In no surprise to me, Nathlan had won his second match as well. In classic understated Nathlan fashion, he told me it was a hard-fought battle and his opponent was ‘of respectable skill’ – despite the fact he’d won in such a short span of time.

  The way he seemed to float around the arena was impressive by itself, but I was more impressed given that I knew his attributes were far below what his opponents could boast. I was being reined in by Jorge’s intervention to the level of my opponents, but Nathlafwin had no such restriction. The problem for him was that he was simply under-levelled.

  He was pushing level 27 now and had a powerful combat class, but these clansmen were no slouches. They were all in possession of a powerful support class themselves, and all at or near the level 45 cap of the 1st tier. That meant they all likely had up to 105 attributes to distribute, in comparison to Nathlan’s 75.

  Where I was struggling against their greater skill and experience though, Nathlan was far beyond them. He had trained with the sword since a boy, and despite what I may have been tempted to think given his complete lack of talent when it came to most practical matters – tracking, general survival etc. – he was incredibly proficient with the weapon. Add to that Jorge and Vera’s lessons, and the man was practically a savant at this point.

  He was slower and less agile than the lithe woman he fought in his second match, but he seemed to slip past her strikes and anticipate where she would be, such that it looked to all the world as if she was falling into his counters.

  He barely broke a sweat, and I had to admit that looking at him there, I wasn’t sure if I would beat him myself, despite the massive gulf in physicality between us currently. I did suspect he would start to struggle against more aggressive fighters in the later rounds though. Neither of us had really faced the best the clans had to offer so far.

  We chatted idly in the waiting room, watching the competition as they warmed up, cooled down or just commiserated and celebrated with one another. There were clearly factions present within the marshalling quarters, but it wasn’t split so cleanly down clan lines as I had suspected. Clearly, the festival was also intended to bring the clans together and forge new bonds, not simply prove who had the better warriors.

  It wasn’t long until my third fight was called, and I wearily climbed to my feet. I was escorted back through the large room, swaying between half-dressed fighters when the escort told me who my next fight was against, and I saw some faces whip around to stare.

  A man to my right winced and gave me a sympathetic smile, shrugging as if to say ‘sorry mate, enjoy getting beaten’. That was my interpretation anyway. Sandent Varselli of Yellow-Peak was apparently a name that inspired worry in her competitors. Good to know.

  I continued with my now customary walk-out through the geyser, and the crowd looked to be roaring enthusiastically as I took the stage, not that I could hear them over the thundering water. Evidently, they thought my fights so far had been entertaining. Perhaps they had a pool running on who would be first to beat the lowlander.

  Given the looks I’d received in the antechamber moments prior, I assumed most of the money would be betting against me on this fight, assuming the crowd knew the match ups ahead of time anyway. I was preparing myself to meet a monster, psyching myself up to deal with ungodly strength or impossible skill at arms. Hence my confusion when a young girl, no more than 15 winters by my best guess, slipped through the wall of water and onto the dais.

  It was an impressive entrance certainly. The cascade above her just froze in place for a moment, hanging suspended in a single sheet of swirling ice, before crashing to the ground a moment after she had slipped through. But despite her impressive command of the elemental, seeing a young girl barely into her teenage years stalk across the fighting ring towards you was a strange experience.

  I shot a brief glance towards Finanda, checking that I was actually expected to punch, kick, and otherwise commit myself to heavy violence against such a young person, and received an impassive look in response. Okay then.

  I wasn’t stupid, and based on the looks I’d received earlier and her age, I could assume Sandent was actually a very dangerous competitor. I wouldn’t underestimate her like some arrogant young master, but it still felt weird to contemplate punching a child in the face.

  But when you got a job to do…

  Turns out I needn’t have worried about hurting a child, because I couldn’t even get close. Just like my first match where I’d embarrassed the fancy lad with his glaive, Sandent thoroughly embarrassed me.

  I wasn’t actually that upset about it afterwards, since she was clearly levels above me. Not in a system enforced way – she was just at the peak of the 1st tier, after all – but in terms of her skill. I wasn’t sure about her skill with a weapon, because I never got close enough to see if she could use the woven rope in her off hand and short spear in her right.

  Instead, she froze the entire dais below me the moment the fight commenced, and then sent thick icicles whirling through the air towards me in an instant. That wasn’t enough to stop me, although it did a hell of a job slowing me down.

  The real issues came once I started trying to close the distance, as she reached out to the water cascading down all around the arena and pulled it towards herself. I never got to see what she was actually planning on doing with it, because upon seeing her use such a powerful skill I immediately threw my spear at her chest, hoping to end things with a lucky strike. She effortlessly dodged, and as a great swirling mass of churning ice spun above her head in an ever-growing whirlpool, Finanda stepped in and ended the match.

