Another chapter in my novel. I've been having quite a bit of trouble lately - I originally planned out my entire novel beforehand, yet as I've gone through writing it, my brain keeps coming up with new ideas to completely change the plot! It's very annoying, but anyway, back on track, here is chapter 5!
Chapter 5
3 weeks pass...
‘Clink.’ The sound of the key’s turning in the lock as the guard locked him in again for another night. The slam of the door; seconds earlier; reflecting the entrapment that Bártak was in. It was a small cell, no more than eight foot by eight foot, with a small shallow bed on one wall, and a small beaker of water sitting on a table on another. Bártak drew himself closer into his sheets, trying to keep the chill of his body. He had been here three weeks, three weeks that he would never forget in his entire life. The sounds of screams still replayed in his head, shaking his consciousness, denying him sleep as he twisted and turned in his bed, fighting of imaginary nightmares, strange visions shaping themselves in front of his eyes, dancing like shadows on the walls of his cell.
Since his arrival in Dragonhead, Bártak had faced a new kind of fear; it was something quite different and completely uncomprehendable. He now faced death on a daily basis - fighting in the Labyrinth. King Tyros had had it built as a great arena, something so gigantic, it allowed over ten thousand people to cram into tight stone seats; having payed over the top prices, to witness maybe ten or twenty fighters enter an enormous maze. The maze itself, constructed out of thick stone, had walls approximately two metres thick and three metres high and its passage ways were as wide as six or seven metres, stretching out for as much as three hectares in all directions. Such was the scale of the Labyrinth, that its central maze was surrounded by an enormous stadium, filled with thousands and thousands of seats, thought the more luxurious areas contained great balcony’s and large pavilions for those who could afford them. It was a sport that both rich and poor came to watch, young or old, male or female.
And Bártak was part of it.
The idea of it all filled Bártak with great fear, great anxiety. Each day, they were awoken at dawn by the slave masters and dragged out into the main courtyard building of the slave compound. There, under the careful watch, they were fed. Usually, reflected Bártak bitterly, it was nothing more than a hunk of stale break, perhaps a small piece of meat or cheese if they were lucky, and a few sips of water. It was not enough to sustain them, as they had found out only a few days after their arrival. One of the older females, called Tirana, had collapsed early in the morning, literally dropping dead from exhaustion. Of course, the masters had none of it, shouting and whipping her relentlessly to try and get her to get up. But she had died, it was obvious to all. It just seemed to sum up the whole situation that Bártak and his companions found themselves in.
If they had thought things could get no worse, they had found out bitterly that they were wrong. As the crowd gathered every day around noon, the Minos were herded into the Labyrinth through one of the two side entrances that allowed the access for the fighters and the Minos. There, they were ordered to separate, encouraged by the steel of the slave masters blades, and the ever familiar sting of the whip.
And then the fighters would be sent in. Maybe ten to twenty at a time, outnumbering the Minos three to one. They were armed with swords, daggers, sickles, any weapon that promised blood, it didn’t matter; it had to please the crowd. And the soldiers moved around in packs, three or four together, seeking out a Minotaur to take down.
Bártak shivered as his hand found one of the numerous scares across his battered body. One, deeper than the rest, stretched across his chest, a great sword slash from his right shoulder, right down, across his ribcage, to nestle just below his stomach. He had been lucky it hadn’t been deeper, even a fraction of an inch could have sliced through his flesh, tearing into the vital organs in his abdomen. The fighter, who had done it, of course, was long gone. Bártak remembered, fuelled by his own blood frenzy, grasping the man by the neck, hurling him backwards towards a wall. The deathly crunch of his neck snapping still radiated through his ears. The crowd’s cheer – for they only wanted blood – had seemed to wash over him, for he had barely remember it, yet that crunch, that escaping of human life, would stay with him forever.
Elsewhere in the city, a cloaked figure made its way swiftly along an arched passageway. The man, for the figure was strongly built and tall, glanced back the way he had come. What had been that noise? A stray cat, a rat scurrying through the dirty trash? He dismissed it from his mind, for there were more pressing matters that he needed to attend to.
He approached a door, a small wooden one set into an ordinary house in one of the poorer areas of the city. Pulling back his hood to reveal his dark red hair, he hit three quick knocks upon the knocker.
A few moments passed, but then the door eased itself open, a short gruff man with dark black hair stared up at the newcomer, his eyes gleaming with evil malice.
‘Took your time,’ He grumbled, stepping aside to allow the man to enter, ‘I shall tell Lord Ethrid and Lord Humbred that you have arrived’, he added with a sneer, going off into a room to the side of the entrance hall.
The newcomer took a few moments to calm himself, removing his cloak from his shoulders, to reveal the thick leather jerkin he wore underneath. He only had a few moments however, for soon the gruff man had returned accompanied by two men. The two men, twins in fact, were short and plump, though they both had a gleam in their eyes which suggested they were more capable then they appeared. Both men had dark hair, pulled back into similar ponytails, making them so identical that it took the man a few moments to work out which man was which.
Lord Humbred stepped forwards, his eyes wide in a welcoming manor as he shook the head of the newcomer.
‘Lutatus, how good it is of you to join us,’ he mumbled, the words tumbling out of his mouth almost too quickly to be heard.
‘Lord Humbred, as always, I am privileged to be in your company,’ Lutatus replied, though there was a slight sense of resentment in his voice, but neither twin picked up on it.
‘My brother tells me you were serving with Commander Italia’s squadron during the campaign against the Minos,’ Lord Ethrid said, stepping forwards to join his brother. ‘I trust you were able to turn the Commander towards our course?’
Lutatus allowed himself a small smile as he gestured towards the room that the two twins had just entered from.
‘Shall we not sit; I shall enlighten you both on my progress.’
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