Danny was our first to fight. He fought about as well as a pimple-faced, gangly, teenage rank one could be expected to… As in, he lost in under a minute.
For tonight’s earlier fights, which didn’t have as much crowd interest, the goblins were using protective charms that had only two charges. When the user got hit with a blow sufficient to pass his own magical defenses and still maim or kill, the goblin enchantment kicked in, enveloping them in a magical shield. Of course, for the enjoyment of the crowd, those charms had the extra bonus of making it so the user still felt all the pain of the injury, even if they didn’t receive any of the actual damage.
I was just proud that poor young Danny didn’t wet his pants in public when he got nailed with a minor lightning spell. It was a snap and pop and then he’d gone flying back into a big white stone so hard that the goblin charm activated to keep him from breaking his spine. He’d tried to come back from that by hitting his opponent with his icy slow spell, but once again, his aim was off, and an empty patch of ground was frosted instead. Then he’d gotten clobbered over the head with a sword that bounced off the goblin charm’s second activation. That ended the match, but not Danny’s life.
Rade was sitting next to me on the scaffolding. “You know, I’ve never thought to check the lad’s eyesight. Danny might actually be part blind.”
Having just felt a terrible shock of electricity and a blow to the noggin that would’ve spilled out his brains had it been real, four goblins were having to carry the incoherent Outcast from the arena.
I shouted, “Hey, Danny! How many fingers am I holding up?”
He looked up at me, blinking rapidly, as if he might cry. “I can’t rightly tell, Mr. Carnavon.”
The correct answer had been three. “You might be onto something, Rade.” Then I shouted at Danny again, “Good try. Excellent show.”
We awaited our turn with the rest of the night’s fighters staged on the platforms, while our opponents waited on the other side of the pit across from us. On the bookie’s chalkboard, I’d seen that I was up against someone named Dathka Shadow Walker, which was an ostentatious name belonging to a fighter I’d never heard of. That was most certainly a fake name like many of us amateur gladiators used in the arenas. Though he had one more win than I did, the current odds favored me slightly, which made me suspicious.
“Do you know Dathka Shadow Walker?”
“I don’t, which is odd, as there’s not that many of us deadlanders foolhardy enough to do this. A ring name like that has got to be from my realm.” Rade’s people had a lot of spells based on manipulating darkness and causing fear, and they really liked to lean into that. “He’s got you both as rank ones on the board, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Clotz intends to give you some payback for squeezing him. He might be serving you up to some professional killer who’s really a three or four.”
Because I’d finagled an extra percent out of Bookie Clotz, bringing in a ringer to teach me a lesson sounded like something he’d do. “Vindictive little bastards, goblins.”
“You know, if you’re destined for defeat, we could take advantage of this treachery, Carnavon.”
“You going to go bet against me, Rade?” That might be the savvy thing to do, but I had too much pride for that. In any fight, I’d do my honest best and take my honest loss. I wouldn’t sully it with even a suggestion that I’d thrown it. I was the only Carnavon in the Core, and my family were in an entirely different plane of existence. Despite that, if I did such a thing, they’d surely hear about it somehow and I’d never live down the indignity. Among my people, it was more respectable to be a thieving murderer than to take a fall in a brawl.
“I was just thinking through the mathematical possibilities.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Rade feigned offense. “It was merely an idea. I wouldneverdo such a thing.”
“Good. I’d hate for my victory to be the reason you go broke again.”
Several different-colored light charms drifted to the center of the arena to place extra eye-catching illumination upon the announcer, who was using some kind of enchantment to magnify his voice so the entire crowd above could hear him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our next combatant is homegrown from the Slump above, joining us in his debut appearance, a rank-one conjurer, knowing potent spells of earth and water, I give you,Big Bognar!”
The announcer was so good at his job, he even made Bognar sound like a real contender. In reality, Bognar was a bit of a schlump. He lived up to his nickname by being big, but it was that awkward, chunky, tripping-over-his-own-feet sort of bigness. To be fair, Bognar was strong, as he’d been a carpenter’sassistant before deciding to follow his dreams of becoming a wizard. He knew a grand total of two spells, neither very well, so if he pulled this match out, it would be through beating the other fellow with his mace. And he’d even had to borrow the mace from Krachma.
The crowd clapped a bit for him, probably out of pity.
“What’re the odds on this match?” I asked Rade.
“Five to one against Bognar.”
“You didn’t bet on him, did you?”
“Oh, saints no. I wouldn’t bet on Bognar tying his shoes correctly.”
“And upon the south scaffold, coming all the way from the wild Sajetti of the Elemental Plane of Air, a rank-one transmuter, with a Slump fight record of two wins and zero losses, follower of the Saint of Storms,Garshab‘Griffon Slayer’Falamazarian!”
That name was a mouthful, and the spectators reacted with only mild enthusiasm. Except then the airlander dove from thetopof the scaffold, plummeted headfirst toward the ground, to stop in midair only a few feet from impact, do a flip, and land on his feet, which caused the crowd to go wild.
“Bognar’s about to die,” Rade stated.
“You never know. This other guy might be all flash, no meat to him.”
