“No tricks!” Aaron shouted at me. His anger made his aura brighter, and his human face—fragile to begin with—disappeared almost completely. Here’s a little factoid: you might think you’d eventually get used to being held prisoner by the living dead, but you never do. “No tricks! Break your wrist or your leg and I’ll flay you!”
I stared at him from a crouch, lips skinned back, the fingers of my left hand tented on the ground. Aaron took a step away, but not because he was afraid. He did it to give himself all the room he needed to swing his fucking stick. “Do you want to come at me? Do! If you need a lesson, I’ll teach you one!”
I shook my head, causing my filthy hair to flop against my brow, and stood up very slowly. I was bigger and outweighed him by well over a hundred pounds—he was essentially a bag of bones—but he was protected by his aura. Did I want to be electrified? I did not.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I thought for just a moment he looked surprised, as Pursey had when I thanked him. He motioned me to rejoin the others.
“Run!” he shouted at us. “Run, you monkeys!”
Not monkeys, but another mental substitution. We circled the track （this time Hamey didn’t even try）， drank more power water, then were directed to the tackling dummies.
Aaron stood back. One of the other night soldiers replaced him. “First one to kill his enemy gets cake! Cake for the first killer! Step forward and pick a pole!”
There were thirty-one of us and only twelve of the tackling dummy poles. Eye grabbed my wrist and growled, “See how it’s done first.”
I was surprised by this helpful hint but more than willing. With cake as a possible reward, twelve of my fellow prisoners quickly stepped forward and touched a burlap-wrapped pole. Among them were Eris, Fremmy and Stooks, Double, and Ammit.
“Now step back!”
They retreated all the way to the table.
“And kill your enemy!”
They rushed forward. Well over half of them pulled back a little from the impact—it wasn’t obvious, but I saw it. Three collided with their poles full tilt. Eris hit hard, but she was skinny and the leering plate atop her pole only shivered. Same with the other guy who didn’t flinch. His name was Murf. Ammit’s hit was a no-doubter. His plate flew off the top of the pole and landed ten feet away.
“Cake for this one!” Aaron proclaimed. “This one gets cake!”
The watchers in the VIP box, led by the white-faced woman, cheered. Ammit raised his fisted hands and bowed to them. I don’t think he recognized the distinctly satiric quality of those cheers. He wasn’t, as they say, the sharpest knife or the brightest bulb.
The first twelve were replaced by twelve more, but Eye grabbed my wrist again and I stood pat. Nobody knocked a plate off this time. Eye, Hamey, Jaya, and I were among the last to have a go.
“Step back!”
We did.
“And kill your enemy!”
I ran at my post, lowering my right shoulder—my strong-side shoulder—without even thinking about it. I was pretty sure I could have hit the post hard enough to send the scowling plate-head flying, even without padding, but I pulled back as I’d seen some of the others do. My plate hardly shivered at all, but Iota’s came off and flew almost as far as Ammit’s had. This time none of the VIPs bothered cheering; they were once more lost in their own conversations.
Aaron had retreated to the walkway beneath the VIP box, and there he was joined by Kellin. No smoking jacket today; the Lord High was wearing tight whipcord breeches and an open-throated white shirt beneath his aura. They walked toward us together, and I felt the same déjà vu I’d felt when I saw the practice gear and the table with the drinks on it. Kellin and Aaron could have been the head coach and his assistant. This wasn’t just an exercise period for the prisoners, but serious business. There was going to be a Fair One, and I had an idea Kellin and Aaron were the ones responsible for making sure it was a good show.
“Sticks!” Aaron shouted. “Now sticks!”
At that the whole people in the box showed more interest. Even the watching night soldiers on the parapets seemed to come to attention.
We went to the wicker basket containing the fighting sticks. They were like bokken sticks, but without any hilts—about three feet long and tapered at both ends. The wood was white and smooth and hard. Ash, I thought. Like Major League Baseball bats.
Kellin pointed at Eris. She stepped forward and took one of the sticks. Then he pointed at Hamey, which made my heart sink a little. He took one and held it with one hand on each tapered end. Eris had hers only by one end. Defense and offense, I thought. Neither of them looked thrilled, but only Hamey looked scared. I thought he had reason to be.