Guild Wars_ Edge of Destiny - J. Robert King [47]
“You don’t get to count the pieces,” Rytlock said.
Still, there wasn’t much counting left. Caithe pithed three undead while Logan felled two more, and Rytlock burned the last. In moments, the dark corridor was silent again, hunks of jittering flesh lying all around.
“Wow, they stink,” Rytlock said.
Sangjo clapped, smiling serenely as his warding wall fizzled and vanished. “Well done. Ten apiece.”
“The count was twelve, nine, and nine,” Rytlock said.
“He’s right,” Caithe said. “I had twelve.”
“You?” Logan and Rytlock said together.
“All of you passed,” Sangjo told them happily. “Now, please stand to one side.” He held his arms out, herding them back against the bars of the undead cell.
At the dark end of the corridor, a couple of enormous thuds resounded, followed by the noise of heavy metal scraping against stone.
“What’s next?” Logan groaned.
Sangjo said, “An ettin.”
“Bring it on!” Rytlock replied, waving Sohothin before him.
“Not a fighter,” Sangjo clarified, “a janitor.”
Just then, an ettin shoved a heavy sledge into view. The sledge had a scoop on its front end, gathering the pieces that lay on the floor and tumbling them toward some distant dump.
As the ettin rumbled past, Rytlock rumbled, “If he’s not our next test, what is?”
Sangjo rubbed his hands together. “A battle on the arena sands. Your owner, Captain Magnus the Bloody Handed, has even given the three of you a name—Edge of Steel.”
“How much are tickets?” Eir asked an old man who sat at the ticket booth.
“A silver for each of you.”
Nodding, Eir reached into a pouch at her belt. “One. Two. Three.”
The old man took the coins and slid them into a drawer. “What about the wolf?”
“He doesn’t take a seat,” Eir pointed out.
The old man squinted. “I won’t get anyone to sit within ten feet, which means he empties about twenty seats. He’s a bargain at one silver.”
Eir drew one more coin from her purse and slid it into his hand.
He smiled, handing her torn tickets.
Eir led her group into the arena.
Beside her, Snaff offered, “It really is reasonable.”
“We’re going to have to find a way to earn some money,” Eir replied.
They picked their way through the growing crowd, looking for seats that could accommodate them all. Most sections were designed on a human scale, though some shorter seats filled rapidly with asura and some taller ones with norn and charr. A few sections were merely stalls where quadrupeds could stand. Finally, Eir found a spot with mixed seating, where each of them could recline in comfort.
“Do you really think that this man and charr could be the warriors we’re looking for?” Snaff asked.
“I don’t know,” Eir replied softly. “Magnus the Bloody Handed seemed to think so.”
Trumpets played from the pinnacles of the arena, and the crowd rose to their feet and cheered. At the center of the arena, a man in multicolored robes climbed a set of stairs to a raised platform and addressed the crowd. Magic bore his voice outward to them all.
“Welcome, people of Lion’s Arch. Welcome to the arena. It is a day for combat!” A glad roar met the words. “And we have some new blood challenging for a place in the gladiatorial games. Stand and cheer for Logan Thackeray, Rytlock Brimstone, and Caithe of the sylvari. They are the gladiatorial team called Edge of Steel!”
From one of the dark entrances, the three gladiators trotted out on the sands.
Eir, Snaff, and Zojja applauded, but few others did—and some even booed.
Edge of Steel looked small and tattered in their battle-scarred armor and clothes. The charr raised a halfhearted greeting to the people, but the man and the sylvari had the demeanor of people caught in a cold drizzle.
“And now, for this match, join with me in welcoming our opposing team. Our undefeated team—the Killers!”
The stands erupted.
“First, we have the centaur Mjordhein!”
The arena welled with cheers as a centaur strode from one of