Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6) by Christopher Mitchell (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📗

Arete nodded. ‘The greenhides are being held back for a special treat, or so I’ve heard.’

Belinda noticed the eyes of the Seventh Ascendant gleam with a savage joy as she watched the armed Blue Thumbs start to hunt the condemned Fordians. They took their time about it, stalking the panicking prisoners slowly, to eke out some excitement for the crowd. The first to die was a young man, cut down from behind by an axe blow that split the back of his head open as he tried to run away. He fell to the sand and the Blue Thumbs supporters cheered, while the Fordians in the crowd sat in silence, their anger almost palpable.

Belinda watched the slaughter unfold beneath her, her mind unable to fathom why the crowd loved it so much. Were people really so cruel? Or was it only some people? Might many of them be quite normal, but get carried away by the sight of violence? Whatever the reason, she knew at once that she disapproved. Certain types of criminals may deserve to be executed, but not as entertainment. Justice was not the same as entertainment.

Arete glanced at her. ‘You enjoying yourself, Belinda?’

‘No.’

Arete rolled her eyes, then laughed as an old woman was beheaded on the sands below them. The Blue Thumb who had killed her stooped down and lifted the head by the hair, showing it off to the crowd, while his curved sword dripped blood onto the sand.

‘So brave,’ muttered Latude.

‘Shut up,’ said Arete.

A net was cast over the last prisoner still standing, and a group of Blue Thumbs closed in, hacking downwards with their weapons until the man lay in pieces on the sands. The crowd cheered again as the Blue Thumbs warriors formed a line in the centre of the arena. They bowed in the direction of the gods and Felice stood to give them a wave and a smile.

‘They like that, your Grace,’ she said, as she sat again. ‘With Kemal and Baldwin both dead, I am by far the longest-serving patron. The city would burn if anything unfortunate happened to me.’

Arete laughed. ‘Do you think that’s why we’ve been keeping you alive? You live because Leksandr and I find you marginally useful. You and the other gods of Lostwell are, or were, a disgrace, and your rule of Lostwell incompetent and negligent.’ She glanced at Latude. ‘And you were the worst of them all. Corrupt, venal and lazy. Were it not for your shortcomings, the Sixth Ascendant and I would never have had to lower ourselves into coming here.’

Felice and Latude sank into their seats, their eyes cast down.

A few yards below them, a courtier dressed in flowing white robes stood and raised his hands. ‘People of Alea Tanton,’ he called out, his clear voice carrying across the arena; ‘today we are honoured by the presence not only of Lady Felice, patron of the Blue Thumbs, and Lord Latude, patron of the Deadskins, but also by two Blessed Ascendants! Never in the history of the games have we seen such an audience; in generations to come, people will marvel at how lucky we are.’ The crowd cheered but, again, it seemed as if most of the noise was coming from the Blue Thumbs supporters, while many of the Fordian Deadskins were sitting in silence.

‘Now that the executions are out of the way,’ the courtier went on, ‘we have a very special treat for you all. As you know, an auction was held some thirty days ago, at which a newly-captured dragon was put up for sale. The savage beast was purchased by the Deadskins…’ At this, the cheers of the Blue Thumbs turned to boos and jeers, and the courtier waited for them to settle.

‘Up to now,’ he continued, once a modicum of quiet had been achieved, ‘no one in the public has yet had a chance to glimpse this new acquisition, but today, we are fortunate indeed, for the Deadskins have transported their new champion here, so that we can all take a look at its fighting abilities. It will not, I repeat not, be participating in any competitive match today; this is more of an exhibition to whet the appetite. The first proper match with this new dragon will take place at the Northern Pits precisely one month from today, on the occasion of the final Blue Thumbs versus Deadskins match of the year. If, that is, it survives today. Therefore, I bid you, welcome Obsidia!’

Belinda frowned. She had not been anticipating the appearance of a dragon, and when it had been announced, her thoughts had gone straight to Blackrose. But Obsidia? The name meant nothing to her.

As the courtier raised his hands with a flourish, a huge gate at the end of the arena was opened and two columns of slaves emerged from the shadows, each pulling a chain. Out of the gloom appeared the head of a muzzled black dragon, and Belinda stifled a gasp. It was Blackrose. The dragon seemed not to be resisting the pull of the chains, and walked out onto the sands to a roar of noise from the crowd. For the first time during that day’s events, the Fordians in the audience leapt to their feet, their cheers ringing out, while the Blue Thumb supporters hurled abuse and insults down at the dragon.

Felice scowled.

‘Whatever is the matter now?’ said Arete.

‘This is most unfair, your Grace,’ the god said. ‘That new dragon should have gone to the Bloodflies, to make up for their loss of Sanguino. This means that the Deadskins have two such beasts, against the Blue Thumbs’ one; while the Bloodflies have none.’

Arete shrugged. ‘The Deadskins paid the most and I never argue with money.’

Blackrose moved into the centre of the arena, while the slaves retreated back through the gate. The dragon’s wings were tethered, but her limbs remained free. She raised her head and gazed around at the spectators.

Belinda