  The young girl released the skill, but not before delicately threading the ice back into the waterfall all around and removing it from the surface of the dais too. Moments later, we were standing across from one another, with Finanda between us and signalling to the judges high above.

  The Holder caught my eye as she turned back. “I’m sorry, but I do not believe you could have withstood that last attack, and I have seen her cast it many times in the past. If you believe you have a skill of sufficient power that you have kept close to your chest until now, I would be happy to observe it after you leave the arena, and if you are correct, I will amend my intervention and declare a rematch.”

  Rather than be offended at her assumption, I just laughed. “Nope. She’s way out of my league by the looks of it. The speed she brought that together…”

  Finanda ushered me out of the arena, giving me a final parting comment. “Yes. But she is also a hard counter to your abilities, from what I have seen. There are others of similar power in this tournament that you may do better against. Do not count yourself out just yet.”

  Whether or not I would count myself out was kind of irrelevant at this point though, since it was a single elimination bracket as far as I had understood. Striding through the open cave at the back of the arena, I searched for Nathlan’s gangly form in the jungle of people.

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  He stood alone at one edge, moving through forms slowly with his blade sheathed, clearly aware of the many moving people just meters away. I wandered over, making sure to move into his way just a little so he’d have to adjust his practice.

  “Gods Lamb, were you always so clumsy? Did you get dropped on your head as a babe?” he asked, frustration clear in his tone.

  “I’m not sure mate, I can’t remember.” My answer shut him down, and he huffed quietly.

  “You understand that you can’t just use that as a shield all the time?” He said, and I just grinned at him in response. “Anyway, how did you get on? I assume a rousing success from your lack of bleeding?” He asked.

  I shrugged my heavy scale vest off and hung it up on the nearest rack as I explained the fight and my loss to him. He was a good listener, and despite my acceptance of the loss, it was still nice to talk about the disappointment to someone who understood.

  We were discussing his approach to his next bout when an older man came to escort him out to the arena once more. He eyed me over for a few moments before dismissing me and turning towards Nathlan.

  “Come. Follow.”

  His voice was gruff and his manner brief, but Nathlan rose without complaint and followed along dutifully. He gave me a final nod, and I watched him once again don the mantle of proud warrior over his true identity as just a lanky scholar, infinitely curious about the world.

  The Nathlan that I saw next was neither proud nor curious.

  I was alerted by the raised voices and commotion in the next room and glanced through the open doorway to see a group of people milling around uncertainly. There was an excitedness to the small crowd of fighters.

  I turned away before catching a glimpse of a limp arm hanging off the side of a stretcher, blood dripping to the floor as the group rushed through the antechamber. Curiosity stirred, I looked again, and this time saw the scabbard of a familiar blade held loosely in the fist of a man I didn’t recognise.

  Nathlan’s blade.

  My blood surged in my temple as I rose to my feet. People were jostling around to get a good view, but they parted before my shoves and elbows. I breached the moving circle around the stretcher and gripped the arm of the man holding my friend’s sword in a vice of flesh.

  He jerked and turned angrily, raising a fist in threat, but I was no longer paying attention. My grip had loosened as soon as I saw the man lying on the stretcher, being carried through the room.

  Nathlan was insensate to the world, blood bubbling from destroyed lips and one leg bent inwards at the knee. The man I had accosted softened his stance when he saw my face and pulled me to the side as Nathlan was whisked away.

  I tried to resist but he slapped me lightly and spoke.

  “Hey. Hey! You with me?”

  The words drifted over my head as I watched Nathlan’s head loll as the stretcher turned a corner, the flesh of his face pulped and oozing crimson. It was only as I saw the stretcher disappear into the darkness of the tunnel that my eyes refocused on the man speaking directly into my face.

  “Friend of yours?” The man asked, watching me intently, as one does a skittish animal. At my nod, he proceeded.

  “Good. Nasty business but they’re taking him to the healers now. He will make a full recovery swiftly, on my honour.”

  “What happened?” My voice was low, but the question was clear even if the words were not.

  “What do you think? He fought in The Circle! That sort of beating isn’t standard, but it’s not rare either. Did you not see the fight?” There was a note of disappointment in the man’s voice with his last question.

  “I was still stretching out after my last fight,” I replied mechanically, and he nodded at that, realisation dawning.

  “Ah you’re a fellow competitor? Sorry, I’d assumed you came from above after. Anyhow, he fought well but got caught at the end. Nothing particularly strange about it really” he said cheerfully.

  I felt anger build within me, and forcefully tamped it down. This was an expected result of fighting. I would do the same to others without remorse, and as long as everyone was healed and played within the rules, there were no real problems. Good even, for Nathlan to get some real combat experience.

  “Hard to see, is all” I muttered, and received a look of sympathy from the big man.

