The trumpets sounded again and the Empress blinked, straightening to view the figures emerging from a door in the arena wall. There were two of them, both tall, one blond, the other dark-haired. The blond man carried a short sword whilst his companion bore a spear. They wore trews of leather but no armour, standing bare-chested as they stared up at the surrounding tiers. Unlike the unfortunate black-clads who preceded them their faces were void of any entreaty, tense certainly, but unwilling to beg.
The crowd regained some animation at the prospect of more familiar entertainment, numerous voices raised in scorn or appreciation, the horror of the Sword Race seemingly forgotten. Reva’s wrists chafed on her manacles as her fists clenched, her gaze going to the Shield’s face. His beard had been sheared away, revealing the fine-chiselled features she knew had captured the attention of many a Realm-born lady. She saw his recognition as his gaze went to the balcony, lowering his head in a momentary greeting. Reva shifted her gaze to the dark-haired man, finding him a youth of no more than twenty years, face rigid with controlled fear, fear that vanished as he caught sight of her. The rush of recognition was almost sickening, Reva finding herself on her feet as the tall young man sank to his knees, his spear held aloft in both hands. He shouted something, lost amidst the crowd’s feral baying, but she knew the meaning well enough. I rejoice at the sight of you, Blessed Lady.
“You know the younger one too?” the Empress asked, her gift reading Reva’s feelings with execrable ease.
Reva didn’t know why she bothered to answer. Perhaps because she wanted him to have some form of memorial, someone to speak his name before he died. “Allern Varesh,” she said, the words grating from a dry throat. “Late of the Riverlands and Guardsman to House Mustor.”
“So much guilt.” The Empress laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, drawing her close. “You need to accept who and what you are.” She flicked a hand at the kneeling Allern. “He and his kind will never reach our heights. Nature has ordained them our servants. A truth I believe your queen realised long ago.”
She gave Reva a final hug and moved to the balcony’s edge once more, the crowd falling to instant silence at the trumpets’ blast. “In days long past!” she called. “When this empire was fractured by superstition and delusion, this day was known as the Feast of the Fallen Brothers. A celebration of the final battle fought by the only mortals ever to be raised to the holy state of Guardianhood. I give you Morivek and Korsev!” She extended an arm to the Shield and Allern, the youth now raised to his feet, gaze still fixed on Reva, smiling now and seemingly deaf to the Empress’s words or the burst of cheering from the crowd.
“Rejoice as they battle the most deadly of the Dermos,” the Empress intoned, raising a hand to a gate at the western end of the arena. “The Harbingers of the Fall!”
The gate swung open as the trumpets pealed once more, the crowd erupting into cheers at the sight of the creatures entering the arena. Reva initially took them for relatives of Lord Nortah’s war-cat but quickly realised they were another breed entirely, leaner of body and not so tall. Also their colouring was different, the fur striped in yellow and black from neck to tail. But the main difference was their teeth, each possessed of a pair of daggerlike fangs which they bared continually as they strained against their chains. There were nine of them, chained in groups of three under the control of a handler, large men in leather armour clutching the cats’ chains in one hand and a long whip in the other.
“Dagger Teeth,” the Empress said, returning to Reva’s side. “Said to have been spawned in the fire pit by the Dermos and sent forth to herald the impending fall of mankind. The old priests were always foreseeing the end of everything, great calamities and plagues that could only be averted by yet more obeisance to the gods, and tribute to the temples naturally.”
Reva tried to calm her heart as the handlers allowed their eager charges to prowl closer to the two men in the centre of the arena, the cats hissing and writhing against their bonds, seemingly maddened by a desire for blood.
“They’re bred from the most vicious kittens,” the Empress went on. “Kept in a perpetual state of near starvation. The arena is the only place with which they associate a glut of meat. Hence their eagerness.”
Allern and the Shield moved closer together, the young guardsman favouring Reva with a final bow before taking on a fighting stance, crouched low with the spear held level with his chest. Arentes taught him well, she thought, losing the battle to control her heart, sweat beading her skin as it thumped against her chest.
“Don’t,” she said in a whisper, forgetting all pride and defiance, knowing this to be something she couldn’t witness. “Please.”
“You ask a favour, little sister?” The Empress put her hands on Reva’s shoulders, turning her so they were face-to-face. “What will you give me in return?”