Outside the Stade, the wagon creaked to a halt. An Empire soldier dragged her out of the cart and into the tunnels.
They marched past combatlords and weapon-keepers, the chants of the crowd reaching her all the way down here.
Finally, the soldier threw her into a small chamber and ordered her to change into the armor lying on the bench. He left, locking the door behind him.
Alone, Ceres undressed and slipped on the leather skirt and breastplate. They were studded with gold, and were soft and new, she could see, custom made for her, fitting perfectly. She pulled on the boots, noticing they were also her size, the leather supple, the ends of the laces embellished with gold.
All these years she had dreamt of becoming a combatlord, of wielding a sword in an arena in front of thousands of spectators.
And yet now, she hated being here. Somehow, the king and queen had stolen her dream, tarnished it, and had forced her to fight for the very people she despised.
Not a minute later, the Empire soldier returned and ordered her to follow.
They walked through the dim tunnel, past weapons, past dozens of fallen combatlords and their weapon-keepers. Arriving by the gate, Ceres heard the crowd roaring outside, and her stomach clenched tightly.
“Paulo will be your weapon-keeper,” the Empire soldier said.
She turned to see Paulo, rather short in stature, nothing but a bundle of muscle with dark smooth skin. His black hair framed a heart-shaped face, and he had a few whiskers on his chin below full lips.
“It will be an honor to serve you,” Paulo said with a nod, handing her a sword.
Ceres didn’t want to reply. She didn’t want this to be her reality.
“Ceres and Paulo are next!” an Empire soldier called.
Even though Ceres no longer feared for her life, her hands shook, as her throat dried up.
The iron gates opened with a rattle, and Ceres looked out into the arena and saw two Empire soldiers hauling a dead combatlord toward the tunnels.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the Stade.
The roar was deafening, the sunlight warm against her skin, the brightness stinging her eyes as she scanned the over-packed audience.
“Ceres! Ceres! Ceres!” they chanted.
As her eyes grew accustomed to the sunlight, she let her gaze wander across the arena. On the other side of the stadium stood a barbarian of a combatlord, his arms as thick as Ceres’s waist, the veins in his legs bulging on top of thick, swollen muscles.
She clenched the hilt of her sword and knew that this man would kill her. She glanced at Paulo, and saw his face had fallen.
But she would not back down.
With all the courage she had inside of her, she raised her sword.
Her entire life she had been a slave. And now, even though she may very well die, that part of her life, she realized, was over.
Now, finally, she would go from Slave to Warrior.
Now, death would come for her.
And now her life would begin.
The crowd roared.
“CERES! CERES! CERES!”
Morgan Rice is the #1 bestselling and USA Today bestselling author of the epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising seventeen books; of the #1 bestselling series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, comprising twelve books; of the #1 bestselling series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising two books (and counting); of the epic fantasy series KINGS AND SORCERERS, comprising six books; and of the new epic fantasy series OF CROWNS AND GLORY. Morgan’s books are available in audio and print editions, and translations are available in over 25 languages.
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