Star Wars Phasma by Delilah S Dawson

Author:Delilah S Dawson [Dawson, Delilah S]
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TIME IN THE PRISON BARRACKS DRAGGED on forever. No wonder the people of Arratu craved entertainment. The taste of raw skinwolf clung to her lips, and Siv wished for anything to happen. Vrod appeared in the doorway several times, pulling people out and shoving new people in. The new prisoners all seemed to be from Arratu, as they wore bright clothes and were more anxious than terrified, as if they harbored hope that they might please the crowd and earn the Arratu’s favor. Phasma was asleep, all that time, her back to the room as she curled on her side toward the wall, which was unusual. Phasma was generally alert and protective, popping awake at any possible threat; whatever Brendol had given her must’ve been strong medicine indeed.

Finally, Vrod appeared in the doorway and gestured to Phasma’s back.

“Wake your fighter, if she can see out of those black eyes. It’s time to entertain the Arratu.”

Siv had been dozing, and she went to wake Phasma, but Brendol was already there. He had her helmet in his hands, and she snatched it from him and put it on before she stood. She said nothing as she led her people to the doorway. Torben, at least, was back to his old self, fully recovered. Gosta’s limp was gone, although she wasn’t in full fighting form and would’ve been useless on the uneven ground of the Scyre. They followed along behind Phasma, Brendol, and the other two troopers, and Siv felt a strange thing: fear. Going into a fight, she generally felt more alive and relished a challenge, but now, when she thought about going back into that arena without any weapons, she went cold and numb.

The door slid open, and the crowd inside stomped in their seats, whistling and calling for blood. Those vicious cheers had stunned her the first time, but now it was just noise. The Arratu waited on his throne, flanked by his purple-robed company, covered in colorful birds, and rubbing his hands in glee. He stood, and the crowd went silent, so quiet that Siv could hear the sand crunching beneath her feet.

“What shall we have today?” the Arratu called through his booming machine.

Siv shivered as the chant went up.

“Wranderous. Wranderous. Wranderous!”

It was like living the same moment over again as the big man plowed his path through the crowd, clapping hands and pumping his fist. He leapt down to the sand and bowed to the Arratu, who raised his hands for silence.

“And what kind of toys should we give him this time?”

The noise of the crowd built to a mad gabble, and the Arratu giggled.

“Did someone say swords?”

The door through which Wranderous had exited the day before slid open, and someone threw three swords out onto the sand. They were different enough that Siv assumed they’d been taken from previous prisoners. One was clunky and made of droid chunks and saw bits, one was fine and slender, and one looked more like the twisted glass they’d pulled from the blaster-struck sand.

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