Horus.
I bob on the balls of my feet, excited to see what the next House has in store. Sure, it’s a bummer I’m not battling anything right now, but this show almost makes up for that. Almost.
“Third is the House of Kamal,” says Verus. “These thrax are renowned for their skill with animals.”
More thrax march into the stadium, this time their cotton tunics hold the image of three claw scratches in deep blue. The Kamal warriors form a line across the center of the Arena floor, about twenty fighters in all. Their bodies look lean and sinewy; their cocoa faces are set into determined frowns.
Scanning the faces, I look for some girl fighters, but can’t find one. Hmm. The other Houses didn’t have female warriors either. That is so weird. I wonder if all the thrax women run around batting their eyes and feeling guys muscles like that Adair girl? Hmm. Not sure I want to know the answer to that question.
The Kamal let out a loud whoop. Tigers burst from the Arena archways, racing toward the floor’s center. Falcons swoop down from the sky; long blue ribbons hang from their talons. All the creatures settle in place, one animal for each warrior. They roar and shriek so loudly, I think my eardrums will burst. The warriors bow slightly; the animals fall silent. The Kamal march in unison, taking their places beside the other Houses. The falcons perch on their warrior’s arm, the tigers stand at their fighter’s side. All the animal’s bodies remain still as stone.
My mind whirls through all the demons that’d be easier to fight with a Kamal tiger or falcon at my side. I bob my head approvingly. Those would come in mighty handy, indeed.
“Fourth is the House of Acca. These thrax are renowned for their abilities with a crossbow.”
I lean against the stonewall, hitching my right foot across my left. This is taking a long time, but the warrior displays are super-interesting. Who knew there were so many ways to fight demons besides hand-to-hand? I work hard to look casual and actively ignore the unwanted images of Lincoln’s mouth that keep popping into my mind. An anxious feeling tightens my stomach. Stop thinking about him, damn it.
Twenty warriors walk onto the Arena floor, their black velvet tunics sewn with the image of a gloved yellow fist. All have stout bodies, pale skin, and golden hair. Each fighter wears metal-studded gloves and carries a silver crossbow. The Acca warriors march to the floor’s center and stand in a long line. Moving as one unit, they all fire a single metal bolt straight into the air.
I purse my lips. That’s not so impressive. I know zero about crossbows, and I could do that, easy peasy.
The stadium holds its breath as the bolts fly skywards, then reverse direction and speed back to the ground. The warriors lift their arms, catching the bolts in their gloved hands.
I take it back. That’s a pretty neat trick.
“Fifth is the House of Rixa, rulers of the thrax and the only bloodline who can wield the mighty baculum.” A hush falls over the stadium as Lincoln, his father, and mother process onto the Arena floor. All three wear silver crowns.
On instinct, my body tenses into battle stance, tail arcing over my shoulder. All my forgotten anger from the library slams back into me, raw and present. ‘Real thrax warrior,’ my ass.
After the royal family, sixty warriors march onto the Arena floor in neat lines, each step in perfect unison. These men dress in black leather pants topped by silver chain mail and a black velvet tunic. The image of an eagle is sewn onto their chests in silver thread. The bird swoops downward, claws extended.