Chapter 4
Preparing for Death
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Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.
Laying naked upon the hard, cold stone floor of her cell, Leita clutched her knees tightly to her chest, as much for some measure of warmth as for the illusion of safety. The horrid stench of stale bodily waste that permeated the dank air made it hard to take in breath, made her gag whenever a particularly strong draft happened to waft over her, filling her nose with the smell. Her empty stomach felt like a hard knot in her gut, her lips parched with thirst. Only a single thin shaft of light coming from a crack in the heavy door to her cell, too dim to illuminate anything but the little sliver of floor upon which it fell, kept her from being encased in complete darkness.
As horrible as it all was, it seemed as nothing to the gnawing certainty that she was soon going to die and do so painfully in front of hundreds, if not thousands, of spectators. Even worse, they would clap and cheer as she was brutally cut down by some vicious warrior. The Baroness had explained explicitly what was going to happen to her as she'd sold Leita to the Grand Arena as a combatant. She would be thrust naked out into the middle of the arena sands, armed only with a spear, which she knew nothing of the use of, and would face a trained gladiator that the Baroness had assured her would have been instructed to kill her slowly and brutally.
The naked part had been a special request of the Baroness when she was sold. She wanted Leita humiliated before she died. She'd also wanted Leita to go out empty-handed, but that request was denied, not that it would make a difference. Armed with a spear or not, Leita knew she had no chance against a trained gladiator. She was going to die.
She wanted to weep for herself, sob at her misfortunes, but she'd been given nothing to eat or drink for so long that she feared that shedding tears would only make her thirst even more torturous. It had become so bad that if she'd been able to pass water anymore, disgusting as it may be, she'd consider drinking even that, just for the feeling of something liquid on her lips. But that too was denied her though, not enough water in her body to summon even a drop.
She wondered if this also was something heaped upon her by the Baroness, meant for her to go to her death too weak from hunger and thirst to even stand for her execution. It all seemed so unfair to her, to be punished for something that she had no control over. She could not have refused the Baron, so she had not. It had not been her choice, yet she was the one suffering the punishment for his indiscretion. She doubted he would even care that she'd died because of him.
Despite this, she wasted no effort or emotion on hate for him, nor for the Baroness. For all the betrayal of it, she knew that dwelling on such things was wasted energy. Instead, she simply focused her mind on trying to stay warm, on trying not to perish from lack of food and drink, and on refusing not to start crying. She doubted she had long left, but she wanted every moment she had left to be alive. It was simply not in her to just give up and let herself die before she no longer had a choice in the matter.
Suddenly, a noise echoed about her small, black space. The sliver of light guttered as feet shuffled before the door of her cell. Then another, much louder, noise came, unmistakable as the sound of the lock to her door opening. A moment later, the door itself opened, letting in a wash of torchlight and a blast of fresher, if not much better smelling, air.
Weakly, Leita raised her head and peered up at a trio of guards. They stood there silent and menacing, neither speaking nor moving. For a moment, she wondered if they were going to just close the door again, but finally one of them entered the small cell and reached in to grab her by an ankle. He dragged her from the cell like a limp sack, the rough stone scratching her flesh. Once out, the other two guards sheathed their weapons, seeing she was far too weak to resist them, and reached down to lift her up from the floor. A fourth man came up, carrying a brace of tarnished iron shackles.
It had seemed strange to Leita to not feel a collar around her neck during those hours in her cell, so much so that the feel of one going around her throat seemed somehow comforting. Though she had not the strength to even stand, they securely chained her about the ankles and wrists, the lengths of chain only enough to allow her to shuffle along, not that she had the strength to walk.
Once bound, she was hauled down a series of hallways, past countless doors to other cells. Finally she was brought into a much brighter area, a large room full of steel cages. There were a number of others already in the cages, many of them greedily shoving handfuls of what appeared to be gruel into their mouths from out of small wooden bowls. The thought that she might be given something to eat gave her a small boast of strength, as did the sight of a man coming towards her with a large jug.
