The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Read Free Page B

guards had them on lockdown, and quick exchanges in the arena barracks before or after matches were all they had to rely upon. Dwarves enslaved kept to themselves, yet there were a few that would join a revolt. Humans captured from above ground did not live long here, yet they band together well enough, Tathlyn thought. To get past the ogre, troll scavengers in outer tunnels, and the personal gladiators and pets of the ogre slavemasters and King Avegarne, they would need more than nine. Racially, no one trusted one another enough to attempt escape, and no one returned to their cell armed or armored. The estimated ogre were over five hundred, and though slaves doubled that number, the gray knew that certain death would be waiting if they failed. That fear, or certainty as it was, had held him captive for eight years now, and some had been here even longer.
    “Father, why do we have to fight in the arena? Are there bad people in there we have to kill? Why don’t they just let us leave and find mother?” Tychaeus was nervous, hearing the beating a few cells down made the young bull fearful in his innocence.
    “We fight because we have no choice, yet. You must pretend that anyone there is your enemy, your life will depend upon it. We cannot find your mother here son, she is dead. She died bringing you into this world, so you will have to listen to everything I teach you and speak to her in your dreams.”
    The young minotaur breathed deep, not moving a muscle to stop the tears that escaped his attempts at discipline and manhood. He knew that Saberrak and he had the same mother, a mother he had never met and asked his older brother about many times over. He felt that swelling pain in his throat and chest, but fought it back with sheer willpower.
    “No crying son, your mother cries for us, I am sure. I can tell you what she---“ Tathlyn stepped up to the bars, hearing the low roar of the crowd down the cavernous hallway, then the silence as the arena doors were closed. The glimmer of torchlight was gone as fast as it had appeared. His breathing stopped, his eyes wide, not knowing if the ogre would be bringing news of his eldest, calling for him to fight next, or bringing a bloody horn as reminder of his son. The madness and fear gripped him, hearing the sound of armed ogre approaching, he tried to count the steps and prepare himself.
    Bloody, cut across the shoulder and forearm, yet standing tall and silent, Saberrak waited before the bars with his horns dripping red. His gray flesh was soaked in sweat and the blood of others, his eyes did not blink, he looked calm as a lifeless pond in winter. The cage opened after Tathlyn and Tychaeus stepped back from the bars. Chains rattled, ogre murmured to one another smiling, four of them opening the bars and letting Saberrak walk in without a single word, order, or shove. The clang of bars settled and echoed, and the looming ogre guards locked the chains once more, two of them nodding to Tathlyn. He had never seen them show respect before, not until now.
    “Come, get cleaned up. Those wounds will need rinsing and moss to heal.” Tathlyn turned away, guilt pushing him almost to the ground seeing his son in shock from a gladiatorial battle in which he had obviously killed, his first kill.
    “Father, I can wash myself fine enough.” his voice was not his own, deeper, solemn, and strong after killing before thousands likely cheering his name.
    “I did not ask, I told. Victorious or not, I am your father until Annar takes me.”
    “Who did you fight, Saberrak? Did you win?” Tychaeus looked at the cuts from below, admiring his older brother and nervous the same.
    “A troll named Gestri one-fang, Bril and Jorpus the whites, and Oxerian Kalaza the brown.” He looked down at the stone, the moss fell from his fathers’ hand and his little brothers’ jaw fell open.
    “Alone?”
    “No, Morgivian the red was with me. Two on four, a match we were not supposed to survive I would