I never received any treatment for my wounds. Veliron seemed to expect me to completely heal on my own, and even though I am an elf and I do heal quicker than mortals, I can't just walk away from a beating like that as if nothing had even happened.
I thought that I'd at least get a break from fighting but I was wrong. As soon as the day for the fights came I was hauled off to the arena.
Veliron now keeps my hands bound at all times. He barely gives me food or water and when he does it's stale bread and dirty water.
If I wasn't an elf I would be on the brink of death by now. Which now that I think about it, wouldn't be so bad.
For one thing I would no longer have to suffer through this misery. Since I am an elf I will not die unless I am killed and Veliron has no intentions of letting me die.
Suffer? Yes, he wants me to suffer by his hand for as long as possible. Only to hand me off to some other cruel master once he is old and rich from the money he has made off me.
I have been in Rhun for countless years now and I can already tell that Veliron is showing signs of weariness. He is getting old, and soon he will be dead.
Others have noticed to, especially his oldest son, Valiron. He probably expects his father to hand me over to him once he is ready to receive his inheritance from his father.
If Veliron is corrupt than Valiron is twice as much as he is. Being a slave for him would be worse than being a slave for Veliron.
"Keep up you pathetic elf!"
Veliron jerks on the rope that binds my hands together and I strugle to keep my balance.
I ignore the urge to grab the rope and jerk it myself. It would send Veliron crashing onto the ground.
But all I need is a quick glance over my shoulder and down my red, raw back to remind myself that I shouldn't do anything to cause myself even more pain.
After all I am going to need it. Jeers and insults greet me as we enter the arena. I do my best to ignore them but lately, I've been finding it hard to keep their words out.
I close my eyes as one of Veliron's guards unties my hands. I think back to our home in the forest valley. How the mountains stood guard all around us, how the wind blew through the trees, the blue sky, and how the last time I saw it, it was on fire and burning.
I open my eyes as I'm shoved into the arena. My opponent is a tall, muscular man with pleanty of scars covering his bare arms and face.
He's looking for a fight, and I'll give him one. I hiss as I stand up straight. My back is killing me, I have no shirt to cover it so my chest and back are completely exposed.
My dirty hair is held back by a worn out leather strap but several strands fall out onto my face. I brush them aside and focus on my opponet.
It doesn't have to be a long fight, I can finish him easily. We start to circle one another, searching for each other's strengths and weakness.
Mine won't be that hard to find.
Suddenly he charges. I wiat for a moment before spinning out of the way.
He runs right past me and skids to a stop in the sand. He whirls around and glares at me through narrowed eyes.
I stand as tall and poised as I can. I hate to admit it but I am tired. I haven't had proper rest since the beating and I haven't been able to properly heal either.
My opponet knows that I'm not at my best, and he's going to enjoy beating me into the sand.
I shakr my head and harden my gaze.
I will not let him take advantage of my weakness. I have to be stronger, I have to keep pushing myself.
He runs at me again only this time I don't move out of the way.
Instead I run towards him and punch him hard, right in the throat.
He gags and stumbled backwards, his hands are on his neck as he fights for air.
I want to go in and finish him off but all of a sudden, I'm too weak to stand.
My legs tremble as I fight to stay standing. The crowd sees that I'm losing my strength and the immediately demand for another fight to start.
I want to collapse right there on the sand. I can't make it through another fight. Unfortunately the people have no interest in whether or not I am well.
All they know is that an elf the assumed to be unbeatable, was collapsing before their very eyes. But that wasn't enough for them. They had to see me be beaten.
My previous opponent is led away and a new one enters the arena. I straighten myself and push away my exaustion. I can do this, I can beat him.
He wastes no time in attacking. I just manage to move out of the way before his fist connects with my chest. What I didn't expect him to do was grab my hair and pull it.
I try to stay up but my feet slip on the sand. I turn to my side just before I hit the ground, saving my back from any more pain.
My immediate impulse is to get back up but just as I'm about to move I see him.
The blue cloaked man, sitting in the crowd. His hood is still drawn over his face but I know that he's watching me.
If I hadn't been distracted by him I would have noticed the man who was about to kick me in the back. When his foot connected with my back stars exploded in my head.
He kicks me again.
The pain is so sudden that I can't even scream.
Another kick.
I feel blackness creeping into my mind.
And another....
I let myself fall into nothingness. The last thing I am aware of is the cloaked man leaving the arena.
////
When I come back to my senses I'm back in my cell. I'm laying on my side and the first thing that comes to my mind is that I lost.
I lost my first fight.
I curl my hand into a fist and bang it on the stone floor. I do it again, and again, until my hand starts to bleed.
