“We have an unexpected treat for you this evening, my friends!” Koury’s voice, somehow amplified, peeled through the pits. The crowd roared in answer.
“The arrival of foreigners on our land—foreigners who have long shut us out and treated us as lesser people—is an affront to our traditions. We Kreah are proud and strong. If our leaders will not stand up for us against invasion, then I know everyone here is prepared to do so themselves!”
The cacophony escalated, near deafening.
How far were they from the city? Surelysomeonecould hear this mob.
Even as he had the thought, icy dread slid through Quentin’s veins. They were still very much in Desva, but he’d seen the darkening underbelly. He knew what being on this side of the city meant. No one cared about the violence slithering in the depths.
He even caught glimpses and flashes of smooth polished steel, of white capes and robes. There were guards in that crowd. Guards who, like these people, saw Onitans as an intruding enemy come to steal all they had.
Yeah. This night wasreallynot going well.
“A surprise made its way to our streets,” Koury continued over the roar of the crowd. “Not just any Onitan rat. But one of their whore queen’s own bonded guards, alegendaryArmature.”
The crowd hissed and jeered, some even spitting into the pit. Quentin shrugged it off; he’d been called far worse.
He preferred for them to mock him. At least it meant he was being underestimated.
“He has volunteered to stand up for the honor of his queen. And, as humble hosts, who are we to deny him?”
Cackling laughs echoed into the night.
The gong sounded again. “Tonight, he is Onita’s champion. Tonight, he faces the desert and skies of Kreah!”
The creak of the door at the other side of the pit was barely audible over the crowd. Quentin slowly planted his feet, feeling the earth beneath his boots.
“Fighting for the desert will be Durak, Goliath of Desva!”
Quentin swallowed as his opponent strode into the pit, the ground shaking with his steps.
Goliathwas putting it mildly. The man was massive. Close to seven feet tall, with arms like boulders and legs thick as tree trunks. A vicious scar arched down the side of his face, extending onto his neck and across his shoulders. His chest was bare, and he grinned wickedly as he unslung an ungodly broadsword from across his back.
This was fine. Yes, this brute was huge and strong and terrifying. But there was no chance he moved as fast as Quentin. Skin was skin; no amount of muscle could stop a dagger from slitting a throat.
Quentin flexed his hands, ready to palm his knives tucked into his baldric. His Kreah hosts had been gracious enough to give him a short sword, the kind preferred in Kreah, which he’d strapped across his back.
That sword would do little against this foe, though. Daggers were his friend tonight, as they’d been since he was a scrawny boy fighting for survival on ruthless city streets.
“Gentlemen.” Koury’s smooth voice slid into the air. “Honor demands sacrifice. The Onitan stands against Kreah and must therefore face the desert.” He paused. Wherever he was, Quentin could almost feel the cruel smile spreading across his face.
“This will be a fight to the death.Begin.”
That was all the warning Quentin had before Durak lunged, his roar splitting the air with a swing of his broadsword.
Quentin dived to the left, tumbling into a roll as the broadsword buried into the sands where he’d just been standing. He crouched low, sliding two daggers from his baldric.
The giant met his stare with fury-filled black eyes, lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl.
“Being quick will only last you so long, rat.” Durak yanked his sword from the sand. “You can’t run forever. There is not a chance in the desert's smooth song that you best me.”
Quentin shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I should’ve died long ago. I’m pretty good at not getting caught.” Current circumstance aside.
Durak roared. His sword swung up with surprising deftness, exposing his bare midsection.
Quentin shot across the sands, dagger aimed and ready to sink into the giant’s stomach.
A battering ram slammed into his side. He flew across the pits with a crack. Above, the crowds went wild.
