The Imperial Banner Read Online Free PDF Page B

head inside.
    The wooden base at the other end flew off into the sand. A foot appeared, then a leg. Indavara wriggled free of what remained of the barrel and pulled himself clear, dragging the pole with him.
    Except it was no longer a pole. It was now a makeshift spear, with the dagger lashed to one end by the length of tendon.
    Those above were the first to notice. Cheers rippled around the arena.
    Indavara moved sideways until the sun was directly above him. The bear trotted forward, wary of the pole swinging from side to side. Indavara waited until the animal seemed transfixed, then raised the pole high. Following the shining blade upward, the animal was momentarily blinded by sunlight.
    Indavara took his chance. Lowering his grip, he darted two steps forward and drove the makeshift spear into the bear’s chest. The dagger sank in as far as the handle. The beast yelped and shrank backwards.
    Indavara pulled the pole free. The bear recovered itself and plodded forward. Indavara held his ground and jabbed for the eyes. The tiny knife missed them but sliced down the centre of the broad head, darkening the fur with blood. The bear stopped, then lunged forward again. Curved claws raked the underside of the pole but the weapon held together.
    Indavara stayed on his toes, constantly shifting across the glaring sunlight, trying to confuse the bear further.
    Now he used the other end of the pole as a club, smashing it twice against the bear’s head. He caught an ear, and the animal seemed stunned for a moment. So he spun the pole over, then swept the makeshift spear towards its face once more, cutting across the smooth skin at its snout. Blood ran down into its eyes and dripped from its nose.
    Enraged, the bear charged. Though Indavara had forgotten the pain in his injured leg, it buckled under him. He stumbled, and had only the time to get the pole up in front of him as the bear went for his throat.
    The jaws snapped shut on the pole, splitting it in two. The bear twisted in the air and one great paw caught Indavara on the chest, slamming him to the ground.
    He landed badly on his wounded shoulder, and knew a rib or two had gone. The dagger-end of the pole had landed close by but he found he could hardly move. The previously isolated points of pain on his body had fused into a pressing layer of agony that suddenly overwhelmed him. He knew with absolute certainty that at any moment he would feel teeth sink into his neck. For the first time that day, he could make out individual voices in the crowd. They implored him to fight, begged him to move. He wondered if the figurine was still secure inside his tunic. He wondered if the woman who’d given it to him was there.
    He could not move.
    Then he realised his eyes were shut. And when he opened them, he was looking at the bear, stretched out on the sand a few yards away. The animal couldn’t see him. Blood was streaming down its face, forming puddles in the sand. It was blinking and pawing uselessly at its wounds, sniffing, trying to find him with its nose.
    Hope returned, and with it a little strength. Indavara breathed in as much air as he could and got to his feet. He pulled the knife from its lashing and closed both hands around the tiny handle. Planting his feet close to the bear, he drove the blade down into the top of its head.
    The beast moaned. Its eyes were glassy and still.
    He stabbed the blade down again, into where he guessed the brain might be, then twisted it. The blade snapped off in his hand, and he collapsed to the ground once more.
    He sat there, dwarfed by the vast mass next to him. Had there been another weapon close at hand he would have struck again at the beast; plunged another blade into its skull, cut at its mouth, its eyes, its heart.
    But the moment passed. And as the bear’s great head finally slid into the dust, the rage dissolved. And he felt a kind of kinship for this poor, magnificent thing, forced to fight for its life for the amusement of others.