I’m usually not up this early but my leg thought this would be an excellent opportunity to remind me it’s still a part of me. Fortunately I live alone and no one can hear me gnash my teeth together and smash my fist in the nightstand. Only one thing would make the pain go away now and it’s waiting for me in Duron’s shrine in the Arena. Better security there.

  The streets are still dark when I emerge from my house. The pain happily swells every time I put my weight on it, even with the cane. By the time I see the Arena forming out of the gloom, I’m using some kind of bizarre hopping manner to propel myself forward.

  The Arena Barracks is silent as a crypt. Every sinew in my body wants me to sit down but if I do that, I might not get up. Instead I take a few breaths to steady myself, then move carefully toward the back of the Barracks, where Duron’s shrine awaits me.

  Shrine might be too grand a name for a closed off room with plank walls but at the moment this place contains the one thing that would make my demons go away.

  No, it’s not religion.

  I close the latch carefully behind me even though I’m alone in here. I sit down in front of the shrine and nearly collapse with relief. It won’t last long, I remind myself. I take Duron’s statuette and carefully pull free the bottom. A tiny pouch falls in my hands; I unknot the string and pour the contents into my hand.

  Only three left. Damn.

  I stopped feeling guilty a long time ago that I’ve hidden the syndell crystals here, in the shine where the Arena Master was supposed to make offerings of good fortune to Duron, founder, protector and the first of Arena Masters. As I got older, my busted hip had a knack for waking up very often, screaming agony. I tried all possible narcotics and pain-killers, took advice from every alchemist I could find. Nothing worked.

  Until I was offered these. I was at a point where I forgot what not being in pain felt like and I didn’t think twice about the price. But that price was something I could no longer afford. So I was left to these three, which would barely be enough to get me through half a day.

  It will be a half a day well spent.

  I pop the three crystals in my mouth and let them dissolve. In a matter of moments, the screaming in my hip goes into a whisper, then vanishes completely. The flame on the candles get a distinguished glow, their colour shifts slightly to red. I enter a peaceful trance and time becomes a meaningless current.

  I want everything to go smoothly today. No accidents, no sudden change of plans. I also hope no one will realise I’m in here. I know I will have to come out before the show starts but at this moment I really don’t care about the show.

  Of course it’s not meant to be. Not only does someone bang on the shrine door, they do it as if they are using a battering ram to do it.

  I’m on my feet so fast it’s miraculous, unlock the latch and throw the doors open. “What?!”

  It’s Ysa, of course, with a look of grim determination. Or is that panic I see in her eyes?

  "Of all people, I didn’t think you would interrupt a prayer ritual.”

  "Prayer won’t fix this.” The look on her face tells me it’s bad.

  I know better than to argue with her so I grab my cane and hobble after her as fast as I can. She’s leading me towards the infirmary. I can hear the groaning before we reach it.

  The sight alone is enough to make a grown man weep. I count thirty-odd combatants in the horizontal, puking their guts out like fountain on a breeze. The stench is thick enough to swim through. Some of their faces are pale, others green, a few grey. Even though they still move, they look like dead men. My healers move among them, stone faced.

  “What in the name of Hundred Gods happened here?” I say.

  “Food poisoning,” Balm says, looking up from a cadaverous-looking fighter.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  I turn my fury on the nearest patient. “Where did you eat?”

  “Hrodmund’s,” he groans.

  “That old fart’s place? The plague killed less people than that man’s cooking. You all know that. For Duron’s sake, what were you thinking?”

  The silence I leave is filled up with moaning and an occasional retching.

  I limp towards Balm; he wipes his hands and steps away from the patient he was just working on.

  “Thank the Hundred Gods you were here so early in the day,” I say.

  He gives me a small smile. “We never left. Spent the night here.”

  “How bad is it?” I ask in a whisper.

  “The poisoning is severe. If they didn’t come here right away, their lives would be at risk.”

  “I need these men armed and ready for battle. Today.”

  “Not in my power,” Balm says.

  I feel a wave of nausea. I would not let them see me puke, either from the stench or sheer rage. I storm out as fast as my leg can carry me.

  The reality of the situation comes crashing on me like an avalanche.

  I lost more than half my people when the Halmurri decided to visit the capitol. Of those that survived, a third never came from an ‘extended leave of absence’. Most likely they believed the Arena was done on the day we saved this bloody City.

  I used to have five teams. I had to scrounge what was left of them after the Incursion and barely put these two together. And now, on the day of our supposed comeback, a third of those that decided to come back are incapacitated.

  I have one and one quarter of a team. And the show starts in four hours.

  All I wanted was for things to go smoothly today. Instead I was getting a disaster.

  I find myself standing on the sands of the Arena. After thirty-five years, I am still humbled by the sheer vastness of it. The spectator stands are so high up the sun cannot reach the Dance Floor. Most of the benches are also in shadow. Only the highest ones are bathed in sunlight.

  I hear footsteps behind me. I don’t need to turn to know who it is.

  “I hope you’re not thinking of getting on the Dance Floor yourself,” Ysa says.

  I sigh. “It crossed my mind.”

  She snorts. “With or without your cane?”

  She is messing with me. She can see I’m panicking so she’s trying to make me angry instead. We both know I could not take up the sword again, not since I shattered my hip on this very Dance Floor. The Arena Master of that time did not have the healers I have today.

  “Forget the duels,” I say. “We’ll organize a melee and put everyone together. We can call it a grand opening.”

  “Fine,” she says. “But who will fight in the melee with a third of our performers down?”

  I do not have an answer for her. Fighters do not grow on trees, doubly so these days.

  “What are we going to do, Luggo?” she insists.

  “I’m thinking, damn it!”

  “Think faster.”

  “Check the prisons,” I tell her. “See if you can find any brigands for us, someone the Watch would be glad to be rid of.”

  “They won’t have any training. We need fighters.”

  Finally I fling my cane to the sand and turn on her. “Where am I going to get fighters?” I scream into her face.

  “I don’t know, Luggo,” she says, her voice calm but thick with sarcasm. “You wanted to be boss. Use your imagination.”

  I kneel awkwardly to pick up my cane. As I rise, I realize kneeling is the only solution. I detest it; Ysa would hate it more than me.

  “I guess…” I say, forcing out every word, “I’ll talk to the Guild.”

  She looks at me, saying nothing. No doubt checking if I’ve gone barmy. “I don’t think you have it in you,” she finally says.

  “Thanks for the support.”

  "You intend on walking across the entire City with one leg and a half?"

  "Do I have a choice?" I say while I’m thinking: I just took syndell. If I hurry, I could be back before the effect runs out.

  Someone might think Ysa intends to challenge my temper deliberately. They'd be wrong. It’s just that she’s known me for too long. And she’s right, of course. I’m too old to give up my pride and suck up to Infantry Guild, not after the way they’ve been treating us. When youth departs, pride is all you have left.

  “Well, if you plan to get down on your scabby knees and beg from them, you best hurry,” she says. “Time is short.”