Chapter 62: An unexpected request
The chains thudded against the stony floor as the slaves were slowly led back to their cells. The silence was heavy, charged with resentment, restrained hatred and a dull, dangerous rage, ready to erupt at any moment. Mordred advanced slowly, feeling the metallic weight of his entrails as a physical extension of his oppression, each step a bitter reminder of his powerlessness.
When he finally found his cell, his gaze slid over the damp, familiar, oppressive walls. The chains were brutally removed by a particularly evil-looking dragon-guard, who took care to give him a scornful look before slamming the door violently behind him. Mordred found himself alone in the half-light, his wrists still sore from the cold bite of the metal.
He let himself slide slowly against the cold wall, his head thrown back slightly, his exhausted muscles trembling under the combined effect of physical fatigue and extreme mental tension. He breathed in slowly, trying to calm his heart beating furiously in his chest, replaying over and over again the brutal incident in the mine, the bloody face of the young slave, the cries of pain still echoing macabrely in his mind.
His rest was short-lived. No sooner had he begun to recover than heavy, familiar footsteps were heard, rapidly approaching his cell.
The door opened abruptly, and an imposing dragon guard stood in the frame, an evil look slowly stretching his reptilian lips.
- Get up, you vermin!" he shouted contemptuously. "There’s been a change of plans. You’ll be fighting at the Colosseum tonight."
Mordred sat up slowly, surprised and worried in spite of himself. He stared coldly at the guard, his fists slowly clenching.
- Why such a sudden change?" he demanded in a low voice, barely controlling his obvious frustration.
The guard burst into a hoarse, mocking laugh, his cold gaze filled with amused cruelty.
- King Drakeor has decided to throw a big party at the colosseum to celebrate the fiftieth birthday of his son, Prince Varyos. He’ll be crowned tomorrow at the Palace of the Burning Fangs, and for the occasion, the king is calling for a show. And guess what? You’ll be one of the main attractions.
Mordred clenched his jaw slowly, feeling the burning anger rising violently inside him. Once again, he was nothing more than a toy in the dragons’ clutches, used at their convenience for their cruel amusement.