Page 27 of Gladiator Moon

“At least I won’t keep going to sleep!” she snaps.

“I’m getting us both out of here, little lady,” I say. “You may not have wanted saving, and you definitely didn’t volunteer for my escape plan, but you’re part of it now. So sit tight and let me keep us alive.”

We fly low over farm and field, since that is what this land seems to consist mostly of.

The crackling, unnerving magic that filled the arena is gone. The red sun seems to energize me; in fact, I don’t feel a need to draw energy. I can get it straight from the sun itself. Meanwhile, both the prince and the sprite settle down. I wonder if a magical tracking device has been attached to the boy. If so, then searches will be coming soon. I have to keep moving and stay alert.

The boy is my best bet to break out of this joint. But I don’t want to just break out, I want to shut these cruel games down forever. For now, though, putting some distance between myself and the arena is the best course of action. And no, I don’t trust summoning the single flame, not yet.

“What are your names?” I ask after an hour or so of flying.

“Pickles,” says the boy. “Prince Pickles. I hate it.”

The sprite giggles. “It’s cute.”

I nod in agreement. Truth be told, he does kind of resemble a royal pickle in his purple outfit. “How about you, little lady?” I ask the sprite, holding her up to eye level. She hardly weighs anything.

“I am called Salt Creek Sprite.”

“Why Salt Creek?”

She shrugs. “Because I was born beside a salt creek.”

“Good enough. Now, where did you learn how to fight like that?”

She lifts her chin proudly.

“My people are the warrior fae of my home world. Every child is taught to fight.”

“And you?”

“I am considered by many the finest warrior of my generation.” She says it without arrogance; it is simply a fact. “Which is why they chose me for these Games.” Her tiny smile fades. “I do not wish to die. But at least in the arena, I had a fighting chance. Now...” She glances back toward the distant stadium. “Now I fear the dark magic will claim me instead.”

“It hasn’t claimed us yet, sister.” I suspect we are out of Baltazar’s reach.

“There are other wizards, vampire,” snaps Pickles.

“Don’t call her that, you little twerp!” snaps Salt Creek. “Have you no manners?”

“Actually, I am a vampire. What we call an energy vampire. Kind of the same thing, just none of the red stuff.”

“Oh, I see. On my world, a vampire is something very bad.”

“Mine, too. But I’m one of the good ones.”

“I would have enjoyed watching someone cut your arms off,” says Prince Pickles, grumbling. “Maybe your legs too. Watching you bleed to death would have made my day.”

You’re kind of a dick, I say to him telepathically, since he is mortal and can receive such transmissions. Also, I suspect Salt Creek might chastise me for calling him a ‘dick.’

I am, yes. Mostly, I hunger for violence, like my father and his father before him.

Do others in your world hunger for such violence? I ask him, and give him a prompt to answer all my questions truthfully.

No, but we cast a spell over their food and their entertainment to train them to accept cruelty and to yearn for the Games.

Why is your family so violent?

I was told that we were cursed long ago. A curse that has been passed down through our bloodline. My own children will hunger for such cruelty, too.