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. Bone crunched;
the pain was horrifying. He fought to breathe, but he was
choking on his own blood. He staggered and would have
fallen, but the cruel chain held him upright. He saw the
stands and then the sky, and then he was falling. Fire burst
in his eyes, his head, his lungs. When the flames died,
darkness.
"Trust in me," a voice whispered ... and laughed.
*****
When Arryl woke, he realized two things.
The first thing was that, despite the knowledge that he
had died, he was not dead.
The second was that he was lying on his back in a field
that must be far from the arena, for he could neither hear
the crowds nor see the high walls.
Dazed and confused, his hand instinctively reaching for
his throat, Arryl sat up. He was well, whole, no trace of
injury. Just like the cut on the elf's hand ...
Arryl looked around, saw Nelk seated astride a tall
black horse. In his hands, he held the reins of Arryl's own
horse. Armor - his grandfather's suit of armor, packed
neatly and strapped to a packhorse - glinted in the sunlight.
"The terror of death must have been worse for you than
for most of the others I've brought back. I wondered if you
were ever going to wake up
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