All the participants of the tournament were chosen specially by Trafford. Many came from around the world to compete. While it wasn’t a fight to the death, as stated in the official rules, there would be no safeguards against killing each other. The only exception being that Trafford could call off a fight early if he wanted someone to live.

  In the end, Trafford could do whatever he wanted. If he wanted both competitors to move on through the tournament, he could. And if he wanted neither of them to move on, he could order them killed. The whole event was utter madness, royally sanctioned madness.

  To win each match, all I had to do was force my opponent into submission. That included: forcing them to concede, forcing them unconscious, or killing them. If I could somehow also make them unable to compete, like if they couldn’t hurt me, that would work too. There were no specific rules dictating how I would be able to achieve these goals. For the most part, I could do whatever I wanted once the fight started.

  Thank the gods the first matches weren’t for a few days, so I still had time to prepare. Even so, I was still required to attend the opening ceremonies. I was fine with that. It gave me a chance to size up the other participants and see if I could convince one of them to let me concede. I had no intention of throwing away my life in a pointless competition.

  Valna offered me a weak smile as we waited in the foyer of her mansion. Unlike the last time we saw Trafford, she didn’t wear anything fancy. Choosing instead to wear a red dress with pink patches of cloth sewn onto it. It was a dress fit for a commoner, not something the head of a major church should wear. At least it fit better with our humble group.

  Since it was the first day of the tournament, everyone wanted to go to check it out. After a few minutes, Nia and Beth came down the stairs. They looked anxious. A minute or two later, Greenspring came down as well. He looked disheveled, more than he usually did, like he hadn’t got much sleep the night before.

  Everyone jumped as we heard a knock on the door. Valna chuckled. “I’ll get it.” It was Richard, dressed to the nines in his Lawmaker’s Assembly regalia.

  “Good morning, Adherent,” said Richard, bowing deeply at the hip.

  “Advocate Richard, what a pleasant surprise! What are you doing here?” asked Valna.

  “Lord Trafford asked me to guide Norman to the arena,” said Richard, his smug grin making me want to punch him. “Are you attending as well?”

  Valna’s polite smile fell. “I was invited when you were.”

  “Ah yes,” said Richard. “Forgive me, Adherent. I would have thought you had something more fitting to wear to such an important event.”

  Valna took a step closer to Richard. While I was unable to see her face clearly, I could see the sudden fear in Richard’s. “We may be friends, but don’t think that will spare you of my judgment. The Lawmaker’s Assembly has no use for bootlickers and pond scum. You may listen to Trafford, but I am the goddess’ scale. Never forget that.”

  “Of course, Valna,” said Richard nervously. “How could I forget?”

  Valna threw him a firm look before turning to the rest of us. “Ready?”

  I sighed. “As I’ll ever be.”

  We didn’t talk on the way to the arena. It was obvious none of us wanted to go, save for Richard. He walked a step or two ahead of us, constantly looking back to make sure we were following. If it annoyed the others like it annoyed me, they didn’t say anything. Beth held my hand as we walked.

  Richard stopped in front of a dusty looking building on the outskirts of town. Unlike the shining towers of the rest of the city, this building would have looked more at home in Xalir. Even calling it a building was a stretch, it was more like a shack. The initials S.A.F.E. were carved above the door.

  “Sunset Adelbern Freight & Entertainment,” said Richard, seeing my confusion.

  “Lord Trafford’s shipping company,” said Valna.

  “The entertainment division to be exact, but yes,” replied Richard. “Come on, let’s go.” As he pulled open the heavy wooden door, a cloud of dust filled the air.

  While I was busy hacking up my lungs, the others stepped into the cloud and disappeared inside. Beth pulled me in, forcing me through the dark interior. My feet fell onto the first of many smooth steps. They were made of stone, the center of each step worn down from years of use.

  Once we were inside, I realized the dust we passed through was not dust at all. It was a magical powder known as Alert Fog. It sent out a mental signal to whoever laid down the powder whenever it was disturbed. While I’d only read of it in books, I was sure it was Alert Fog. There was no way this building had laid dormant for so long that large amounts of dust had accumulated.

  Or maybe it had and I was wrong. Who knows.

