Page 37 of Gladiator Moon

“Yes, Sam Warrior. I believe you will protect me. To accomplish your goal, we will need the prince with us.”

“Of course. To nullify the boundary spell,” I say, nodding.

“Yes, exactly. We have no need for the wood sprite. She is dead weight. I would be happy to incinerate her for you.”

“Uh, no. She lives and will not be harmed.”

“Understood.”

“I will need you to guide me back to the arena. Can you do that?”

“Yes, of course. Anything to help you achieve your goals.”

“My goals are simple: return home and shut down the Games.”

“Lofty and simple.”

“Let’s prepare to depart. Is the harness ready?”

“Yes, I think you will be pleased.” I have given the little wizard instructions to create a harness for me to carry himself, the wood sprite, and the prince.

“Yes, master, I mean Master Sam!”

“Just Sam.”

The little wizard nods and spins around, raising both hands. Immediately, what appears to be two nylon straps, but are in fact composed of a local hemp-type material, rise up from the dirt and wrap around the prince, the sprite, and even Azul himself. The long swatch secures all three and ties itself up into a single loop that I can hold in one hand, keeping my other free for the ice sword if need be.

And maybe even the Devil Killer, if we get lucky.

Chapter Fourteen

As I fly, I chuckle at the collection of creatures now in my care, none of which I will allow any harm to befall.

Azul telepathically guides me over the treetops, farms, rivers, and valleys, all while my black wings pump through the night. I trust my inner alarm to keep me safe from any dive-bombing beasties. The flight takes most of the night. Weird how I don’t feel the least bit tired. Soon, the brightly-lit arena appears on the horizon, along with the first red hint of their vermilion sun.

I take my first break in many hours and check in with my charges. They all need water and some sustenance. The wood sprite only needs the dew from grass blades and precisely three dandelions. I hold her over the grass while she licks away, then fetch her three dandelions, which she eats noisily. The wizard creates a bubbling brook where he stands, by striking the ground with the side of his fist. Both he and the prince drink eagerly. Bread seems to be their choice of breakfast fare. This time, with a wave of his hand, the wizard conjures a steaming loaf of cinnamon bread with a bowl of yellow butter, complete with a spreading knife. Both eat quickly.

From a distance, I can hear the crowds cheering and clapping, oohing and aahing. Yeah, this world certainly has a brutal way of entertaining themselves. I should probably just let it all go and focus on finding my way home. But there is a great injustice going on here and, well, someone should do something about it.

“They fight all night?” I ask Pickles, who is licking his chubby, butter-glistening fingers.

“Oh, yes. The Games continue until first light. Day two should be wrapping up now with the coming of morning. The weaker fighters will all be dead by now, though sometimes a weak fighter gets lucky and makes it to the third day.”

I don’t like hearing that. I picture little warriors like Salt Creek forced to stand against ghouls, demons, and warriors several times their size. The more I think about it, the angrier I become. These aren’t “games.” This is a slaughterhouse disguised as entertainment, and all to feed their devil lurking beneath the arena. It has to end.

The Dark One. The Devil Killer sword. The king. Baltazar. The warriors. Demons. They are all here in one place, inside and under the arena. And there it is, still shining brightly in the morning light, ablaze with magic lights. The cheers suddenly grow thunderous, which means someone has likely been gruesomely killed.

Not cool, people. Not cool.

Although the tracking magic has been removed from Pickles, I still can’t shake the feeling that the arena itself is aware of our presence, especially after learning that the Dark One and the arena might actually be one and the same.

Which is one helluva crazy thought.

You come up with that one on your own, J.R. Rain? I wonder. Or did it come to you in some fever dream?

I consider my options. I want Salt Creek to stay behind. Turns out she is a mother with two kids. No way I am risking her safety. We will hide her here.

“I can create a bubble from which no one will see her, sense her, smell her, or feel her,” says Azul, shrugging. “Conversely, she will not be able to leave it, either.”