I shout in frustration as I stop slammimg my fist on the floor. I try to push myself into a sitting position and collapse as soon as I move.
I lay my head on the cool, but filthy, stone floor. I'm bruised and bloody, but not broken. Not yet, they won't break me that easy.
What frustrates me is that those men were the ones to bring me to this state. I am far stronger than they are, I am an elf. I should be stronger.
Faster.
Far more resiliant than they.
Yet here I am, laying on the ground, helpless and unable to move.
I hear footsteps and voices approaching and I close my eyes before they arrive at the door to my cell.
"I don't know what you're trying to gain here, but if you want to deal with him than be my guest."
I know that's Veliron's voice, but who is he talking to?
"Get up! You've slept long enough!"
A harsh kick to my ribs causes my eyes to fly open and a gasp to escape my lips.
Veliron grabs a handful of my hair and lifts my head up.
"Listen to me elf, I decided that you're no good to me when you're like this, so I have someone here who is going to tend to your wounds."
"About time."
I mumble.
"What was that?!"
Veliron demands releasing my hair and sending my head crashing onto the floor.
"Treating him this way will not help him heal faster."
A voice said calmly.
I have my eyes closed and I intend to keep them that way until the room stops spinning.
Velirom scoffs and I hear him step away from me. Lighter, softer footsteps approach and someone kneels down in front of me.
"I need you to roll onto your stomach please."
Cautiously I open one eye, and my other immediately shoots open as well.
Kneeling before me is the cloaked man.
////
"Can you please roll onto your stomach? It will allow me to treat the wounds on your back easier."
"Treating him nicely isn't going to get him to do what you want."
Veliron sneers.
"You have to be hard with him if you want him to do something."
The cloaked man ignores him as he places a hand on my shoulder, I try not to flinch at the touch.
For once his hood is down and I can see his face.
He has blue, almost grey, eyes. He looks old and yet young at the same time. His hair is dark grey but I can see traces of white in it. His beard isn't that long but for some reason I expect someone of his age to have a longer one.
Than again, I do not know his age, or how age affects mortals for that matter. The man smiles softly and asks me one more time to lay on my stomach.
Something about his voice calms me, almost assuring me that I can trust him. I lay down on my stomach, exposing my red back.
Dirt, sand, and other debris have gotten into the wounds and the pain is unbearable. I never take my eyes off of the man as he takes out a bag and pulls out several things that I cannot see.
Veliron watches him through narrowed eyes. No doubt suspicious about the man before him.
"I have to remove the debris."
The man says in that quiet, yet strong voice of his.
"This might sting a bit."
I clench my bloodied hands together and hiss through my teeth as he cleans my wounds. It seems to go on for hours and inside I'm begging for it to end.
I close my eyes and drift between conciousness and sleep. Something stirs me from my blissful state and I open my eyes to see the man holding something in front of me.
"I need you to drink this. It will help your body heal faster."
"What kind of stuff is that?"
Veliron demands suspiciously.
"It's just a tea that will speed up his healing process. You want him fit and ready to fight again don't you?"
Veliron mutters something under his breath while the man helps me into a sitting position. He brings the bowl up to my lips and pours the liquid into my mouth.
I swallow the bitter tea and immediately wish for water.
Thankfully the man places a waterskin to my mouth and I drink greedily.
"How long will it take for him to heal?"
Veliron asks without the slightest trace of concern in his voice.
"It will take a few days, maybe even weeks."
The man packs up his bag and stands. I'm back to laying on my stomach.
"Weeks?! What am I supposed to do with an elf who cannot fight?!"
"Leave him alone and let him heal."
The man replied calmly.
Velrion was seething in anger but he said nothing.
"You know Veliron, if the elf ever becomes to much of a burden for you, I would gladly take him off of your hands. I can promise you a large sum of silver if you are interested."
The calmness I felt earlier vanishes in a moment after hearing those words.
I was a fool to think that there was someone actually concerned with my well being!
All he wants is a slave, that's all I am now. Even more worthless than an animal.
"If you think that I would sell that elf you are mistaken."
Veliron says pointing in my direction.
"I have gotten more money off of him than any other fighter before. Selling him would be like giving everything I own away!"
The man shrugs as Veliron opens the cell door.
"Very well, but if you ever change your mind I will be in touch."
As the door closes and the men vanish from sight I take a moment to truly reflect on my situation.
I am a prisoner, a slave, in a foreign land filled with people who have little to no regard of life. In their eyes I am nothing, just a form of entertainment and a way to make money.
This is what I have been reduced to, and what I wil be for the rest of my life.