Slave Unbound

Chapter 4: Preparing for Death

Laying naked upon the hard, cold stone floor of her cell, Leita clutched her knees tightly to her chest, as much for some measure of warmth as for the illusion of safety. The horrid stench of stale bodily waste that permeated the dank air made it hard to take in breath, made her gag whenever a particularly strong draft happened to waft over her, filling her nose with the smell. Her empty stomach felt like a hard knot in her gut, her lips parched with thirst. Only a single thin shaft of light coming from a crack in the heavy door to her cell, too dim to illuminate anything but the little sliver of floor upon which it fell, kept her from being encased in complete darkness.

As horrible as it all was, it seemed as nothing to the gnawing certainty that she was soon going to die and do so painfully in front of hundreds, if not thousands, of spectators. Even worse, they would clap and cheer as she was brutally cut down by some vicious warrior. The Baroness had explained explicitly what was going to happen to her as she'd sold Leita to the Grand Arena as a combatant. She would be thrust naked out into the middle of the arena sands, armed only with a spear, which she knew nothing of the use of, and would face a trained gladiator that the Baroness had assured her would have been instructed to kill her slowly and brutally.

The naked part had been a special request of the Baroness when she was sold. She wanted Leita humiliated before she died. She'd also wanted Leita to go out empty-handed, but that request was denied, not that it would make a difference. Armed with a spear or not, Leita knew she had no chance against a trained gladiator. She was going to die.

She wanted to weep for herself, sob at her misfortunes, but she'd been given nothing to eat or drink for so long that she feared that shedding tears would only make her thirst even more torturous. It had become so bad that if she'd been able to pass water anymore, disgusting as it may be, she'd consider drinking even that, just for the feeling of something liquid on her lips. But that too was denied her though, not enough water in her body to summon even a drop.

She wondered if this also was something heaped upon her by the Baroness, meant for her to go to her death too weak from hunger and thirst to even stand for her execution. It all seemed so unfair to her, to be punished for something that she had no control over. She could not have refused the Baron, so she had not. It had not been her choice, yet she was the one suffering the punishment for his indiscretion. She doubted he would even care that she'd died because of him.

Despite this, she wasted no effort or emotion on hate for him, nor for the Baroness. For all the betrayal of it, she knew that dwelling on such things was wasted energy. Instead, she simply focused her mind on trying to stay warm, on trying not to perish from lack of food and drink, and on refusing not to start crying. She doubted she had long left, but she wanted every moment she had left to be alive. It was simply not in her to just give up and let herself die before she no longer had a choice in the matter.

Suddenly, a noise echoed about her small, black space. The sliver of light guttered as feet shuffled before the door of her cell. Then another, much louder, noise came, unmistakable as the sound of the lock to her door opening. A moment later, the door itself opened, letting in a wash of torchlight and a blast of fresher, if not much better smelling, air.

Weakly, Leita raised her head and peered up at a trio of guards. They stood there silent and menacing, neither speaking nor moving. For a moment, she wondered if they were going to just close the door again, but finally one of them entered the small cell and reached in to grab her by an ankle. He dragged her from the cell like a limp sack, the rough stone scratching her flesh. Once out, the other two guards sheathed their weapons, seeing she was far too weak to resist them, and reached down to lift her up from the floor. A fourth man came up, carrying a brace of tarnished iron shackles.