“LaMogre. LaMogre. LaMogre…” Urik turned and looked at Suvau who was as tight as a bowstring pulled beyond its limits. “Hear their praise? The adulation of the crowd? All hail Judd LaMogre who only kills monsters in defence of Terras! All hail the knights of Astaril who let the blood of Mauls flow to satisfy their own ambitions!” Urik chuckled. “You see…your LaMogre is no different to the rest of the knights of Astaril, past or present.”

  Suvau was muttering something. Urik was going to lean down to listen when Jole reappeared in the corridor.

  “Is it done?” Jole nodded. “Good. Donimede will get what he wanted.”

  Suvau continued to mutter and Urik, knowing he was safely shackled, squatted down to listen.

  “…ill him…Kill him…Kill LaMogre…Kill LaMogre…”

  “Kill LaMogre?” Urik snorted. “Do you really think I believe…” His words were cut short when Suvau’s hand grasped his neck and squeezed tightly. Jole stepped forward but Urik waved him back as Suvau stood up, bristling with animosity, a suddenly sharp snap and Urik’s neck would be broken.

  “Let me in there...I will kill him!” Suvau let go of Urik, shaking so hard his chains rattled. Urik gasped for air, clutching at his neck but as Jole went to strike Suvau, Urik held up his hand and the brute stopped.

  “I believe you.” Urik said through a bruised throat. “Jole…let the Maul in to do what the minotaur couldn’t.”

  Suvau’s jaw quivered as Jole grasped his bonds and unlocked the shackles. He only had eyes for the door, the Arena beyond and the man whose quest for knighthood had gotten one of Suvau’s people killed.

  Oddly enough, even in the dozens of voices joining together in unison to chant his name, Judd could hear when one did not sound right. It was an off note, a disharmonious ring…a dangerous challenge.

  He turned towards it, barely having the time to recognise Suvau before the big man barrelled into him and threw him to the ground in the middle of the Arena. There were shrieks and cries of horror as Suvau began to lay into Judd with his fists yelling at first then letting his anger do the talking.

  He grabbed Judd by the gorget and raised his clenched hand to strike Judd’s unprotected head when they both heard the roar in the chasm beyond the gate, their attention immediately turning towards it.

  The gate was up and there was movement heading towards the Arena.

  “What in Maul…” Sir Donimede’s voice rang out. “Close the gate! Secure the Arena!”

  Of course it all happened too slowly to stop the dozen goblins from streaking into the Arena, scrambling over each other in their desperate haste to sink their crooked and sharp teeth into human flesh. Suvau and Judd sprang apart from each other, defending themselves as best they could against the multiple monsters. Judd swung his sword, cutting limbs from bodies and running goblins through while Suvau grabbed their heads and snapped their necks like he would a carrot. But the dozen goblins were just the first wave and when Judd and Suvau looked up, a number of orthros were coming, bounding on their long legs, jaws snarling.

  The spectators were now divided in their cries. Some screamed in fright at the unexpected turn the Arena fight had taken. This was mostly the noblemen and their ladies. The guards roared and cheered, excited that there was another opportunity for Judd LaMogre to cover himself in glory and monster blood while the soldiers shouted orders to scramble and secure the Arena, knowing just how quickly encounters with monsters could get out of hand.

  Judd debated briefly about tossing Suvau his second sword as he could be hard pressed to snap an orthros’ head without the other one sinking its canines deep into his arm. However, before he could make that decision, an orthros yelped loudly and tumbled heads over heels, an arrow sticking out of its eye. Judd finished it off, staggering backwards and risked a glance up. Verne was already sending another arrow flying and Giordi was on the other side of the balcony doing the same.

  “We’ll keep the numbers down!” Verne yelled without looking at him. “You kill the rest!”

  Judd nodded and turned back even as a terrible roar filled the chasm and poured into the Arena.

  “That wasn’t just one monster!” Judd cried.

  The gate to the Arena had begun to drop but it wasn’t fast enough for the two minotaur that were charging up the chasm. The first one grasped the gate and stopped it from dropping as the other minotaur scrambled underneath then ducked beneath. Behind them were four ogres, thundering towards the Arena.

  “Shut the gate!” Donimede yelled, an air of panic now in his voice.

  It was too little, too late for while the ogres were trapped in Maul, the Arena, as big as it was, shrunk in size with two minotaur in it.

  And terrifyingly, they made the one Judd killed look like their runty brother.

  The biggest of them, with shaggy black hair and skin the colour of molasses, was ten foot tall with horns so long and sharp, they could impale three men a piece. It was scarred all over, lines of white across its body like the stitches in a rag doll.

  Judd immediately summed it up as an experienced and dangerous monster.

  After all, if it could survive a living dissection, it could survive anything.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The other minotaur was not much smaller and they bellowed and howled, smashing their fists together, their tails dragging across the ground.

  Caste had always believed he knew when to run away…but apparently he’d forgone that common sense after being in the company of noble, if foolhardy, companions for months on end. Perhaps he had come out onto the other side of his fear and rather than finding courage, he discovered that instead of flight…he froze like a statue.

  It was bad enough to see Suvau lay into Judd like a deranged, mindless beast, the unexpected and shocking display stunning all who knew him. But then for goblins to appear through the gate then a pack of orthros…and now two more minotaur…Caste had no more surprise or shock to give.

  He just stood and stared, rooted to the ground like an oak tree, unable to move or even, apparently, to close his eyes to at least escape the spectacle before him.

  Verne and Giordi provided Judd and Suvau with cover fire when there were multiple targets but now that there were just two minotaur, their effectiveness diminished dramatically. It wasn’t that the minotaur were hard to hit. They were rather impressively large targets but they moved fast and close to Judd and Suvau and it would be all too easy to hit a human instead of a monster. Giordi had already dropped his arm, his small well of experience exhausted and unwilling to risk harming someone. Verne kept an arrow in his bow, blue eyes watching the battle before them without blinking lest he miss the chance to save someone.

