30
The coliseum doors shut, instantly blocking the sunlight that poured in from behind them, muffling the cheers of the crowds in the stadium and the blasts of the trumpeting horns. A few narrow streams of sun leaked through the rafters and doors and mixed with the flickering fires of five pillar shaped pits that burned high above them. These flaming pillars lined the edge of a long, dark, private balcony that stretched far above the reach of the animals and men as they left the arena floor.
As soon as the doors shut, Csoda collapsed like a puppet whose strings were unceremoniously cut. He sat slumped in the chariot bed gasping for air, unable to move. His magic spent, his connection to the crowd blocked, he was reduced to his body, still weak from past torture and captivity, robbed of a
