It seemed all of Raul sat upon the staired open benches of the Arena, roaring at the spectacle before them. Rays of light shone past the murky clouds, as if the suns themselves granted their approval to the scene below.

Hector, the Queen, Roth, and Terese sat down in front of a table piled with Lyssa’s promise of food and drink. Goblets of gold refilled with purpled wine, gilded platters of roasted chicken and pork rested steaming a savory aroma. Queen Lyssa stood up from her chair and raised her hands to quiet the crowd, a demonstration of her power.

“Brothers and sisters of Raul! It is my honor to show the Crown Prince our ways, for we are a hardy people, immovable in our resolve! These men and women who lie before you are criminals, rebels, and all traitors to our cause!”

The jeers from the spectators were accompanied by scraps of food thrown at the gaunt looking people below, standing at the Arena’s grounds looking for escape. Some bent down to take the meager scraps, wolfing them down hungrily. They wielded shields and were armed with sword or spear, frail forms that Hector could see trembled from even up the podium.

“We are an honorable people, however, dedicated to the rites of combat and the respect it is owed! These people shall be judged, and if the Mythic deem them worthy they shall live to fight another day, and perhaps win back their freedom! Release the trolls!”

The cheers from the crowd were similar to the fervor that was met with Hector’s declaration of war. Roken wood doors manned by mages opened wide, a cage behind holding lumbering grotesque forms hidden in shadow. The steel barred prison floated between two lines of the Queens’ Guard marching out to the Arena grounds, polearms in hand.

The suns’ light exposed the monstrous looking figures, their skin mottled dark green and trees’ bark grey. Rib cages protruded out below their barrel sized chests, hunch backed with lanky arms that grew to oversized hands and curling black claws. The trolls’ faces were hairless, small pointed ears and beaked hooked noses over a vicious overbite jutting out with sharp incisors.

Their beady pitch black eyes darted around wildly in confusion to the cacophony of sound. They covered their faces to the sudden light, howling with guttural cries. The cage dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, the Queens’ Guard halting beside.

The crowd grew silent, watching with rapt attention. Hector heard the indistinct shout of a Queen’s Guard directed to the group of people huddled away to the opposite side. The guard raised his hand and one man was flung towards the cage, collapsing onto the bare earth. He pointed one taloned finger to the cage and tossed a key, glittering steel in the suns’ light.

The man was a half breed, pointed ears visible from the distance. He shook his head and took a step back, but was pulled aloft towards the guard who with a swift sweep of his halberd decapitated the half sylvan, his blood blackening the brown soil. The crowd jeered at the half breed’s death. The guard shouting harshly pulled another figure again, this time a man. He rose to his feet and looked back at his helpless comrades before he reached down for the key.

The man bravely walked to the cage, the trolls holding the steel bars, saliva dribbling down their mouths as he approached, armed with a sword. As soon as he unlocked the door the trolls rushed out, steel colliding with steel as the door banged against the cage with the force of the trolls’ momentum. The Queens’ Guard promptly flew back to the closing gates, the now empty cage following in tow.

The man slashed at the closest monster before disappearing under the mass of gargantuan bodies that piled upon him. His shrill screams cut out only for the crunch of bone and wet slashing of meat and sinew. Hector looked down, barely controlling himself from the bile threatening to rise up. Some of the spectators openly retched atop the pews, others screamed with bloodthirsty elation. From the corner of his eye he saw the Queen bare her feral grin with delight. Roth drummed his fingers along the arm of his chair seemingly disinterested, while Terese maintained her impassive mask.

The surviving men and women formed a line, shields raised; Hector saw grim determination shadow their faces. He noticed a leader was directing orders to them, a tall man with shaggy greying hair. His speech was drowned out by the crowd’s cry for blood, the trolls busy feasting on the man that had given them freedom. Someone threw a spear, impaling a troll by the shoulder. It grunted, its head slowly turned towards the line of people and lumbered forward, followed by the other trolls, a rabid stampeding pack.

“Forward circle!” Screamed the shaggy haired man. The line moved to flank the trolls, the humans outnumbered the monsters nearly three to one. It looked as if the line would hold, the spear holders poking and prodding the trolls back while the sword wielders slashed at them from behind.

