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

coiled her vision and sent it out, meeting the dragon’s gaze at she stared up at the seats where the four gods were sitting.

Blackrose, she said, I’m so glad you’re alive.

Do not speak to me, traitor. Sable has told me everything, including your part in the disaster at Yoneath. Your time will come, and I will watch as you die.

Sable’s alive?

There was no response, and Belinda realised that the dragon had severed the vision connection between them. She tried to force her way back into Blackrose’s mind, but found it impossible, like trying to push a hand through a stone wall.

Belinda’s spirits sank, and for a moment she thought her composure would crack. Sable had told her everything? What did that mean? With a sickening realisation she understood at once what it meant. Sable had told Blackrose that Belinda had betrayed them all, and the dragon had believed her. Why wouldn’t she? To all appearances, Belinda had betrayed them. There she sat, right next to one of the two Ascendants who had captured Blackrose and slain Corthie; of course she would believe that Belinda was a traitor.

‘Remember we were talking about the greenhides?’ said Arete. ‘This is the part I’ve been looking forward to. Apparently, the beasts we are about to see have been starved for several days to get them in the mood.’

Another gate in the wall of the arena opened, and a terrible shrieking echoed across the sands. Belinda frowned, remembering her time in the City of Pella, as she watched five greenhides race out of the darkness and into the bright sunlight. They caught sight of the dragon immediately, and moved into an arc, their claws and teeth clattering and snapping. Blackrose remained motionless, her eyes watching them as they edged towards her. The crowd began to simmer with excitement, while many Fordians were screaming words of encouragement at Blackrose, or “Obsidia”, as they chanted her name.

Arete nudged Belinda with her elbow. ‘Who’s your money on?’

‘I don’t gamble.’

Arete rolled her eyes again. ‘Fine. Who do you think is going to win?’

‘The dragon.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Arete said; ‘it looks a bit scared to me. It’s just standing there.’

The low shrieking from the greenhides was almost inaudible as the roars and shouting from the crowd rose into the blue sky. The five beasts had their heads low, their talons scraping through the sand. Then, as if they had coordinated their attack, they pounced. Their strong back legs dug into the ground and they sprang at the dragon.

Blackrose reacted at once. She was unable to use her teeth, but her right forelimb swung out, and her thick claws ripped right through the closest greenhide to a roar from the watching Fordians. The other four leapt at Blackrose, their talons scoring her thick hide, and she swept her tail at them, bowling two over. In seconds she had torn the pair still standing to shreds, their dark green blood spraying across the sand. One of the others jumped up, and sank its teeth into the dragon’s right flank, its talons slashing the black scales. Blackrose ignored it for a moment, and went after the last one, crushing it under her weight until it lay still. She turned to the one biting her side. She drove her muzzled head at it, knocking it loose, then, with both sets of claws, she tore it in half.

The crowd seemed almost delirious to Belinda – they were standing and screaming as if they had lost their senses. Blackrose picked up a severed chunk of greenhide flesh, and hurled it into the rows of Blue Thumbs supporters, spattering them with green blood. On the other side of the arena, the Fordians cheered and screamed in joy.

‘Obsidia!’ they called out, chanting her name again, as the Blue Thumbs supporters simmered in anger.

‘My,’ said Arete, ‘she does put on a decent show. I’m tempted to go to the Northern Pits next month, to watch her in a real match.’

The large gates of the arena opened, and two lines of slaves emerged, holding the dragon’s chains. Accompanying them were a dozen heavily armed guards with large crossbows. Blackrose glanced at them, then strode towards the tunnel entrance without any need for forceful persuasion; her head held high as the Fordians roared their approval.

Latude chuckled. ‘My money wasn’t completely wasted, I see.’

Felice stared at him. ‘What do you mean? Did you give gold to the Deadskins to buy this beast?’

He winked at her. ‘I might have done.’

She turned to Arete. ‘That is explicitly against the rules. The gods are not supposed to use their personal funds to help their own teams.’

Arete shrugged. ‘Who cares?’

‘That dragon belongs to the Deadskins in more ways than one,’ Latude said. ‘Do you not recognise her? She used to be called Blackrose, and was the Deadskins champion for a decade some years ago. I was merely righting an old wrong.’

‘Why did they rename her?’ said Belinda.

‘They’re embarrassed. They sold her to some dealer because they thought she was useless and worn out, and they don’t want to admit that they were wrong.’ He glanced at the Fordians celebrating in the stands. ‘I wonder if any of those fools realise the truth. It’ll get out, eventually, but, as the Sacred and Holy Seventh Ascendant just said – who cares?’

Felice frowned, but said nothing.

With the dragon exhibition over, the sands were cleared of the greenhide remains, and the proper games got underway, with a dozen warriors from each team entering the arena to another sustained roar from the crowd. Belinda settled into her seat, and pretended to be interested.

* * *

‘What did you think of it all?’ said Leksandr to Belinda once the gods had returned to Old Alea.

‘It was appalling; pointless.’

‘I didn’t think you’d enjoy it,’ he said, filling her glass with wine. ‘I find it frightfully boring, myself. After thirty millennia of watching mortals kill each other, the excitement rather pales.’

‘Arete didn’t seem to think so.’

‘The Seventh Ascendant retains a fascination with