She swore through all the madness, she heard the elf's voice. "You have to see, Rose."
"Why?"
A hand dropped next to hers. Not attached to a man. Just a loose hand that now had no owner.
"Because you cannot hide from everything. You have to be aware of where your body is and how much danger you are in. If you are dead, then you cannot learn."
Rose didn't care about their lessons right now! She wanted to be away from here. She had earned that right. She had suffered, had she not? The elf knew what was happening around her, to her, he had to know.
If she wasn't careful, she was going to die. Someone was going to accidentally stick a sword through her back, and this was where it would all end. Crawling forward, she tried to get to safety. Tried to find where that safety might even be.
But as she scrambled to get away, the sounds of the fighting dimmed. Lower, lower, until there was only the ragged sound of a few people still breathing.
She looked up to see the three trolls were still together, although they were all covered in ragged wounds that didn't look like they would heal well. They'd been backed into a corner by a group of men who seemed to realize that the trolls were no longer fighting and turned on each other.
Each one of them tore and bit and ripped until there was only one man left standing.
He was a massive human, rippling with muscle and splattered with so much blood she couldn't tell how much of it was his and what was someone else's. But he turned to look at her with a grin on his face that promised pain.
As he marched toward her, she said out loud, "I have seen it, Rhydian. Don't make me suffer through what comes next."
As she descended into a world that wasn't this one, she had the faint sensation of that massive man lying atop her. The last thing she heard was the roar of the crowd. And the last thing she saw was the pity in the trolls’ eyes as they were rounded back toward their cells.
Eight
Gunnar
The one time Gunnar allowed Ragnar to make the plan was the one time they got caught. He was so angry at his brother, he had no idea what to do with himself. He wanted to punch Ragnar into a pulp. Maybe grind his face into the stone floor of this place that was rancid with so much troll blood he didn't think it could ever wash clean.
But that wouldn't do anything. They were all struggling in this place, and he needed Ragnar to help get them out.
For once, Gunnar was out of ideas. He had been through more of the human cities than any of the other trolls. He had adventured through countless battlefields, ensuring that bodies were returned to those who needed them. Every single piece. All of them were kept in the Hall of Heroes until he found every bone that had once been in their bodies, and only then were they buried.
All those travels, and he had never been here. He hadn't even realized it existed. He should have known, should have seenit, should have had some inclination that there was a place as drastically wrong as this one. But he hadn't.
He sat on the cot, alone in this cell for once. The humans kept rotating which rooms the trolls were held in, making sure that none of them were with each other long enough to plan an escape. It was a good plan, but trolls were efficient fighters.
He'd been talking with as many of the trolls who had been here for a long time as he could. Gunnar knew most of them by name now, and in another week, he'd know them even better. None of the humans would prevent them from doing what trolls were good at doing. Escaping. Fighting. Being free.
He wrapped his knuckles with a bit of fabric that he'd stolen off a guard. The man had likely been bringing such luxurious fabric to a nobleman. Gunnar had seen them walking through the dungeons late at night. He wasn't entirely sure what they were doing here, but considering the sounds that echoed from the cells, he could guess.
This place was disgusting.
But the fabric was nice. He'd always enjoyed the feeling of silk against his skin, and any enjoyment in this place was a luxury he would not turn his nose up at.
Banging on the door of his cell caught his attention. It wasn't the door with the window. That was usually where the guards were when they brought food.
He turned to look at the other door. The one that led to ruin and blood. He had walked through it too many times now. The humans liked watching him fight because he was a little smaller than the other trolls. Faster. But he'd also heard that some of them liked the fact that he wore his hair as they did. Shorter, without braids.
Gunnar had once been very vain about his hair. It usually flowed loosely around his face. Rakish, as some of the troll women had called him for years now. He liked that nicknameand only wore a few braids to keep it out of his face when he fought.
But now it was greasy and lank, and it hung around his head almost like a helmet because there was so much grime in it that it didn't move. When they got out of here, the first thing he was going to do was bathe. A few times. Maybe even just stay the night in a tub so he could feel like he was clean again.
The door banged again, as if they were waiting for his permission, which was odd.
"What is it?" he thundered, hoping that his voice would break through the thick wood to whomever thought it was smart to disturb an angry troll.
Flashes of what he had done played through his mind. Gunnar put on a show for the humans when they wanted it, mostly because they seemed to enjoy feeding larger humans to him. He rarely fought other trolls. But he had stomped that man's head in easily enough. He could still feel the skull crushing beneath his heel as the crowd roared with pleasure.
