Chapter 14 - Fighting Pits

Avia watched the fights with a mixture of distaste and relief. Relief because the techniques she saw were nothing new; they were all moves and tactics she could handle with ease. However, she felt a deep aversion to the idea of killing for sport. It was a waste of skill and human lives, pandering to an audience’s bloodlust. She wondered what they would do for more excitement—blunt weapons? Child combatants?
Noticing Putt’s discomfort, she felt a pang of pride. He was a sweet boy with a kind heart, and he shouldn’t be desensitized to such brutality. When the arena released animals to fight, she decided it was time to find the manager and finalize her participation terms. Descending the stairs, she didn’t see Putt anywhere. Torn between searching for him and handling her business, she chose the latter, hoping to secure their future.


Raborast, the arena’s owner, prided himself on his imposing presence. Tall, muscular, and wealthy, he commanded respect and obedience effortlessly. Mercy had no place in his business, a place where lives were lost daily for sport. His fighters ranged from desperate, inexperienced hopefuls to skilled regulars who could manipulate their opponents for the crowd’s pleasure. Today’s aspirant was different. She stood out, clearly a seasoned warrior, not one of the usual desperate souls seeking a chance.
“You must be joking,” he snorted, skeptical that she’d risk her life in his arena. Experienced fighters like her didn’t show up often, and when they did, they usually had nothing left to lose.
“No, I’m not,” she replied, her irritation clear.
Raborast detected something in her eyes—humiliation and desperation. Before he could probe further, a scream echoed: “Granny!” It must be one of the stray kids they sometimes used in fights. Raborast cursed under his breath, not wanting this aspect of his business exposed. In an instant, the warrior had a knife to his throat.
“What have you done to my grandson?” she hissed, her rage palpable.
Raborast’s bodyguards immediately surrounded them, weapons drawn. The knife moved from his throat, but she remained poised to strike. He quickly assessed her potential—could she take down all four guards? He had seen it happen before. Though tempted to find out, he decided against risking his loyal men.
“Bring me the yelling boy,” he commanded. Soon, a guard returned with a brat.
“Is this the boy?” Raborast asked. The woman nodded, still tense. He gestured for his men to lower their weapons.
“Here’s the deal,” he proposed. “You fight tomorrow against three untrained opponents. If you win, you get the boy. The day after, you fight one of my regulars. Win, and you get a hundred gold coins. Deal?”
A hundred gold coins was a generous offer. If she won, he’d make a profit. If she lost, he’d lose nothing.


Avia hesitated only briefly, weighing her options and the risks involved. She needed the money, but more than that, she needed to ensure Putt's safety. This was the only way to achieve both.
“With which weapons?” she demanded, her voice steady.
“You choose yours; I choose mine,” Raborast replied. “I’m a businessman. I have nothing personal against you. There’s no entertainment in a quick kill. You’ll have a fair chance.”
Avia studied him for a moment, gauging the truth in his words. She knew he was in this for profit, not honor, but she had no choice. Relaxing slightly, she put away her knife. “We’ve got a deal. My name is Avia.” She extended her hand, and he shook it.
“Raborast,” he introduced himself, a slight smirk on his face.
“Take care of my grandson in the meantime,” she instructed firmly. Then, turning to Putt, she softened her tone. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
She watched Putt's eyes, seeing the mix of fear and trust there. Leaving him was the hardest part, but she had to trust that Raborast would keep his word. She left, forcing herself to remain calm and focused.
As she walked away, she mulled over the deal. The stakes were high, but she was confident in her abilities. The techniques she had seen in the arena were brutal but familiar. She could handle them. Still, the thought of fighting for sport, for the amusement of others, was distasteful. This wasn’t a warrior’s duty; it was a performance. But she would do it for Putt.
Raborast was a shrewd businessman. His interest was clear—profit from a good fight. He didn’t care about the lives behind the weapons, only the spectacle. Avia felt a surge of determination. She would fight, she would win, and she would take Putt far away from this place.
Avia’s thoughts raced as she made her way back to the inn. The upcoming battles were crucial, not just for the money but for her pride and Putt’s future. She had to win. She had to prove that even in this den of violence, honor and skill could prevail.


Raborast turned to his bodyguard, pleased with the arrangement. “Lock him up in a cell of his own. And give him something to eat,” he ordered. He didn’t want any harm coming to the boy. If this Avia Warrior won, he wanted her to stay interested in fighting for him.


Avia lay on her bed at the inn that night, struggling to sleep. She knew rest was essential, but it eluded her. The truth was, she was nervous—almost scared, though she tried to deny it. If she failed tomorrow, Putt would probably face death one way or another. She had no idea why the arena owner had kidnapped him, but it was unlikely he was the first or only child snatched from the streets. Given the nature of Raborast’s business, death was likely involved.
She wished she had inherited her mother's talent for magic. Despite being armed and skilled with both bow and blades, she felt helpless when it came to protecting her own grandson. When she had realized Putt was caught in the arena, there was so little she could do. Her mother would have had some powder up her sleeve that caused smoke, sleep, or even uncontrollable laughter. Avia had no such tricks. She could only pose a threat of violence and death—a threat easily disarmed now that Putt was at stake.
As she lay there awake, she thought of possible professions for Putt. If she won that money, she could send him to the Wizard's School where he would be well cared for and gain a respected profession. Would they take him in? At least she could afford to pay them if they did. Wizards were few and even more mythical than warriors. She had only met a few in all her years and knew little about their training. But she knew they were educated at the legendary Wizard's School. Her own mother had been a wizard. If Putt had magic in his blood, he would likely become a decent wizard too.
Relaxed by having a plan, she finally fell asleep.