“Have a care, Hob Nightshade,” she croaked. “Risky to leave your human unattended in this place with the stench of blood on it. Nightwing would not be best pleased to lose her evening’s entertainment.”
She fixed him with the milky, swirling gaze of her blind eye. “But then, your carelessness may have already robbed Nightwing of her nightly pleasures.” She let out a hearty cackle.
Hob was visibly startled, but recovered quickly. “Mind your own affairs, you meddling old hag!” he barked.
He looked as if he would say more, but he was interrupted by Lady Nightwing.
“There you are. Come Hob. Come Sydney. We have an appointment to keep at the arena. Lathos will join us there.” She turned back the way she had come, expecting us to follow without question.
Hob gave Ezrega one last glare before turning on his heel and hastening me away.
I shivered, both at Lady Nightwing’s icy tone and at the thought of meeting Lathos face to face. Ezrega’s insane laughter rang out behind us as we left her table, and I wondered uncomfortably what she had meant about Hob robbing Nightwing of her entertainment.
I felt in my pocket, relieved to find I still had Sparrow’s coin. My fingers traced the outline of the small book Ezrega had tucked into my waistband, pushing it down more securely. I was dying to pull it out and look at it, but that would have to wait until later … assuming there would be a later.
As we approached the tall chain-link fence that Nightwing had referred to as ‘Ogre Malfecus’ slave ring’, I could see the half-goblin with the velvety horns huddled alone in a far corner. His side was pressed into the grating of the fence and he trembled as he attempted to lick at his wounds.
“Hob!” called a high, child-like voice.
I turned to see a massive figure shuffling toward the inside perimeter of the fence near the miserable half-goblin. Its body was wide and round atop thick, stubby legs. Towering at least eight feet tall, its broad forehead jutted out over pin-prick eyes and a gaping mouth with large, uneven teeth. It held a long, cruel whip in one enormous fist.
“Hob!” it called out again, its tinny voice belying its girth. “They told me you just dropped this one off!” It aimed a well-placed kick at the half-goblin’s ribs, and the creature moaned.
“Fresh slaves are always appreciated – we seem to go through them so quickly.” It giggled, a grating sound that set my teeth on edge. “Lady Nightwing,” it added with a bow of its corpulent head. “As a small show of appreciation, I have a tip that you may like to take to the betting pools.”
“Thank you, Master Ogre,” Lady Nightwing answered graciously. “I have always found your tips to be quite useful.”
She and Hob approached the fence and began speaking with the ogre in low voices. I sidled over to the half-goblin and gazed down on him in pity. He clutched his side, no longer attempting to staunch the blood flowing from his wounds. I pulled the little pouch Ezrega had given me from my pocket.
“Here,” I whispered. “This should stop the bleeding.”
He flinched and gazed up at me with startled eyes. They were a lovely shade of blue-green, soft and wide beneath his down-fuzzed horns. I pushed the bag through a hole in the fence, blocking the view with my body. Slowly, he reached out and took it, the expression on his face a painful mix of fear and gratitude.
“But why?” he asked in confusion.
I shrugged. “Because you need it more than I do.”
“Thank you.” His beautiful eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I am Barnaby. And I will never forget your kindness.”
I blinked my own tears back. I needed to stay strong, now more than ever. “I’m Sydney.”
“Thank you, Sydney.” He sprinkled the contents of the bag over the numerous cuts and gashes on his arms and legs, wincing as the powder hit his skin, but not making a sound.
“Sorry. I know it stings,” I whispered with a sympathetic grimace. “Some old goblin lady used it on me after she took my blood.”
“It is nothing,” he dismissed, as he emptied the bag and stuffed it into a crevice in the dirty wooden floor. Then he flashed me a sad smile and tilted his head behind me in warning before turning away as if we’d never spoken.
I didn’t know if it was the discovery of a kind soul in all the madness, or the loss of blood, or simply the hour – but I was suddenly overcome with weariness.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
By the time we reached the arena, a roughly circular space bordered by a low plank fence, I was literally dragging my feet. My bruised right side was a mass of soreness, and the chaotic atmosphere was doing nothing to alleviate my pounding headache. I plodded after Lady Nightwing, each step more difficult than the last, until we reached a roped-off area near a gate in the fence.
Spectators ringed the enclosure on all sides, yelling and jeering at the contestants within, who appeared to be engaged in some sort of free-for-all fighting match. A pair of unconscious goblins was being dragged off to the side by an ogre, his meaty fists large enough to carry each one by a leg.
As I watched the remaining contestants, a satyr-like creature was knocked to the ground as well. It had horns like Barnaby’s, but its lower half was covered in shaggy brown fur and it had cloven hooves instead of feet. It lay there motionless and, after a moment, it too was dragged away.
Three fighters were left – a female centaur with a bare-breasted torso and the body of a horse with small, stunted wings; a creature that resembled an ogre, but with about three feet missing from its height; and a strange, feral-looking man that moved on all fours and had dark wings sprouting from his back.
The winged man and the ogre creature were ganging up on the female centaur. The ogre swung a club at her head while the man flitted back and forth at her rear haunches, striking out with what appeared to be metal-tipped claws. She reared back to dodge the club, roaring in anger and pain as the claws ripped deep furrows into her left flank.
The crowd screamed its approval, but just as swiftly the centaur shifted her balance and struck out behind her with a vicious kick, catching the man in the chest and sending him flying into the wooden fence. He smacked against it with a loud crunch, then sank to the ground and didn’t move again. Her eyes held fire as she advanced on the ogre, who stepped back uncertainly. In that moment of hesitation she plowed forward, knocking him to the ground and trampling him.
The uproar from the audience was thunderous as gamblers rushed forward to settle their bets. The prevailing sounds consisted of booing, cursing and ear-splitting insults. The centaur stepped back from the lifeless ogre and held her head high, as if unaffected. Despite my growing weariness, a small smile stretched my lips. They shouldn’t have bet against the only female in the ring.
The body-dragging ogre came to lead the winner from the arena as others quickly cleared away the losers. The crowd began to settle and a disembodied voice rang out over the murmuring din.
“And now, fellow members of the Hoarde, we have something very special for the next event of the evening. A fairly unexciting contest, perhaps – but for interesting stakes. Please welcome our own Lady Nightwing to the arena as the sponsor of, and a participant in, this challenge …”
The voice was drowned out by raucous cheering and the vigorous stomping of feet. Lady Nightwing smiled and waved one pale-veined hand in acknowledgment. When the noise died to a dull roar, the speaker continued.
“The contest will consist of a simple