The sawdust in the center of the Great Hall was fresh, pale yellow and smelling of pine. It wouldn't stay that color for long.
Ten men stood on one side of the circle. They were the dregs of the capital's dungeons—thieves, murderers, deserters. They wore rusted chainmail and held weapons that had seen better days: notched swords, heavy iron axes, and spears with dull tips. But they were desperate. Valerius had promised them freedom, and a desperate man with a dull blade is still dangerous.
On the other side stood Kaelen.
He was alone. He had no armor. No weapon. Just the iron collar around his neck and the canvas breeches clinging to his hips. He stood with his arms loose at his sides, his breathing slow and rhythmic, ignoring the five hundred nobles staring at him from the shadows.
"Ten gold pieces on the big one with the axe," Duke Thorne whispered loudly, leaning over the rail of the High Table.
"I'll take that wager," another Lord chuckled. "The beast has reach, but he has no steel. Flesh cuts."
Valerius leaned back in his throne, his arm draped possessively over the back of Aeliana's chair. His fingers idly played with a loose curl of her silver hair.
"Watch closely, my love," Valerius murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "This is the nature of the world. The strong eat. The weak bleed."
Aeliana stared straight ahead. Her stomach was a knot of cold iron, but her face was a mask of polite disinterest. She could feel the vibration of the crowd's anticipation, a low hum of bloodlust that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. They were here for the theater of death.
"Begin!" Valerius roared.
The ten prisoners hesitated. They looked at the massive, scarred figure standing ten paces away. He hadn't moved. He hadn't raised his fists. He was just... waiting.
"Get him!" the leader of the prisoners—a man with a missing ear and a heavy mace—shouted. "Circle him! Stick him from the sides!"
The men fanned out, yelling to pump up their courage. They closed the distance, spears leveled.
Kaelen watched them come. His amber eyes tracked the movement of the spears with a detached calculation.
The first man, a skinny deserter with a short sword, lunged. He aimed low, trying to hamstring the giant.
Kaelen moved.
It wasn't a blur of motion. It was simply that he was there, and then he wasn't. He sidestepped the thrust with a minimal shift of his hips. As the man stumbled past, Kaelen's hand shot out.
He grabbed the man by the back of the neck and the belt.
With a grunt of exertion, Kaelen lifted the man into the air. He used the deserter as a shield just as two spears thrust forward from the left.
Thud. Thud.
The spears buried themselves in the deserter's chest. The man screamed, a wet, gurgling sound.
The crowd gasped. A few ladies covered their mouths with fans, though their eyes remained wide and glued to the violence. The scent of hot iron began to mix with the roasted boar, a nauseating perfume of luxury and slaughter.
Kaelen didn't drop the body. He shoved it forward, driving the dying man back onto the spears, forcing the attackers to stumble.
Then he attacked.
He stepped into the guard of the man with the axe. The axe swung down, aiming for Kaelen's collarbone. Kaelen caught the haft of the axe just below the blade. His grip was iron.
He twisted.
The prisoner's wrist snapped with a loud crack that echoed in the hall. The man shrieked, dropping the weapon.
Kaelen drove an elbow into the man's face. The prisoner collapsed, his skull caved in.
Two down.
"Kill him!" Valerius shouted, laughing, squeezing Aeliana's shoulder in his excitement. "Look at him! He fights like a demon!"
Kaelen scooped up the fallen axe. It looked like a toy in his hand.
He turned to face the remaining eight men. He spun the axe once, testing the balance, and stepped over the corpse at his feet. The runes on his chest glowed a dull, smoldering red, fueled by the adrenaline spiking in his blood.
"Circle him, you cowards!" the leader with the missing ear screamed, backing up while shoving a younger man forward. "He's just one man! Bleed him!"
But he wasn't just a man. Kaelen moved with the weight of a landslide.
A prisoner with a rusted shortsword lunged, aiming for the ribs. Kaelen didn't parry. He stepped into the swing, taking the flat of the blade against his forearm. It didn't even cut the skin.
He swung the axe. It was a brutal, horizontal arc.
CRUNCH.
The axe buried itself in the swordsman's chest. Kaelen didn't bother pulling it out. He let go of the haft and shoved the dying man backward into the group, turning the corpse into a projectile. Two men went down in a tangle of limbs and screaming.
"Six left standing!" Valerius roared, pounding the table. "Thorne, your gold is looking shaky!"
The noise in the hall was deafening now. The veneer of civilization had cracked, revealing the mob beneath the velvet. Aeliana clutched the stem of her wine glass, wishing it would shatter just to give her hand something else to feel besides the King's touch.
Kaelen didn't pause. He grabbed the nearest man, a bald brute with a club by the throat.
The brute, terrified but cornered, swung his iron-studded club in a desperate arc toward Kaelen's temple. Kaelen didn't dodge. He raised his free arm, catching the haft of the club on his forearm. The wood splintered against his bone, but Kaelen's arm didn't even drop. The brute's eyes went wide, realizing the disparity in their strength.
It wasn't a fight; it was an execution.
Kaelen lifted him off the ground with one hand. The man thrashed, dropping his club, clawing at Kaelen's iron grip.
Kaelen squeezed.
The sound was wet and final. He tossed the body aside like a sack of grain.
The remaining men froze. The smell of fear in the circle was pungent, mixing with the metallic tang of fresh blood. They looked at the exits. The gates were barred. The torches flickered, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to applaud the violence.
"Open the gate!" one screamed, throwing down his shield. "Let us out! It's a demon!"
"There is no out," Valerius called down, his voice jovial. "Only through."
Aeliana watched, her hands trembling in her lap. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. He was a force of nature, contained in a circle of sawdust, doing exactly what he was designed to do.
The prisoners huddled together, their weapons shaking in their hands. They realized then that numbers didn't matter. They were sheep in a pen with a wolf, and the wolf was hungry.
Kaelen cracked his neck. He looked at the five men still on their feet and stepped over a pool of blood, his bare feet splashing softly.