"Drink." The man said tersely as he tipped the jug to her cracked lips and poured murky water into her mouth. She struggled to swallow it with a swollen and dry throat, reveled in the feel of it going into her, ignoring the somewhat bitter taste tinged in the water.
After several mouthfuls of the water, she was deposited into one of the cages and her own bowl of gruel was passed in to her. Though still horribly weak, she managed to dig her filthy fingers down into the cold slop and scoop up a large mouthful of it. It seemed devoid of any taste at all, but she was too hungry to have tasted it, even if there had been some. She methodically scraped the food from the bowl and into her belly, her empty bowl rewarded by having it filled with water, which she drank down in seconds.
She felt her stomach lurch at the sudden introduction of sustenance after so long, but she managed to fight down any urge to vomit it back up. She could already feel a little strength returning to her and her mind cleared a little more. With any luck, they would give her more soon, at least let her have the ability to walk into the Arena with some tiny thread of dignity.
She began looking around at the other cages, noting the occupants that inhabited them. They were nearly all male, though a few were women, one an Orling woman that looked almost as beefy as some of the men. All of them looked as dirty and tired as she was, but she noted that only she was completely naked save for her chains and shackles. Most wore just scraps of cloth just large enough to protect their modesty, but a couple wore more substantial clothes, if still little more than thin rags.
She figured that they, like her, were to be sent out into the Arena to be killed by gladiators. While there was much she didn't know about the Grand Arena, this was something that she did. Many of the combats fought in the Arena were against cast off or unwanted slaves sold as 'lots' to the Grand Arena. A list of lots was posted for the various Arena Houses, who signed up for those they wished to accept, usually assigning their lower ranked fighters to them. If the gladiator killed or otherwise defeated the slave lot, the House was awarded a purse deemed appropriate for the victory. If the slave either won or, at least, managed to survive the fight, they were put up for auction to the Houses to purchase as a new gladiator. Those who were not purchased at auction, were returned to the pool to go through it all again.
Few managed to win the fights, but enough at least survived to be given a chance to be on the other side of the arrangement. Most Houses preferred to have at least a handful of lower gladiators that were disposable if need be. Some managed to rise through House ranks and become darlings of the Arena. It was such as these that had been in the parade the day Leita's life had come apart. She carried little hope that she would manage to make it even as far as to just survive this lot, but as she sat in her cage, watching her fellow slaves, she resolved that she would not die cowering. While she knew nothing of how to use a spear, she would still try to defend herself with it. She'd been promised a painful and tragic death no matter what she did, so why should she just let it happen?
She watched a while as several more slaves were brought in, as weak and starved as she'd been, treated to the same first taste of water and put in cages. A guard came around again and refilled her bowl with more food after a while, followed by more water once she'd stuffed the gruel down. By then she was feeling considerably stronger, more aware. She looked again at those around her, not just the other caged slaves, but the guards as well. Most seemed, at best, numb to their jobs, taking neither pleasure nor dislike of the men and women they were preparing for death. They were all generally armed, even if with just a sturdy club to keep the prisoners in line with. A few wore more significant armaments and dull-looking metal breastplates.
The armored men did little but walk among the cages, obviously here as true guards, though none of the caged slaves looked as though they had enough fight in them yet to try any sort of escape. Some of the prisoners appeared to be gathering up their nerve for the fight that was soon to come to them, deciding that it would be easier to fight against one for their survival than against many. Leita considered that she was somewhat a part of that group, though she honestly held no belief that she would actually live out the day. If, perhaps, she were just some common lot, she might have had some tiny chance of at least surviving the ordeal, but she carried no illusion that the Baroness would make good on her threat to make sure she faced a skilled and ruthless opponent that would ensure she died.
Her petty defiance would be to die fighting and at least deprive the Baroness of seeing her blubber in fear. Though she might have no real hatred of the Baroness, some small fire in her burned to take something of this moment away from her tormentor, no matter how insignificant. As she looked again at the men guarding her, she thought on what might further help her defy the Baroness. She noticed how a couple of the guards regarded her with something that might have been pity or sympathy. It made her hope that maybe she could convince one to at least allow her some kind of modesty.
