There were men and women in wheelchairs, whichever way she looked. Their wheelchairs were armed, though with all manners of swords, hammers, and knives.
“Audrey” reverberated through the hall. It was Oreus, sitting imperiously in a battlechair, with two muscle-bound men at each side. She goes towards him, her heart throbbing.
“Yes, ssirr.”
He looked at her with contempt. “You must speak with conviction if you want to be a warrior. Demand respect.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her tone raised.
“Better.” He looked her up and down. “You have good control of your chair. Spatial awareness is as important as savagery. Without either, there is little hope of you lasting long.”
He scrunched his face. “Your next opponent is going to be formidable. I watched as his last opponent pleaded for his life. The crowd laughed.”
Oreus stared at Audrey, but she didn’t flinch.
She has the fire.
“Follow me.”
Oreus drives his chair to a narrow side tunnel, then down a long, downward ramp, using his jaw, with his goons and Audrey following closely behind. The din of chatter dissipates behind them.
They enter a large, cool chamber filled with rows of battlechairs of various makes, shapes, and sizes. Oreus led them to the back of the room. “This is the Falcon X.”
Audrey’s face lit up. “Is it as good as they say?”
Oreus smiled. “That’s what I want you to tell me.”
Mark's Writing Corner 