Tanys Gladiatrix (The Chronicles of Tanys Book 2) by Andrew Hunter Page A
Authors: Andrew Hunter
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from a group of blood mages who were keeping him as a pet. Haru told us we could make a fortune in the arenas here," Tanys said.
"Ah, so you're just here for the money?"
"I don't know," Tanys said, "At the time... I just wanted to be somewhere else."
Baran didn't press the issue, and a long silence passed before Tanys spoke again. "How did you come to be a fighting slave?" she asked.
Baran smiled. "I was born into it. The Malchesse had me bred for the purpose of becoming a great gladiator. I never really knew my parents. One thing is for certain, at least one of them was faeborn."
"What?" Tanys asked.
"Faeborn," he said with a puzzled look, "Do they call it something else where you're from?"
Tanys stared blankly at him.
"I'm like you," he said, "not entirely human. One of your parents must have had fae blood. It's why you have an animal spirit."
"My mother..." Tanys answered. She started to say more, but the sound of hunting horns blared out, and barred gates were thrown open to admit the seven huntsmen into the arena.
Tanys watched the men, armed with long spears array themselves into a wide circle. Something was wrong. These men were neither lame nor weak but solid, and well-built gladiators. The crowd roared in approval to see real warriors take the field for the first time of the day.
"Those are Duke Sacru'Lac's men!" Baran said, "Your friend is in trouble."
"We have to do something!" Tanys said, half-rising before Baran pulled her down.
"We can do nothing," he said, "It is death to interfere with a match."
Tanys wrested her arm from his grasp, but the sick feeling in her stomach told her the truth of his words. Jorva was on his own. He had faced tough odds before and prevailed. All she could do is watch.
"Tanys!" Danella whispered, her eyes fearful.
"I know."
The horns sounded again, a comic trill this time, and the last gate opened. Jorva, clad in his spiked mail, bounded into the arena. The crowd erupted with cheers and laughter at the sight of him.
Jorva ran to the center of the arena, leaping and growling, enjoying the sport of being a badger. The seven killers grimly advanced, their spears leveled on the little man.
Jorva saw them come, and some of his cheerful demeanor slipped away. He showed his pointed teeth in a broad grin as he turned a wary circle, looking for a weak point in the constricting ring of men surrounding him. He sprang quickly within striking range of one of the men and, just as quickly, back out again, but the man ignored the feint, keeping in step with his comrades.
Jorva's massive shoulders bunched with determination, the smile slipping from his face. With a shout, he suddenly charged in a different direction, throwing himself beneath the point of a spear and coming up inside the spearman's guard. Jorva's spiked fist rammed into the man's belly, lifting him off his feet and dropping him, writhing in the sand. The crowd cheered as Jorva broke free of the circle of hunters and ran.
The men gave chase, their long legs closing the gap quickly between them and the shorter man. Jorva looked back over his shoulder at his pursuers, ducking a thrown spear. He turned sharply, and then turned again, suddenly sprinting into the midst of the huntsmen. Dodging a spear thrust, the little man dove between a hunter's legs. Rolling to his feet behind the man, Jorva leapt again, kicking backwards like a mule, driving both feet into the man's buttocks. Laughter erupted throughout the stands as the hunter fell face-first into the sand.
Another spear glanced off the pauldron of Jorva's armor, and Jorva grabbed the weapon's haft, yanking the man forward towards him. A gurgling cry rang out as Jorva tore the man's throat out with his teeth. The dwarf cast the body aside, grinning wetly, his armor drenched in blood. Then he let out a yelp as a spear tip found a gap in his mail. Jorva danced away, clutching his side as the hunters closed in. Another spear, swung like a staff rang across his armored
"Ah, so you're just here for the money?"
"I don't know," Tanys said, "At the time... I just wanted to be somewhere else."
Baran didn't press the issue, and a long silence passed before Tanys spoke again. "How did you come to be a fighting slave?" she asked.
Baran smiled. "I was born into it. The Malchesse had me bred for the purpose of becoming a great gladiator. I never really knew my parents. One thing is for certain, at least one of them was faeborn."
"What?" Tanys asked.
"Faeborn," he said with a puzzled look, "Do they call it something else where you're from?"
Tanys stared blankly at him.
"I'm like you," he said, "not entirely human. One of your parents must have had fae blood. It's why you have an animal spirit."
"My mother..." Tanys answered. She started to say more, but the sound of hunting horns blared out, and barred gates were thrown open to admit the seven huntsmen into the arena.
Tanys watched the men, armed with long spears array themselves into a wide circle. Something was wrong. These men were neither lame nor weak but solid, and well-built gladiators. The crowd roared in approval to see real warriors take the field for the first time of the day.
"Those are Duke Sacru'Lac's men!" Baran said, "Your friend is in trouble."
"We have to do something!" Tanys said, half-rising before Baran pulled her down.
"We can do nothing," he said, "It is death to interfere with a match."
Tanys wrested her arm from his grasp, but the sick feeling in her stomach told her the truth of his words. Jorva was on his own. He had faced tough odds before and prevailed. All she could do is watch.
"Tanys!" Danella whispered, her eyes fearful.
"I know."
The horns sounded again, a comic trill this time, and the last gate opened. Jorva, clad in his spiked mail, bounded into the arena. The crowd erupted with cheers and laughter at the sight of him.
Jorva ran to the center of the arena, leaping and growling, enjoying the sport of being a badger. The seven killers grimly advanced, their spears leveled on the little man.
Jorva saw them come, and some of his cheerful demeanor slipped away. He showed his pointed teeth in a broad grin as he turned a wary circle, looking for a weak point in the constricting ring of men surrounding him. He sprang quickly within striking range of one of the men and, just as quickly, back out again, but the man ignored the feint, keeping in step with his comrades.
Jorva's massive shoulders bunched with determination, the smile slipping from his face. With a shout, he suddenly charged in a different direction, throwing himself beneath the point of a spear and coming up inside the spearman's guard. Jorva's spiked fist rammed into the man's belly, lifting him off his feet and dropping him, writhing in the sand. The crowd cheered as Jorva broke free of the circle of hunters and ran.
The men gave chase, their long legs closing the gap quickly between them and the shorter man. Jorva looked back over his shoulder at his pursuers, ducking a thrown spear. He turned sharply, and then turned again, suddenly sprinting into the midst of the huntsmen. Dodging a spear thrust, the little man dove between a hunter's legs. Rolling to his feet behind the man, Jorva leapt again, kicking backwards like a mule, driving both feet into the man's buttocks. Laughter erupted throughout the stands as the hunter fell face-first into the sand.
Another spear glanced off the pauldron of Jorva's armor, and Jorva grabbed the weapon's haft, yanking the man forward towards him. A gurgling cry rang out as Jorva tore the man's throat out with his teeth. The dwarf cast the body aside, grinning wetly, his armor drenched in blood. Then he let out a yelp as a spear tip found a gap in his mail. Jorva danced away, clutching his side as the hunters closed in. Another spear, swung like a staff rang across his armored
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