Mikros Leonidas's Arc

Chapter 8 of 11

The emperors took their high seats above the dead beast. One of them, a woman with orange hair in spirals and claws for hands, raised one talon. The crowd stilled. Then she spoke, and her voice cut the air like a blade. "Silence. The games have not begun. No contestant may be hailed before his first trial." The cheers died. Every head bowed. Thousands of people shrank into their seats under the emperors' glare. Mikros stood alone on the sand. His bronze plating steamed. His nose glowed red in the hush. He knew the rule was aimed at him. The empress despised small things, and he was the smallest thing in the coliseum. He kept his chin level and said nothing. One wrong word could end him before the first match. Then a single voice broke the silence. "That's my little red-nosed punk-ass killer!" A red-haired woman sprang up from the front stands, both fists in the air, cheering. It was Cassandra Forge, the inventor who had built his armor and made him promise to return and brag. She did not care who was watching. She whooped again and pointed at him. The empress's claws tightened on her armrest. Guards turned toward Cassandra. Mikros's chest went cold. One woman had just defied an emperor, and it was the woman who believed in him. He could not let her stand alone. Cassandra moved first. She leaped the rail and dropped onto the sand. In her arms she carried a long bundle wrapped in oiled cloth. She crossed to Mikros while the guards shouted. "I built this six times," she said, flat and fast. "Six. I count past two a failure. But it's right now." She pulled the cloth away. Inside lay a spear of dark metal, shaped to fit his small grip, balanced for the way he fought. She pressed it into his hands. The guards reached the edge of the sand and stopped, unsure. The empress leaned forward, waiting to see if the little jester would cower. Mikros did not cower. He took the new spear, turned to face the imperial seats, and lifted it high. His glowing nose burned bright. He spoke loud enough for every row to hear. "Then let the games begin. I'll kill what you send." The empress's green lips pulled back. She did not call the guards forward. Instead she gave a slow nod, and her claw dropped. "The jester wants a trial," she said. "He shall have the worst one." She turned to a steward. "Open the deep gate." The guards fell back. Cassandra climbed to the rail but did not leave the sand's edge. Mikros gripped her spear and faced the far wall, where a second gate began to grind open from below. He had won his place to fight. Now the empress meant to make that place his grave.