  Small balls of fire lined the stairwell, only providing enough light so we wouldn’t fall. The deeper we traveled, the more I could hear a strange buzzing sound that seemed to echo around us. It shook the ground, making it hard not to fall. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I realized it wasn’t buzzing. It was cheering.

  After walking through another small hallway, we reached a door similar to the one at the top. A colorful array of light peeked out through the edges. As Richard pushed open the door, I felt my heart sink into my stomach. It had been so simple with Gunner.

  I stepped out into the stands of Trafford’s massive underground arena. Polychromatic balls made of fire danced above the cheering crowds. Men, women, children, and folks of all kinds filled the stands. It was an overwhelming amount of people, more than I had ever seen in my life. There were more people in the stands than people that lived in Xalir.

  Below the stands lay the arena, a flat fighting circle made of dirt. There was a ten foot drop from the stands to the arena floor, with guards stationed around the edge for safety. I noticed they wore the same red robes as the other members of the Lawmaker’s Assembly, but otherwise there was nothing indicating their connection to the church.

  In the center of the arena stood Trafford. He was dressed in a colorful skin tight outfit that sparkled like the stars every time he moved. Half of his face was painted white, highlighting his eyes and mouth, the other half was painted gold. His hair was carefully braided and decorated with sparkling gemstones. He waved to the crowd, causing the floor beneath me to vibrate dangerously as they cheered.

  In his hands he held a mandolin, but it was nothing like mine. The strings were a bright green, while the rest of it was black as the night. Silver swirls were painted sparsely around the strings. Though I had yet to hear him play, the casual way he held the instrument told me he was a master.

  A loud feminine voice echoed throughout the arena. “And that was the amazing Lord Trafford with his hit song, Fires of Grey! What an outstanding performance.”

  “Yes it was, Isabelle,” echoed another masculine voice. “Don’t forget, folks, Lord Trafford will be here before every match performing for the crowds. Make sure you get here early so you don’t miss a single performance.”

  Trafford bowed for the crowd, waving his hands as their cheers grew even louder. I had only dreamed of drawing such an enormous crowd. To hear droves of people cheering your name, that was the goal of every bard. Only a student of the great Piopus could—

  Beth shook my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go find some seats.”

  Shaking my head, I tore my eyes away from Trafford and followed the others. Thanks to Nia and Valna pushing their way through the crowd, it didn’t take long before we found a row of empty seats. People whispered amongst themselves as they saw Nia, but a quick glare from her shut them up. Once we were seated, I looked for the source of the two voices I heard as we came in.

  At the center of the arena was a special booth hanging from the ceiling. Standing inside were two finely dressed individuals. To my surprise, one was an opoamer and the other was a swamp sellio. Both were rare to see in any part of the world, but especially as far north as we were.

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  Opoamer are tall, lanky creatures resembling opossums. They have the face of an opossum with a stretched-out humanoid body. Their jaw is shorter than an opossum, adapted to language use rather than hunting. Like opossums, their body is covered in awn hair and they have a prehensile tail. They are great hunters due to their incredible sense of smell, but they are usually docile.

  When my family was held captive by Gunner, I met an opoamer by the name of Sunday. He was an odd fellow, but he was key to saving my family. Unlike Sunday, it appeared that this opoamer was a woman. Though if it weren’t for the sparkly pink dress she was wearing, I doubted I would have been able to tell. Especially at a distance.

  Sellio can be found all over the world; or rather, under the sea. Their upper-bodies are similar to humans, though they have sharp ears like elves. Their lower half features a long tail that ends in a fin, similar to a dolphin’s lower half. They can be found in freshwater and saltwater, though they are considered to be two different kinds.

  Some people mistake them for mermaids, but the two aren’t related.

  Swamp sellio are a special kind of sellio called gosellio. Unlike regular sellio, they have no tail replacing their lower half. Instead, they have webbed feet and hands that let them swim with ease. Their skin comes in shades of green and brown, with warts appearing throughout. Gosellio hair color can range anywhere from dark brown to bright red.

