The gatehouse of the fort was massive; a large portcullis looming overhead as they passed through. With the mass of soldiers and trainees crowded around her, she couldn’t get a good look at the palisades and other fortifications.
But then a break in the throng revealed the huge abandoned city beyond. Neat, straight streets, handsome buildings, inviting shop fronts. Only with a longer look did she notice the smashed doors, the places the streets were ripped up, the glittering glass sprinkled across the sidewalks.
Iryana felt drawn to explore, but she didn’t have a chance to look closely before she was pulled onto a side street.
A strong hand pulled her to the side.
“Quick, give me your cloak,” Vaneshta ordered, loaded with armor and weapons.
Hesitating only briefly, Iryana shrugged off the warm cloak and started attaching her armor. Iryana had never been so happy to put her full armor on. The gauntlets were comforting on her arms, her helmet cutting down the noise of the crowds, all the leather giving her some sense of protection. Vaneshta handed the bow and quiver over next, and Iryana slung them over her shoulder, glad she still had her falchion.
“You know how to use a spear?”
Iryana frowned and nodded, noting the large one in Vaneshta’s other hand. It was a three-pronged beast spear that she’d seen in their room last night.
“You’ll want this then.” She handed it over.
Iryana hesitated. This wasn’t one of the brigade’s weapons; it was Vaneshta’s personal spear. Especially with the way the world was, one didn’t just hand over their weapons like that. She didn’t want to be in debt to her roommate, but ultimately decided it would be stupid to refuse. A spear was much better up close than a falchion or bow—especially her bow which was better suited for longer-ranged shooting.
When she took the offered spear, the subtle thrum suggested it was imbued with metal magic. Iryana tested the spear’s weight and found it heavy but well balanced. It was tall enough, had thick crossbars, and the long, leaf-shaped blades looked well honed.
“Thanks, Sena,” she said awkwardly. Vaneshta smiled weakly at her, pushing her shoulder-length hair back nervously.
Iryana turned, realizing the crowd had stopped. They left a path for her to walk toward the front, watching her with humor, bloodlust, or worry in their eyes. Iryana followed, with the distinct feeling of being on display. She tried to ignore the attention, but her skin crawled.
When she made it to the front, she realized what they had stopped for. The pit.
Now that she could see it, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had miscalculated.
The pit was really just a massive hole in the ground. It looked like they had dismantled a few of the townhouses near the fortress, then deepened the holes that had once been cellars and storage. There was a wooden walkway around the outside of the pit, and ledges carved or built into the surrounding buildings for spectators.
Fighting a dakya in the open was a death wish; everyone knew that. Any time she took one on, she tried to keep as much distance as she could. Using the forest, relying on her bow; that was how she killed them. Trapped with one in a large, open pit? She was going to die.
The soldiers had mostly filled the various ledges, and there seemed to be far more of them than had been in the barracks. Darish, Antar, and Pyetar stood on a small stage right at the edge of the pit, a perfect viewing spot.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed under her breath. She couldn’t look away from the pit as she tried to come up with a plan.
Darish walked up to the edge with a pile of rope and wooden planks in his arms. With a heave, he tossed it over the edge, a ladder unfurling.
“Right this way.” He gestured grandly.
Iryana realized she was staring at him and snapped herself out of it, sauntering up to the edge like she had no worries in the world. She peered over the edge.
She was so screwed.
It sounded like people were taking bets as Iryana climbed down, her heart running wildly in her chest.
Once on the surprisingly dry dirt ground, she could see there was a wide, sturdy-looking reinforced wooden door on one end of the pit, muted sounds coming from behind it. Thuds and something deeper, like a growl rumbling beneath her feet.
What would Karvek think of this? Would he approve? Would he be impressed if she survived? She looked up. Darish was grinning wildly and whispering to Antar, who seemed unaffected. Pyetar ignored them both, his hands gripping the railing tightly. His face was a mask she couldn’t see through. Did he want her blood too?
The door in the pit had a pole threaded through the front that seemed able to open it from above. One of the soldiers leaned over and grasped the top, giving it a big yank. The door started to open. She heard the groan of metal and saw two others at the top turning a large wheel wrapped in chains. It looked like the mechanics for opening a portcullis.
She expected fear to flood through her: fear of abandoning her family and what they would face. But if she died here, at least she’d never lose them. Anger flooded through her instead. Anger at herself for failing so soon, anger at the soldiers for being so heartless. Anger at Pyetar for knowing she couldn’t do it.
As the door swung open, she could see a large metal grate behind it being raised. The area behind the grate was thoroughly wrapped in shadow, but she knew what it hid.
The clatter of the ladder being pulled up momentarily distracted her, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the load of weapons on her body. She could hear Darish talking to the crowd, but she couldn’t focus on him. Steeling herself, she turned back to the shadowed cave.
