"I don't want to kill anyone," Timlin said aloud.
Oaran nodded. "You'll fight a Goblin tonight. Later, it will be a man who faces you. And it will be to the death."
"I'm not ready to kill a man," said Timlin. "It's not right. I thought I was ready for all that when I left Dremlock, but I guess I was wrong."
"You won't have a choice," said Oaran. Then he added, "Well, you actually will have a choice. You can choose to die." He gazed at Timlin in pity. "You're young and you're afraid. You've got a good soul in you, as bad as things have been in your life. But you'll soon learn to live like the wolf or the hawk-taking lives to preserve your own. This place will make you an animal."
Timlin shuddered, feeling cold inside.
***
Later that evening, Tolus and two men with crossbows came and let Timlin out of his cell. Timlin stepped into the hall with his hands raised, his eyes fixed on the weapons of the men who confronted him. He considered going for a weapon and fighting to the death-which would have been justified considering the circumstances-but he doubted he would prevail and he didn't want to die. At least in the arena he had a chance. He figured if he could buy some time and watch for an opportunity to escape, something might turn up. He harbored a lot of skills and secrets his captors likely didn't know about. They might underestimate him.
"Watch that little fellow," the guard muttered. "He seized my arm earlier, just like a snake striking at a rat. He's a dangerous lad."
Tolus frowned. "Are you going to seize me, Timlin? Better think twice before trying anything. I'll kill you for it!"
"I'll follow your orders," said Timlin.
"Good," said Tolus. "Perhaps Oaran has talked some sense into you. That's why I put you in with him. Now, are you ready to fight? We like to test the new ones before we waste too much food on them. If you can't handle a lowly Goblin, you deserve to die. It's all up to you. This is just business, lad. Don't hate me for it."
Timlin didn't reply.
They herded him to the end of the hall, where the strange, oval-shaped iron door stood. Timlin glanced up at the oak frame that surrounded it-the ugly, grinning, Birlote faces carved into knots in the wood. The depiction of the Birlotes as grotesque and demonic angered him.
"Say a prayer here to whatever god you serve," said Tolus. "Ask him to keep your soul, so you don't leave it in the arena."
Timlin thought of the Divine Essence, but it didn't seem like much of a god to him-just a frightened young creature beneath Dremlock. Then an image flashed though his mind of the Great Light that hovered above Stormy Mountain, and he said a prayer to it, asking it to guide him on whatever path he took.
Tolus patted him on the back. "I wish you luck, boy."
Timlin was pushed beyond the door, and his Flayer was slapped into his hand. Then the men departed, slamming the iron door behind them.
Timlin stood in a square room, lit by torches, that resembled a pit with walls of stone and a sand floor. Benches stood atop the walls, lined with spectators who cheered, laughed, and booed him. Some were so drunk they could barely sit up. Timlin was sickened by the sight of them-their grinning faces and the bloodlust in their eyes. Some held bags of coin, ready to make bets. They seemed like heartless beasts to Timlin, caring only for their own pleasure. He found himself hating the world and wondering why there had to be so much cruelty.
Another iron door opened and a large Jackal Goblin was herded into the arena. Immediately, it fixed its evil gaze on Timlin, the muscles rippling in anticipation over its spotted, furry body. Its clenched fists uncoiled to reveal long black claws, and its drooling muzzle split open in a grin. A sleek and immensely powerful beast, it eyed Timlin with eagerness-thinking the short, skinny lad would be easy prey. The aura of the Deep Shadow emerged from it to make Timlin's thoughts all the more gloomy-to sap his will and defeat his spirit.
But Timlin was well-trained to resist that aura, and he adopted a sideways, defensive posture with his legs apart for balance, the Flayer twirling swiftly in his fingers a few times to intimidate his foe. His keen eyes took in everything-the size of the arena, the strength and probable speed of his foe, and even the sand that might be used to blind his enemy.
"I present Timlin Woodmaster," Tolus called out from above, for the benefit of the crowd. "Former Divine Knight of Dremlock and a former thief and assassin. He has killed more than twenty men in his young life."
Some in the crowd cheered, and some (who obviously didn't believe Tolus' boasts) booed and spit into the arena.
Timlin didn't let Tolus' lies shake his focus. He channeled his sorcery into his blade and it burst into green flames. As the Jackal leapt in for the kill, Timlin was ready. He sidestepped the beast and slashed a smoking wound in its shoulder with his Flayer. The Jackal let out a screech of rage.
A Jackal was a powerful Goblin. With teeth and claws that could easily shred flesh-as well as a cunning mind and immense strength and speed-they were one of the most feared creatures in the land. They also possessed extreme tolerance to pain. Timlin knew the shoulder wound would not slow the beast.
But the Jackal was a creature of the Deep Shadow first and foremost, and the more ugly its mood, the stronger its evil aura became. Timlin's focus waned for a moment, as feelings of despair overcame him. The fire in his dagger died out. Then his training took control and he calmed his mind, letting the aura of the Deep Shadow pass through him like wind through grass-telling himself it could not harm him. Once again the Flayer burst into flames.
Enraged, the beast drove at Timlin in a blur, its claws ripping at his face. Timlin deflected the claws with his blade, and the Jackal retreated a bit. It glowered at Timlin with hatred, then threw back its head and howled.
Timlin used the opportunity to lunge forward and slash at its throat, but the beast dodged the strike. Somehow it ended up behind Timlin, and instinctively, the former Squire ducked as claws ripped through the air where his head had been.
Timlin wheeled around and plunged his blade into the Jackal's heart. The stench of scorched fur and flesh filled the air. The Jackal tried a weak swipe with the last of its strength, and then it collapsed and lay still.
Timlin sheathed his Flayer and stood waiting, while the crowd cheered. At last, Tolus and the two men with crossbows entered the arena. Tolus nodded to him and smiled. "Good work, lad. A quick kill over a strong foe."
Timlin gazed down at the dead Jackal. He knew it would never end. Soon he would be forced to kill or be killed by humans, while the vile people sat drooling for bloodshed above. How many would he have to kill over the years?
"Just hand over that blade," said Tolus, his eyes straying nervously to Timlin's sheathed Flayer, "and we'll get you back to your cell. You fought so well that I think you'll have a thin quilt waiting for you to help keep you warm."
Timlin's mind was in the dark place again-the place from his youth. Calmly, he stepped toward Tolus, drew his Flayer, and held it handle first toward the man. As Tolus reached for it, Timlin leapt around him and shoved the dagger against his throat from behind. Tolus cried out for help.
"Stay away or I'll kill him!" Timlin warned the two guards. Those who remained in the crowd above went into a frenzy of boos (and a few cheers), but Timlin ignored them.
"This is futile, boy," said Tolus. "If you kill me, my guards will kill you. Give up and this nonsense will be forgotten."
"Take me out of here," Timlin ordered.
"Never," said Tolus, his Dwarven voice becoming a rumble. "Go on and kill me, then. And my guards will end your miserable life."
Timlin considered it, but his will faltered. Finally he threw down the Flayer and shoved Tolus away from him.
Tolus whirled around and pushed Timlin to the ground. The Grey Dwarf was seething with rage. Tolus and the guards then proceeded to beat Timlin severely, until the young man could barely move. Then they dragged him back to his cell.