“Fights.”
“Oh, okay. That’s not so?—”
“To the death.”
“Wait, what?”
Margussa looked around cautiously. “Most are not. But the general knows his men enjoy bloodshed, and at least one of tonight’s bouts will end with a fatality. There are enough male prisoners that he can afford the loss, and the boost of morale, in his opinion, is well worth it.”
“Savages,” Shalia hissed, careful to ensure the guards didn’t hear her.
“On that we are in agreement. Now, stay quiet and keep your gaze averted. They’re going to be riled up tonight, and you donotwant their focus to shift to you. Trust me.”
Shalia followed that advice as their new job began, carrying trays of food and drink to the inebriated guards and their leader. It looked as though nearly all of the Dohrag forces were present for this event, the few unlucky to draw guard duty stuck outside while their comrades enjoyed the festivities. And as this was a celebratory night of entertainment, only a few of the guards inside were wearing any of the armor they normally sported at all times when working the grounds.
A few fights ended quickly enough, and the losers, while bloody, were not seriously hurt. Shalia wondered how long it would be until the general required something a bit more final from the combatants.
It seemed she had an answer when the enormous red man strode into the makeshift ring, rolling his shoulders in preparation for his fight, an excited look in his eyes. This wasn’t just a forced bout for him. He was enjoying this. Heydar, the alien who had given her the translation rune aboard the Raxxian ship, was thenpulled from the group and shoved into the ring to face him. With such a size difference, he didn’t stand a chance.
Heydar looked up at the massive man. His skin was deep red, almost like brick, and his hair was jet black, just like his eyes. He held his arms up wide, reveling in the cheers. His name. This was Drixxus, and clearly, he had been through this more than once and was a crowd favorite.
Heydar sized up the enormous red alien and took a nervous step back. The crowd howled with laughter. Heydar’s darting eyes seemed uneasy as they looked every which way.
The Dohrags laughed even harder, though those who had bet on him were less amused. It seemed their gamble to defeat the champion was not quite the man they’d hoped he was.
“Begin!” the general bellowed without further pomp or ceremony.
The red menace lunged forward, sending Heydar scurrying away, slamming into a table before redirecting to the other side of the ring.
“Don’t run! Fight, you coward!” the man whose drink he’d just knocked over yelled.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the crowd chimed in.
Heydar was having none of that, running away as best he could, but he slipped on a patch of blood, and his opponent seized the opportunity, grabbing him by the arm and throwing him across the ring.
The crowd cheered but Heydar rolled up to his feet unharmed. That is, until the fist already heading his way connected with his ribs, followed by another to the jaw. Somehow, he stayed on his feet, but only just. He fell onto another table, wild-eyed as he looked at the Dohrags cheering his eventual defeat, taking in each and every one of their yells and gestures. It was clear to everyone the outcome was all but a given.
Shalia didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t look away as he absorbed blow after blow, falling into tables, knocking over dishes and heavy mugs as he tried to scramble away from his attacker.She glanced at Darla and saw the fear in her eyes. The woman was barely containing herself as she watched her lover take a beating. Shalia could only imagine what was going through her head.
She saw Darla flinch, nearly spilling the drink she was pouring as Heydar took a hard shot to the jaw, driving him to his knees, and the crowd cheered. What the Dohrag revelers didn’t see, however, was the smile creasing his lips. Shalia did, as did Darla. They shared a questioning look, but they had no idea what the man’s unexpected grin could possibly mean.
They found out mere seconds later.
Heydar’s powerful legs pistoned him up from the ground, his massive fist catching his adversary under the chin just right, throwing his head back with a sickening crack and driving him onto the general’s table, unconscious, if not dead.
Heydar didn’t hesitate.
In a flash, moving much, much faster than anyone would have thought a man his size could, he was on top of the fallen alien, but while the Dohrags cheered him on assuming he was going to deliver the coup de grâce, Heydar had other plans in mind.
Before he could react, the Dohrag at the table and his comrade beside him suddenly found their throats slit, their blood gushing out in a torrent. Heydar was already in motion flinging the knife into the eye of the nearest armed guard as he took down two more spectators then disarming and disabling the other guards in the room before they could even react.
It was a stunning whirlwind of violence, but so long as no weapons were fired, any of the men outside who heard the commotion would just assume it was the evening’s fights going on as usual. And only on-duty guards were carrying guns. And the few indoors with them were bleeding out on the floor.
A moment later nearly all of them would be.
Heydar increased his speed, knives flying, taken from the tables and belts of the fallen, each of them finding its target and ensuring no one would get off a shot.
Shalia was stunned as the realization set in. Heydar hadn’t been wide-eyed and scared. He had been assessing every last Dohrag in the joint, sizing them up, noting their location, their weapons, and their levels of inebriation, forming a plan of attack, all while pretending to be losing to his sizeable adversary.