  “Understandable, friend.” He reached out a hand to shake, and I grasped it absently. “Name’s Jax. Listen, your friend will be up in no time. A couple of weeks tops for the leg, but I suspect he’ll be up and awake in a few bells.”

  “Weeks!?” I demanded. His reassuring tone had not had the intended effect, as my outburst no doubt made clear.

  He raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Yes, but that’s not surprising. His knee was shattered, bent backwards from what I could see. Was a controversial strike, truth be told, but such is the way of things, right?”

  Again, my voice was low, a hard-edge bleeding into it. “What do you mean, controversial?”

  Jax looked a little concerned, but I saw the exact moment his desire to gossip overcame his concern for spreading rumours. He leaned forwards.

  “You see, it was the final blow. Big woman with a big axe – nothing special, but crazy strong – she comes in with a final blow aiming to take his head right off. Obviously, the Holder steps in and stops the strike, but the Carhagg stomps on his knee at the same time. Holder can’t stop both, and a head is a lot more vulnerable than a knee. Nasty business, as I said.”

  I felt my neck itch, the desire to break something bubbling up within me at the words. “You saw this?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I was in the stands. I lost a few rounds back and thought I’d at least get a show out of the whole thing if I can’t place highly. I’m not sure it was on purpose, but I wouldn’t be surprised. He gave her a hell of a fight. Seemed to be winning too till she stepped it up a gear.”

  He began to lose enthusiasm as I failed to react and slapped me on the shoulder. “Anyhow, I’m sure your friend will be fine. See you around.”

  He backed away, and I didn’t bother to give him my name. He hadn’t asked anyway. Was my anger that obvious? I couldn’t find it within me to care too much though. Someone had hurt Nathlan, and needlessly from the sound of it.

  In retaliation for a hard fight, even more likely. I returned to my seat in the other room, stewing. Deep breaths came and went, and it felt like an eternity later when I had finally centred myself. Nathlan had fought and lost. He was injured, but not severely.

  No doubt Jorge and Vera would have the resources to get him fixed quicker than expected, and it would be a good lesson for the scholar. Not much I could do about it at this point. I wasn’t going to attack a fighter outside of the tournament for a slightly dirty blow.

  I’d talk to Jorge and Vera, see if they saw and knew what had happened. I could leave any follow up to them as well. Doubtless they’d do a better job than I would. Slapping my knee, I rose and turned towards the long tunnel leading to the surface.

  Just as I did, the brisk man from earlier appeared, striding into view and giving me a terse once over.

  “You fight again?” He asked.

  “I’ve lost once already,” I replied uncertainly, and the man scoffed.

  “Loser’s bracket” he said, as if that meant anything.

  “And that means what exactly?” I asked, too weary to bother with niceties in the face of this man’s rudeness.

  He rolled his eyes and gestured angrily at me. “You lost. You enter loser’s bracket. You fight again. Yes?”

  It was strange. I had a god-given ability to comprehend seemingly all languages, and yet this man still talked in broken sentences. It wasn’t a translation issue, so he really must have just been a fan of brevity.

  “Does everyone who loses enter this ‘loser’s bracket’?”

  “No. You must beat first two rounds” he replied, again somehow making me feel as if I was the idiot for not understanding this system that nobody had explained and whose rules were written nowhere. Although, that was coming from the man who hadn’t figured out how to enter the arena properly so take it with a pinch of salt, I guess.

  “Fine. Yes. Who am I facing?” I asked, keen to get my mind off Nathlan. There was nothing I could do to help, and Vera and Jorge would be there for him when he woke.

  The man simply stared at me for a few long moments, and I thought he would simply refuse to answer. Wouldn’t be a surprise considering his attitude thus far. Instead, he spoke carefully.

  “The one who hurt your friend.”

  My eyes snapped up from where they had drifted down to examine the elegant lining of his cloak. Strange to see such fine clothes worn by an escort.

  “What?” I asked, biting off the word.

  “The woman who hurt your friend has lost to Sandent Varselli. She will enter the loser’s bracket and face you as her first opponent. We wish to see her lose.”

  I floundered, surprised by the sudden change in both attitude and diction. “Why? And who is ‘we’?”

  He shook his head lightly though. “Your friend was crippled for no reason. It was a calculated move, designed to take out a possible competitor from the loser’s bracket. No doubt also an emotional reaction to having to cheat to win so early in the tournament. Will you fight her?”

  “What do you mean cheat? Are you saying that she broke his knee intentionally?” My voice rose with my last question, and I took a step forwards towards the tall man. He was unmoved, examining me with his too-sharp gaze.

  “Will you fight her?” he asked again.

  We stared at one another as my breath echoed in my ears. Heavy. Someone had hurt my friend, and I was being given a chance to make them pay for it. What else did I need to know?

  “Yeah, I’ll fight her.”