After having lunch with Chase, and feeding the last bucket of slops to the dogs, Roran headed for the gladiator's hub. By now it was mostly empty, with only a few gladiators milling about. After a few moments of looking, Roran found Carrick.
"Well, if it isn't Kell's favorite murderer," said Carrick.
Roran winced at the comment. "Yeah, not my greatest moment."
"Oh? I wouldn't know. From where I'm standing it was your greatest moment by far."
Roran winced again but went on. "I'm here to collect my winnings."
"Do you want favors or coin?" asked Carrick.
"I get to choose?"
Carrick nodded. "Now that you're an official gladiator, you can earn and spend coin. Favors will get you more food and medicine here in the Crucible, but you'll need coin if you want to purchase things outside the arena. A new sword and shield for instance..."
Ignoring the heat creeping up his cheeks, Roran said, "Favors. My people need the favors for food and medicine more than anything."
Carrick nodded and began flipping through a ledger. He found Roran's name and counted out his winnings. "Five for participation, two for two kills, and two for challenging Duran the living boulder." He slipped the favors into a small pouch and handed them over.
Roran hefted the pouch and frowned. It was much lighter than the last one he had received. Seeing his expression, Carrick shrugged.
"Last time you killed a champion, you got their bounty. This time you only get what you earned. If you want more, kill more people."
The coldness of Carrick's statement made Roran shiver. He didn't like equating human life to money. If killing less meant earning less, then he was fine with that.
"Hey," said Roran, changing the topic, "I heard there was a special event happening."
"Ah yes, they have a little tourney coming up. The Kings like to grace the Crucible with their presence every now and again. They throw extra money at the gladiators to make them play silly games and kill each other in even sillier ways."
"I heard one of the Kings will grant a favor to the winner," said Roran, "What sort of favors do they grant?"
Carrick rolled his eyes. "Small wishes within their power," he said. "Most people wish for money, or small miracles. The Kings are powerful enough that little things like that don't phase them."
"What about pulling a town out of the dungeons?"
Carrick snorted. "What, to live on the surface?"
Roran nodded.
"Oh, you're serious." Carrick straightened up a little bit. "Well, I don't see why not. It would be a major pain, logistically speaking, but it could be done. With the word of a King it could be done easily."
Roran nodded again, his pulse quickening. He was beginning to see a way out.
"But," Carrick went on, "the tourney's are dangerous."
"You said they were silly little games."
"Silly little games where people die silly deaths," said Carrick. "Do you want to die a silly death?"
"If it means saving my people, I think it's worth the risk."
"It's your choice, but I strongly suggest you think on it first. Remember, your people will survive your death, you won't."
Roran blinked at him.
Carrick waved away the look. "You know what I mean. Don't die for people that don't care about you."
Roran didn't respond. He knew the people of Millgrove didn't care for him, they never had, but that didn't mean he didn't care for them. They were still his people, he still felt like he owed them.
"If that's all, you should take your winnings and go home," said Carrick. "If you do decide to go die in the tourney, let me know and I'll put your name in, just promise me that you'll think on it first."
"I promise," said Roran, then he took his winnings and left, heading back towards the dungeon he called home.
For the first time, Roran recognized the warden on duty. At least, he thought he recognized him. Their helmets covered part of their faces, but Roran was fairly certain he recognized the jaw and stubble.
"Hello," said Roran.
"Hey kid, good to see you made it."
The response surprised Roran. It was the first time he'd ever heard them make small talk.
"Oh, thanks. Still alive, for now."
"Keep it that way," said the warden, "I've got a fistful of coin saying you survive two more rounds."
"Um...thanks?"
The warden shrugged as they unbarred and opened the door. "See you later kid."
The second warden followed him home, opening the door for him. As expected, Murrin was on Roran the second he entered the cell.
"See boy, all your fuss was for nothing," he said, hoisting his nose high above Roran and peering down at him. "You did just fine without having to risk our precious weapons."
Roran sighed and looked down at his hands. He had a minor cut from grabbing and throwing the shards of metal, but the wounds were shallow.
"Yeah, I guess. Here's my winnings."
Murrin snatched the pouch out of Roran's hand and quickly emptied it into his palm.
"That's it? Where's the rest of it, boy?"
"That's all I won," said Roran. "Five for participation, two for-"
"I don't want your excuses boy. You'll cause us to starve."
"I did my best!"
"You made more than twice this last time."
"Because I killed a champion!" cried Roran, "One that nearly killed me and skinned Toth alive."
Murrin backhanded Roran, silencing him.
"Don't badmouth Toth, he made a great sacrifice for our township. For your laziness, you don't get rations tomorrow or the next day. Maybe that will motivate you to work harder."
Roran stared at the floor, a whirlwind of emotions swirling around inside him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to punch Murrin. He wanted to punch him in his smug little mouth and knock him to the dirt.
Taking a deep breath, Roran calmed his mind and thought of his mother. She wouldn't approve of him beating up council members, even if the council was gone, along with the rest of their town.
"Your mother should have raised you better," said Murrin, "but what do you expect from a whore."
Lightning flashed through Roran.
"If you think so little of her, then why did you sleep with her?"
Murrin turned on Roran, his face going red.
"How dare you!" He reached out to smack Roran again, but Roran moved, snatching Murrin's wrist and squeezing. Murrin cried out in pain and stumbled. Roran pulled Murrin in closer, forcing him to bow until they were eye to eye.
"Say what you will about me," said Roran, "But don't ever badmouth my mother again."
Murrin's eyes were wide with fear. Sweat trickled down his lip, catching on his wispy mustache. Licking his lips, Murrin nodded quickly and Roran released him, shoving him away.
Without looking at Murrin, or anyone else in the dungeon, Roran walked back to his little spot against the wall and sat down, dropping his hand to begin drawing figures in the dirt. He focused on his scribbles, too afraid to look up lest he make eye contact with someone. It was the first time Roran had ever fought back against any of his kinsmen. He felt embarrassed. His mother would have scolded him. But she wasn't here. She was dead, along with over half of their kinsmen.
Before he realized what he was doing, Roran had drawn a pair of skulls. One large one and a smaller one off to the side.
"Death walks in my shadow," Roran whispered to himself and he clamped his eyes down to hold back the tears.