These were what remained of Yaltu’s friends. They’d been imprisoned, modified by some torturous junkyard technology, and turned into raw killing machines.
“Jacob!” a voice yelled from the stands.
I chanced a glance toward the voice’s owner and saw Yaltu herself beside Skrew. A pack of hooded and armed people stood around them and created a wall of protection between Yaltu and the blood-starved crowd.
Yaltu had left behind all caution to come here and save her friends.
I realized then that she didn’t want me to kill the beasts. She wanted me to free them.
“Reaver!” I called, “Sierra!” She didn’t look at me but nodded in comprehension. It was a signal to subdue our opponents rather than kill them, if at all possible.
Beatrix gave me a confused look before rolling to one side to avoid an orb the size of a tennis ball, spat by one of the black dragons. The orb hit the dirt and began to smoke, the saliva itself turning black as it bubbled.
Silver looked confused as she turned her scarred head and the scanners attached. The dragon’s rider bellowed orders, but the beast didn’t move.
The forcefield was at my back, radiating energy that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. The pressure against my back was soft, like a firm mattress covered in fur. But the part that stuck out in my mind was the sense of power. I had an idea, and Silver and her rider were going to help me test it.
The vrak riding the dragon raised his shield, pressed his stun-baton to the creature’s hide, and a shock of electricity ran through Silver as she screamed.
All cheering stopped as Silver’s scream echoed around the arena. If her rider noticed, he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned the now-obedient creature toward me and charged.
Silver leapt, front paws reaching for me as blood-laced saliva hung from her mouth like thick cords of yarn. I waited until the last moment before leaping straight up into the air. My back slid against the forcefield, and it kept me from moving any further back. When Silver crashed into the field, the barrier sparked and bowed outward a full yard. Based on the speed and complete lack of self-perseverance of the maneuver, I suspected that Silver had being trying to kill herself. The dragon collapsed to the dirt but recovered quickly.
I held Ebon ready but didn’t strike, even though her neck was exposed and her rider was stunned.
“Hate!”
The word was spoken in a feminine voice and struck my mind like a salt-dipped whip. It had come from Silver. She was still in command of her thoughts, or at least some of them. The word seemed to explode from her mind like a grenade directed at the entire universe, rather than at me or anyone else in particular.
“Kill!”
I felt the thought wash over me like a sea of hot stones. I raised Ebon and caught a whiff of something familiar. It clawed its way into my nose, planted itself in my brain, and calmed me. The scent was both dangerous and familiar.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Yaltu standing in front of her seat. She had her concealing robe sleeves pulled all the way up to her shoulders. Her hood was off, and she looked like she was sweating. Pheromones, I realized. She was attempting to sway me, to calm me with her pheromones so I wouldn’t kill her dragon. Well, I had no intention of killing Silver. But I did want to kill the vrak who rode her.
I kicked off from the forcefield and landed a few feet from Silver and her rider, who’d recovered and was trying to get the dragon back into the fight.
The sound of clashing steel drew my attention to Reaver and Beatrix. My fellow Marine had acquired a shield from the cart and was using it to protect one of the black dragons, whose rider had been beheaded but stubbornly remained in the saddle. The crowd was muted as they watched the fights unfold.
The dragon Reaver was protecting lashed out at her, but she blocked the savage bite with her own shield. Beatrix stood with a warhammer raised in both hands, but took a few steps away, obviously confused. It wasn’t until she lowered it a bit that I could see the head of the hammer was glowing red. An energy weapon of some kind, perhaps?
While Beatrix blocked the dragon’s swings with her warhammer, Reaver snatched a pair of sabres from the wagon. The other black dragon had joined to harass Beatrix, her rider still very much alive.
“Hup, hup!” she barked as she approached the fight.
Apparently, gladiators had their own language. After delivering a vicious smash to the leg of the surviving rider, Beatrix took a knee.
Reaver used the woman’s shoulders to launch herself into the air, finishing off the guard with the shattered leg. On the way down, she threw one of her blades, and it buried itself deep into the shield of the guard riding Silver. The attack hadn’t killed him, but he reeled back in his saddle and howled at the impact.
Silver broke off from the fight and backed up at the command of her injured rider as he attempted to extract the blade from his arm. I approached at a trot. Once I was sure I was close enough, I sprinted the final 10 yards and hit the rider with a hard tackle. We crashed to the ground and slid for several seconds with me on top of him. When I raised my fist, prepared to pound the guard into a quivering pile of flesh, I realized he wasn’t moving.
When I stood, I saw that the guard had done an excellent job of strapping himself to his mount. So good, in fact, that the part which had been strapped-in, his lower part,