Their leader swung down at a troll’s head with all his might, embedding his sword deep into its skull. The man struggled to wrench his weapon free before another troll grabbed hold and bit into his shoulder, both falling to the ground. As soon as the man stopped relaying orders the formation scattered, the trolls charged roaring past the pain of the spears and separating them to their grisly deaths. Some tried to flee, men propping the women up the walls. One woman climbed up, only to be kicked back down by the onlookers.

"Lawbreakers or not no one is deserving of such a fate," Hector said, disgusted.

The Queen cocked her head as if in bewilderment, "These men and women all have a chance to gain back their freedom should they stand victorious. This is a fair trial, as supported by the people for the past century. It has become Raul’s way of life. You would not seek to break the Accords, would you not? After all, these are the Free Kingdoms.”

Hector gritted his teeth at the mention of the treaty of Raul’s confederation with the united Empire. To insinuate of breaking the Accords would lead to civil war, and it alarmed him that the Queen so casually suggested it.

How would father deal with such callous disregard?

“The Crown Prince is inexperienced in such matters,” Roth said firmly. “Do not mistake his churlishness,” he glared at Hector, “For political debate.”

They were all well aware that as Crown Prince he was not granted the power to change or make a new law without the Crown Steward’s accord. Hector looked away from the carnage below and rose to leave. The Steward put a hand on his shoulder and with slow assured force sat him back down.

“To leave now would be to disrespect the customs of Raul,” Roth said sternly. “You would be showing that the Empire does not follow the Accords.”

“And would you dare treat my father so thusly? You have used force on the Crown Prince! Guards!”

“Listen to me boy,” Roth seethed. “If you do not honor the Laws of Raul there will be turmoil within.”

“True,” the Queen piped up, sipping from her goblet. “I said the exact same thing to your father. You would be starting a civil war.”

“A civil war we cannot afford,” Roth continued. “When we have enemies at our gates. They,” he pointed a finger at the figures below shoved into the Arena grounds. “Are the true enemy. They killed your father. You started this war, and to start a feud for the deaths of lawbreakers and rebels would only end in chaos.”

Hector’s mind was reeling from their words. Was this how the Queen had managed to enact her reign for so long, in agreement with his father? Threat of countless lives being lost for the sake of the treaty, the continuation of the Queen’s dominion? Baric entered the podium, both hands on the hilt of his sword half sheathed ready to be wielded, the other Crown Guard assembled behind him.

“My liege, I heard your call. What has happened?”

“The Prince has come to his senses,” Queen Lyssa flicked her hand away. “He has no need for you.”

“It is alright Baric,” Hector cleared his throat. “Please, wait outside.”

The captain stared hard at the Queen and strode out, doors shutting behind him.

Lyssa beamed, a glimmering smile that now showed its malice.

“That’s much better. Now see what Raul justice truly brings.” She rose, spreading her arms out once more. “People of Raul! I give you the true enemy, these wretched beings that must be purged from this very world, the native races of the Elder Tree!”

The Arena boomed with the audience's cries, “Cleanse this land! Cleanse this land!”

The figures below were varying shades of greens, greys, and browns, akin to the colored attributes of a tree; Hector counted thirteen in all. The trolls continued gorging on the remaining humans, and the sylven crouched low, crawling on the ground. Some managed to grab the fallen’s weapons, drawing closer to the native monsters of Orr. What Hector saw was strategic and calculated in their nature. Was this how they managed to kill his father?

“Look how they worm their way through, waiting to strike,” Roth sneered. “Truly a conniving dishonorable race.”

The nearest troll stirred, sated from its meal, and roared as a sylvan rose from the ground, spear at the ready. The sylvan was a male, dark brown as the roken wood of the Arena, long coal black hair partly braided, his exposed torso rippling with lean muscle in the suns’ light. The troll lumbered its clumsy gait towards the male sylvan, who waited until he deftly slid his spear through his hand and held at its very end, lancing through the troll’s open mouth to the back of its head before he regripped the spear in one hand.

The other sylven employed the same technique, effectively attacking from several feet away. Those with swords nimbly dodged and rolled away from the monsters’ ungainly attacks, one female sylvan spinning down from a swiping claw and disemboweling the foul creature. The monsters were swiftly dispatched by the sylven to the jeering cries of the people. The dark male sylvan snapped his spear across his knee, turned and threw it at their direction, teeth bared as he cried soundlessly with the effort.

The spear arced, spinning towards them. Hector’s eyes grew wide as it sailed closer before it halted at Terese’s raised hand, mere feet away from the smirking Queen.