  For a moment, a strange peace enveloped the spectators as if the battle was suddenly more captivating than concern for their lives. However, when the largest of the minotaur lined Suvau up and charged at him, the big man only just diving out of the way in time, the monster hit one of the pillars and Caste’s body jolted in fright, hearing wood splinter and stone crack.

  That happy equilibrium that had lulled them all into a false sense of safety disappeared in a heartbeat. Suddenly the noblemen, their wives and any of their progeny were screaming in fear and not in blood lust, scrambling over each other with as much decorum and courtesy as the goblins who had flooded the Arena. The guards, whose responsibility it was to protect the inhabitants of the fort, did their best to evacuate the more illustrious guests from the balcony. No one was concerned with anything other than their own survival and at that moment, they were all convinced the balconies would collapse and they would be dropped into the Arena.

  The jolt was enough to shock Caste out of his stupor. He turned, intending to flee and saw Sir Donimede standing, watching the chaos in the Arena. His wife and daughter were behind him, unable to escape as the doors were still blocked. Willower’s eyes were as wide as could be, her mouth open and her countenance equally so. She was more than frightened for Judd’s wellbeing. Lady Jocasa’s expression might have been taken for upper class control, unwilling to show her fright as her undisciplined daughter was…yet there was something alight in her eyes, as though the battle was thrilling to her.

  “Caste!” Rodel called to him. “Caste, we need to leave.”

  Despite Rodel’s urge for him to retreat to safety, and Caste noticed he was as close to Willower as he could be while saying it, there was nowhere for them to go.

  “What are you doing, you long legged fool?!”

  At Giordi’s cry Caste turned and saw Verne had turned a tapestry into a means of dropping into the Arena. Giordi darted to where Verne had disappeared from, slapped his forehead then turned and grabbed two swords from two guards who handed them over willingly. Caste was on his way to stop the minstrel but was too late as Giordi followed Verne into the Arena.

  All that was left was Aalis, gloves hands hooked into her seat, hood still up around her head. When the minotaur roared and there was a cry of pain below, she stood up and darted forward, her hood flying back from her dreadlocks. Without contemplation of the integrity of the balcony, she grasped the railing, leaning down to look into the Arena…

  …and Caste’s skin began to prickle.

  Suddenly he knew that he had to stop her, no matter the cost, even risking the balcony’s collapse which would drop them both into the monster riddled battleground. He darted towards her, reaching out to grasp her arm when there was a sudden pulse of energy, like a wave of air and heat after an explosion or collapse. Caste reeled for a moment, shaking his head, trying to work out what had just happened.

  The world was unusually silent. It wasn’t that there was no noise but it was dull, like he had a head cold. Caste opened his mouth to speak…when he realised he could see dust particles falling from the ceiling. But not in a cascade. Rather, they drifted, every individual speck able to be counted and catalogued. Caste reached out to touch them, feeling as though his hand was passing through a thick barrier of water and gasped in blinding pain, drawing back, his fingers hurting like he had just thrust them into a forge. They were unharmed but Caste tucked his hand into his armpit, pressing down on them, the sensation lessening with every second yet leaving a very strong, cruel impression.

  He looked over his shoulder and saw Sir Donimede standing with his hand on his sword, his eyes locked onto the Arena…but he wasn’t moving. Not that he was frozen in fright or concentration but nothing about him moved…not even his chest to breathe or his eyes to flicker. Lady Jocasa and Willower behind him were the same, statues that still possessed life but that which had been frozen.

  Caste heard a murmuring behind him and turned back to Aalis. Her lips were moving as she spoke softly, leaning forward on the balcony. Caste edged towards her, horror filling his soul as he beheld her eyes, which were directed into the Arena, that were dark purple with ripples of blue like strikes of lightning across her irises. Her cheeks were lined with pale blue and purple veins and her soft, silvery grey dreadlocks shifted as though she was in water, her unusual hair almost floating around her head.

  Caste risked a glanced into the Arena. It only occurred to him in that moment that the battle had stopped. It was as though an artist had suddenly screamed ‘halt’ and painted the scene before him. There was no movement in the Arena despite Verne seized mid-step, sword raised, running towards the smaller of the two minotaur. Giordi was behind him, clutching his sword with both hands but with both feet planted, as though he had yet to pick a target.

  Caste’s eyes followed Verne’s intended motion and saw Judd pinned to the wall by the smaller minotaur’s hand, his legs dangling from the uneven ground of the Arena. Judd was grasping its wrist, unable to remove himself from the minotaur’s vice-like grip, his helmet lost somewhere in the pile of monster bodies. His eyes were wide, locked onto the fist that was aimed for him which would undoubtedly crush his skull into the stone of the wall.

  And yet no one was moving. Except himself and Aalis.

  She continued to murmur then paused as if listening to something. Caste saw one of her hands was curled into a fist…but one that was loose as though she was holding onto something that he couldn’t see. She wasn’t looking at the minotaur about to kill Judd so he peered over the edge and saw the larger minotaur, shaggy and black, staring at her. Suvau was about to attack, launching itself at it, caught in midair, hands clutched together to come down on the minotaur and break its arm yet even he was not moving.

  The shaggy black minotaur gazed at Aalis then, to the detriment of Caste’s spine as it quivered like a harp’s strings, it blinked and tilted its head. And in that blink, its black animalistic monster eyes retreated and dark brown eyes with human intelligence, came into being.

  “Please…” Aalis finished softly.

  The minotaur seemed to consider her request then nodded its large, shaggy, horned head just once.

  Aalis let out a small gasp and the world suddenly began turning again.