Page 4

There were two ways to kill a Saint.

To break their heart or to mortally wound them with a Saint-made weapon. Something forged only by the hands of an immortal.

Anything else would not work.

“I need you to come with me tonight.” Altivar dodged another blow only to land a perfectly aimed one of his own; directly to Rook’s stomach. The man gargled a foul curse word before gripping his torso and edging back a few steps. There was a white circle drawn around them in the sand. One step outside of it, and he was out.

Not that it mattered at this point.

Rook was already approved to join the guard based on his practice round. The additional minutes were just bragging rights.

“Where?” West started to descend the nearby steps that led down into the training yard. His interest was piqued, considering the Prince didn’t often ask for his company. Something that he was more than grateful for.

“The Pits.”

“No.”

“I’ve got something there that needs my attention. It’s all the way in the Bronze Gate and I’m not travelling that far south by myself.” Altivar tossed his staff to an attendant, signalling that the round was over. The boy stumbled as he ran to catch it, the endthwackinghis neck as it landed in his grasp.

“No.”

“Repeating the same word over and over again is not going to dissuade me, Captain.” The Prince chortled, swiping up a chilled cloth from a silver platter and dabbing it to his barely sweat-ridden forehead. There wasn’t even a bead of perspiration, yet he wiped it all the same- skillfully avoiding the cosmetics. “Regardless, I’m going. It’s just the matter of if you’ll be by my side or not.”

West’s top lip twitched in irritation. “Why can’t you just send another representative in your place? It’s far too dangerous for you to be down there.”

“Unsupervised, yes. Which is why I’ve askedyouto tag along.” He ran the damp cotton along the back of his neck, sliding it up his cheeks and over his mouth. “Either you or Satori.”

The mention of his fellow captain was enough to stir him into action. Satori stood by his side as they led the Watch. But she watched over the Empress, which was far more important than running down to the Bronze Gate for an evening in the most foul place in Hisaith.

West debated the pros and cons of taking the heir down to the darkest levels, to the fighting pits of blood and gore and gambling. With the coy smile that the Prince sported, he knew it would be a lost cause to disagree once again. Even if he tried to station two men outside his door, Altivar would only sweet talk them into letting him out, or potentially even joining him. And because he was the Prince, West couldn’t do much about it.

He sighed reluctantly. “Guess we’re going to the Pits.”

The Pits.

A dank, damp, mildew infested arena underground. It was a way for the unfortunate souls who resided there to earn extra coin by showing off what little skills they had. Bloodthirsty rats basically. And within the arena was a gambling game known as the Blades of Blood. Two men entered the ring, only one came out. The spoils that went to the victor were enough to raise them up a gate level, if they put up a good enough show.

Altivar grinned like a mountain cat, “Yes, yes we are.”

Two

He hated being here.

The amount of people crammed into the crumbling, round arena made him feel like a sardine in a tin can. There was a sweaty man brushing up against his left, shouting down at the two competitors in the ring, and another filthy human on his coattail. West could practically see the scent trails wafting off of his hulking shoulders. The entire underground chamber reeked of piss, blood and metal.

Not particularly in that order, either.

The room itself wasn’t terrible when it came to design and space. It was more a matter of how many humans were packed inside. The air was thick with sweat and screams. There was a rafter above the first row, where the men gathered with slips of crumpled paper, waving them in the air.

“Bets,” Altivar informed him with a gleeful smirk as he purchased three on a certain individual with a melodic name.

There were three ways to make money off of the scheduled,illegal,fights down here.

The first option was to place large sums on each warrior that entered the ring and see if it paid off. Each fight held a certain amount of bets allowed, and it seemed to be a rush of madness in order to get the tickets purchased before the bell rang and the match began. Once the time slots were settled, the betting closed. Additional bets or withdrawals were not allowed once the bell had rung.

The second was to sponsor the competitors. The well dressed men in the very front section of the first row, closest to the sandy pit, were the ones who purchased new supplies and armour for the fighters. They invested in them by making sure the mortals held the proper equipment to survive a few rounds in the ring. In exchange, they took home a decent portion of the money as well as a finders fee from the fighter themselves.

And finally the third, was to fight in the pit themselves. In the Bronze Gate, money and good jobs were scarce thanks to the multitude of people who lived there and snatched up every available task. This was the most dangerous gate out of the three, though looters often waited outside for prey to snatch away the coins that tumbled through the fingers of those fortunate enough to have lady luck on their side.