“Face me!” Cried out the male sylvan, his coarse lilting voice echoing in the Arena. “Face me, human Queen, if you have the honor!”

The crowd jeered at his challenge, a clamor of cries that called for the natives’ deaths.

“Have them executed at once,” Roth snarled.

“Yes, I shall.” Lyssa rose, feet lifting off the floor and drew her saber, taking the half broken spear in the air with her other hand. She flew down to the Arena’s center. The crowd stood up in frenzy at her appearance, stamping the floorboards, “Kill them all! Kill them all!”

Queen Lyssa pointed the spear at the male native, “I will take you all! Thank me now for giving you such an honorable death!”

The male sylvan grabbed another spear and advanced, his fellow natives arrayed around her. Spears hurled towards the Queen, her eyes sparked with golden power and she blurred from view flitting between them. The sylven charged to surround Lyssa. Her form dashed and weaved leaving a trail of blood as each sylvan fell one by one, unable to answer her overpowering speed. They bled the same as any man, dark red pooling beneath their bodies.

Lyssa materialized, her spear through the left side of the male sylvan’s chest. She left him to collapse to his knees behind her as she basked in the peoples’ wild praise, arms raised in victory. The sylvan nodded off, but then his head raised in defiance. He pulled the spear out from his chest and leaped forward, throwing the bloodied spear at point blank range. The crowd broke into warning too late. She turned, amber light coursing to her eyes as she shifted to the side of its path, the steel spearhead grazing her cheek, drawing blood. She touched the left side of her face as if in disbelief, gazing at the crimson on her fingers. Hector could see her face from above, so contorted in fury as she raised a hand in a claw.

The sylvan cried out, his body rising beyond his control. His arms and legs snapped with dry brittle cracks, bending and twisting at unnatural angles. His screams sent a chill through Hector, as it was not the wild sound of a slaughtered animal but the hoarse cries of a dying man. The audience grew silent at the display of Lyssa’s power. The native fell to the ground, a broken heap.

“Such is the might of Raul!” The Queen screamed, punching her saber skyward. “So they have been judged!”

The people of Raul then cheered, chanting, “So they have been judged! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!”

Lyssa flew back to the podium, the cut smeared with blood just below her left cheekbone.

“Well then,” she said cheerily. “Nothing gets the blood running more than a good melee.” Her eyes flicked to Hector, lighting yellow as she flickered behind him, flinching at her sudden movement. She whispered in his ear, “I wish to ride you until the suns rise back up. It would be wise to accept my generous offer.”

Hector felt powerless his whole life, held within the Royal Castle. He had been regaining some part of control back into his life, hadn’t he? Now, however, he felt a growing dread as he stared at the Queen’s smiling bloodied face, and for the first time a creeping sense of fear.

“No,” he uttered. The Queen laughed, though melodious was devoid of any joy, though it was laughter spoke of malintent.

“A boy not even a King thinks to refuse my wishes? Look around you. This is Raul. This is my domain. Do you think my people would follow you? You would risk a civil war denying me once more because your honor does not not agree with ours?”

Hector looked to Roth, who rose to leave.

“He is just a boy, Lyssa,” he said with disgust. The Queen waited for the doors to shut once more.

“Now then. You shall call off your guard dog and accept Terese’s escort to my chambers. Then we’ll have some fun, won’t we?” The Queen flashed a smile. “The consequences of refusing me would bring us back to the era of the Broken Empire. All the while, your father would remain unavenged. No justice. Just… chaos.” Lyssa whispered the last word with reverence. “Now choose. Either option is fine by me.”

“You’re insane,” Hector swore. The Queen shrugged, “We will isolate ourselves from the Empire as the days of the Broken Rebellion, not before marching upon the Heartlands. Guards!” She rapped the doors with the back of her fist, dully thudding against the wood, and stepped back. Baric barged in, sword drawn and ready.

“My Queen,” he said reluctantly, eyes searching for danger.

“The Prince has something to say.” Lyssa tilted her head at Hector, a smug smirk forming from the corner of her lips.

“The Queen- the Queen’s apprentice will escort me to a meeting with Queen Lyssa. I will meet you back at my chambers.”

Baric’s brow furrowed, he frowned at the indirect order. He bowed his head.

“As you wish, my liege.”

What have I done? Hector thought. What have I let happen?