  This gosellio appeared to have bright red hair that draped down over his shoulder. It marked a stark contrast to the bright white robes he was wearing. Even at a distance, I could see his perfect teeth shining in the colorful lights of the arena. I wondered if they were naturally that color or boosted by magic.

  “For today’s exhibition, we have a real exciting match ahead of us. For the first time in Adelbern history, a harska will be competing. You know Tom, until today, I’d never met a harska,” said Isabelle.

  “You don’t say? Well then, I think you’ll be in for a pleasant surprise.”

  A harska? I leaned forward in my seat. What was a harska doing entering the tournament? Harska are cat-like humanoid creatures that are half the size of humans. The only harska I knew lived under the Sapphire Mountains. Could it be someone I know?

  “Introducing our first fighter. He’s one of the fiercest harska around, a true warrior. For the past three years, he’s been imprisoned by the current harska king, Bagheera. Thanks to a deal made with Lord Trafford, we’ve been able to secure his chance to compete. Let’s just hope he’s still able to fight. Please welcome to the arena, Gunner, the Rebel King!”

  The former harska king suddenly appeared in the arena. His gray fur shined in the polychromatic lights, his yellow eyes glaring at the crowds above. He carried no weapon. Claws like iron, speed unfathomable. Fear rang through my head, carried through my blood by rage. Out of all the people I expected to see compete, he was at the bottom of the list.

  When it came to who I thought would win the tournament, he was number one.

  As he examined the crowd, his eyes fell on me. His canines poked out of his mouth as he grinned. His ears twitched. Waving behind him, his tail flicked from side to side. I wanted to run away. I wanted to climb into the arena and punch him. Like a nightmare coming true, Gunner waved at me.

  Beth gripped my shoulder. Her whole body was shaking. “Is that him?” she asked.

  “It’s him,” I answered, pulling her close.

  Once the crowd had settled down, the commentators continued. “Introducing our second fighter. Some call him the Undying Warrior, others call him the Servant of Death. You might remember the last tournament where his head was cleaved from his neck. Don’t worry, folks, it grew back. We welcome into the arena Thrig Paleshield, the Mad Joker.”

  I thought Nia was big, she didn’t even compare to the man that appeared at the opposite end of the arena from Gunner. A mass of muscle, Thrig Paleshield glared at the crowd. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose trousers. Unlike other fighters, his greyish skin showed no scars. Not a speck of hair covered his body. In one hand he carried a double-bladed axe that looked bigger than me.

  The Mad Joker. It sounded so familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I last heard it. I was sure I had never heard of Thrig before. The only thing I could think of was a circus troupe that disbanded many years ago. They were called the Mad Jokers. Apparently, all the relevant members were killed by a mass murderer. Could that have been Thrig?

  Gunner hurled an insult at his opponent, unheard by the roaring crowd. I only knew he said it by the smug look on his cat-like face. Thrig appeared unfazed. His fingers squeezed his axe handle, as he rotated his shoulders to keep them loose. Annoyed, Gunner began flexing his claws.

  “Are you ready to battle?” called the announcer, silencing the crowd.

  “Ready,” answered Gunner.

  “Yes,” said Thrig, his voice deep and rough.

  “Begin!”

  With blinding speed, Gunner charged Thrig. He lacerated the tendons on Thrig’s exposed heels in an attempt to cripple him before he could move. I expected Thrig to dodge or maybe block the attack with his axe. Instead, Thrig stood still. Black blood splattered onto the dirt floor of the arena as Gunner’s claws made contact.

  As his feet failed him, Thrig tumbled. Gunner was behind him, already transitioning to his next attack. But it would never come. During his fall, Thrig swung his axe around to catch Gunner as the harska recovered. His roar echoed around the arena, followed by cheers from the crowd.

  Were it not for his speed, I doubted Gunner could have dodged it. As it was, he escaped with a small scrape on his chest. Before he could begin his next attack, Thrig was already upon him. Whatever damage Gunner had done to his legs was not enough. Thrig moved easily, swinging his axe like it was weightless.

  I thought back to my own fight with Gunner, under the Sapphire Mountains. He had been just as fast, even faster because of my music. Yet here, he seemed to be too slow. Constantly on the back foot, he blocked and dodged each swing of the axe as Thrig aimed for his tiny neck.

