The Blood of a Warrior

Chapter Two

The Ringmaster was not happy when he found out he had to buy a new table.

He was amused, though, when he found out why, but he warned me not to do it again.

"You know you're not allowed to fight outside of the arena, Isaac. Even if they ask for it."

"You said that I'm not allowed to kill outside the arena. I didn't kill him."

He sighed at me, then sent me back to my cell.

No dessert tonight, and I had to help clean up in the kitchens after dinner. The second part wasn't that bad, I got to see Ms. Janet.

I spent an hour or two reading in my cell, currently going through White Fang for the hundredth time. I was about to the part where White Fang is fighting the bulldog when the level below me and I were called for our time outside.

The courtyard was rather large, allowing me to get away from the crowd. I noticed there was a new fighter. He was a few inches shorter than me, with blond hair, like my mothers. It hung down to the small of his back in a long braid, so different from my short-cropped black.

He approached me, cautiously. Apparently he had been a part of the crowd this morning.

"I won't bite," I called to him, softly. I liked him already. He seemed familiar, they way he carried himself.

He came closer to where I sat with my back to the chain wire fence, soaking in the July sun. "I'm not worried about your teeth. I'm worried about getting close enough for you to get your arms around me."

"That's probably a good idea, though we aren't in the arena."

"You fought that guy this morning, and you weren't in the arena."

"He was asking for it. If I had it my way, he wouldn't be in the infirmary, and we wouldn't need a new table."

"You seem to care more about the table than the human."

"The table was useful."

He laughed, relaxing and sitting next to me, a good two feet away. Out of my bubble.

"How long have you been here?" he questioned, "I was taken a year ago."

"You rose pretty far in a year."

"True. I'm a good fighter, and once I got used to the death, I stopped holding back."

We chatted about fighting and how to take down an opponent quickly but still be entertaining. After a few minutes of this he turned to me.

"You still haven't answered my original question." He spoke cautiously, afraid of angering me.

I sighed, giving in. "I wasn't taken. I was born here."

He gaped. "This place couldn't have been here that long!"

"I was born the first year this place was in business. My father was an original fighter from Russia, and my mother one of the whores they picked up off the street."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four, twenty-five in August."

His brow crinkles in confusion. "You're younger than me? I thought you'd be older."

I smiled, softly. "It's the height."

"Ah," he said, nodding.

A few moments of silence passed, my new friend having spaced off, staring in my direction. His eyes were green, like mine.