  Or perhaps I was wrong. It wasn’t that Gunner was too slow, it was that Thrig was too fast. How a man that big, made of so much muscle, could move so fast, I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was difficult to make sense of what was happening due to both their speeds. Gritting my teeth, I leaned forward nervously.

  If I had to face either of them in a future match, I doubted I could win.

  Gunner jumped onto Thrig, dismembering his face with a barrage of slashes from his claws. Thrig didn’t flinch or show any pain. He grabbed Gunner by the scruff of his neck. With one hand, he threw Gunner across the arena. The former king of the harska landed on his feet, digging his claws into the dirt to avoid sliding across the floor.

  Thrig didn’t run after Gunner. He didn’t move. Staying as still as a statue, he held his axe aloft as he waited for Gunner’s counterattack. Even from a distance, I could see Gunner’s chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. I almost felt sorry for him.

  “You’re quite the fighter,” yelled Gunner across the arena. “Why don’t you give up so we can end this already. I know you can’t take much more.”

  While Gunner had only been hit by Thrig once, he seemed to struggle to stand. Thrig had taken every one of Gunner’s attacks head on, yet was uninjured. It was almost like every wound Gunner inflicted was healed instantly. Such magic and abilities, especially for humans, was unheard of. Even Greenspring’s totem—which had healed Greenspring from the edge of death—wasn’t as powerful.

  For the first time since leaving the Sapphire Mountains, I began to see Gunner in a different light. He had been like a snake coiling around my neck, squeezing any hope out of my body like it was my breath. Invincible, untouchable. A titan I had only surpassed with the help of other titans. Now, I could see his mortality.

  I was delighted to see him lose.

  Of course, I wanted neither of them to win. It would be better if they killed each other. If Gunner was a mountain, then Thrig was a tower scraping against the heavens. Though I knew little about him, I could see defeating him in combat would be an impossible task. But compared to Gunner, I felt like I had a chance to convince Thrig we didn’t have to fight. Wishful thinking, but I had to have some hope.

  While the fight was raging down below in the arena pit, Trafford sat far above with the commentators. His pupil-less white eyes scanned the fighters with glee. As they traded more and more blows, I could see a disgusting glee grow on his face. I felt my stomach turn over and grumble.

  It had been six minutes since the fight between Gunner and Thrig started. Only Gunner seemed tired, though he still had only been hit once. He leaned against the side of the arena, his scowl attempting to hide his exhaustion. Thrig stayed in the center of the ring, but I could tell he was beginning to get frustrated.

  “Face me!” Thrig bellowed.

  “I’m right here,” replied Gunner, smirking. “Surely you aren’t a coward?”

  With a monstrous roar, Thrig ran toward Gunner. The ground shook with every step, silencing the crowd. Everyone held their breath as the Mad Joker charged the Rebel King. It was so quiet, I swore I could hear the rapid beating of Gunner’s heart. Beth grabbed my hand and squeezed it, her face turned away from the impending carnage.

  But it never came. Trafford stood up and held out his hands, causing Thrig to skid to a stop. He was inches away from Gunner, his hands outstretched toward his neck. Gunner’s claws were aimed at Thrig’s chest, ready to pierce his heart as soon as he was close enough. All eyes looked up at Trafford, eagerly awaiting his judgment.

  “Friends, allies, enemies, lend me your ears. I must ask your forgiveness on this day,” said Trafford, his voice echoing around the arena. “For you see, I must end this wondrous battle at the climax. This was only an exhibition match, meant to give you a taste of the kinds of fighters I have gathered here for you. Exciting, right?”

  The crowd cheered, but I could hear a few boo’s here and there. Trafford grinned. “Excellent. For now, I will draw the curtains on day one. I hope to see you all in a few days for the real first match. Norman Benson, a bard from Xalir, versus, Advocate Despoina of the Lawmaker’s Assembly. See you then.”

  My hands were shaking. I couldn’t breathe. Beth tried to get my attention. It felt like a thousand eyes were pointed at me. Ghostly fingers wrapped around my neck.

  There was a chance that I could face both Thrig and Gunner.

  I would be in the first match.