By the time Wolf Team does begin to emerge through their door, the bullies are halfway towards them. They whirl their weapons, spitting every curse they can think of, spending their wind needlessly. A few of the Wolf Team rush forward to meet the threat. The two advancing lines meet at three quarters of the Bowl’s length along its longest axis. Just before contact, Wolf Team stops in their tracks, presses their ranks tight and raises their shields to receive the incoming charge. The bullies crash into the shield wall with a concussion that echoes through the Bowl.

  The bullies believe Wolf Team hides behind their shields due to cowardice. They believe the battle is already won. Within moments, the bully leader is taken below, a classic hamstring. He yells and falls to the ground. The shield wall pushes at the assailants and advances a few steps. From Griffin Team’s perspective, it seems as if the bully leader is swallowed by some monster with shields for teeth. A popular trick to create a sense of flash. I’ve seen it executed many times, performed it myself on a few occasions. It still gives me the creeps.

  It seems the bullies’ line collapses within moments. They have no idea how to present a unified front, their defence buckles in a heartbeat. I hear high pitched shrieks, answered by howls from above. The mob doesn’t like it when warriors wail like frightened children. Well, they aren’t warriors, are they? They’re sucklings.

  The brawlers Ysa brought from the prison are grown men but now they hesitate at Griffin Team’s van or what has just become the van. They can see this will not be as easy as they imagined. Arena’s fighters might use blunt and softened weapons but physical aggression and mental brutality are genuine.

  The brawlers look back for help. Behind them stand the citizens who are just as frightened if not more. It is miraculous how predictably my citizen army deployed itself by the amount of false courage. The regulars of the Griffin Team know this is a no win situation. All they want is to prove themselves, that’s why they conserve their strength for the main engagement.

  The three Wend brothers know they are on unfamiliar ground, about to fight someone on home turf. They know the odds are against them.

  Throughout this hesitation, which lasts only a few moments, Wolf Team takes their time to order their ranks. They assemble a classic four-file formation. The van that took out the bullies is in an exposed position out front. It now begins to make a retreat to the safety of other ranks. This is the trigger that gives the brawlers a spurt of false courage. They surge forward after the retreating Wolf Team’s van. Like the bullies before them, these men know nothing of maintaining line cohesion. The bullies at least stuck together, prison brawlers do not even like each other. Two of them stay behind with the citizens, preferring their company.

  Wolf Team’s van retreats at a constant pace as brawlers close in. A second line of Wolf Team passes through the van’s ranks and prepares to take on this new threat. The brawlers charge the new Wolf Team line. The shield wall buckles immediately, brawlers push the Wolf Team backwards. They gain ground. They believe they are stronger, that they are turning the tide of the battle.

  I smell a trap.

  The Wolf Team dares to use such obvious tricks only because they know they fight complete amateurs. Here’s the catch: while the centre of the Wolf Team’s line allows itself to be pushed backwards, the wings remain where they are. Result: envelopment from both sides. It allows the foe to advance into it and surrounds himself in the process. A classic trick, ancient even.

  As the bullies before them, the brawlers do not know how to present a unified front. They only know how to use raw strength which is rarely enough to prevail in a fight, even in a mocked one such as this. Wolf Team’s wings turn inward and assault from the flanks. The brawlers are squished between three sides, their weapons useless. It’s over in two minutes.

  The next in line are the citizens with the remaining two brawlers. These men waited and are now wiser for it. Obviously a frontal charge would not work if it has failed twice before. So far, waiting has turned out to be the healthiest thing so they wait some more. Wolf Team also waits, hoping to lure in more amateurs so they could bite another chunk off Griffin Team.

  Both sides hold their position long enough for the audience to lose patience. Howls and boos shower them from above. Losing face is something Wolf Team cannot afford. Now they are forced to attack which they do not in a mindless charge as Griffin Team before but in a slow, synchronous stride. The width of the Dance Floor increases as the Bowl opens up. Wolf Team fills in the wings as it advances, the length of their front continuously fills up the space right up to the walls so they cannot be flanked.

  My citizen army falls back to join the regulars and mercenaries. They wait for the foe to come to them.

  At the widest part of the Dance Floor, Wolf Team’s front is twenty men across. This is not enough to cover the entire breadth of the Bowl. It means some space at the edges, an invitation to the Griffin Team to try to outflank them. Again, a trick. The second and third ranks of Wolf Team are in position to flank the flankers should the need present itself.

  Only ten steps separate the teams. The atmosphere in the Arena is charged, the spectators spit curses from above. I can only imagine what my citizen army feels like.

  Finally, the Griffin Team regulars are tired of waiting. A narrow and deep formation is formed, a hammer to drive through the Wolf Team’s wall of shields. They charge without meaningless waste of breath, leaving the citizen army behind. The centre of Wolf Team’s overextended line braces for impact, the wings ready to fold in onto the uncoming foe. In the moment before impact, Griffin Team’s regulars utter a sound, a joined expulsion of air that turns into a ferocious howl. It gives them the extra punch to push the opponents off their feet.

  The centre of Wolf Team’s front is only a man thick and cannot resist such a push. The line collapses, the wings rush in to surround the Griffin Team regulars. At that point the mercenary brothers attack, closely followed by the citizens and the two remaining brawlers. Wolf Team’s reinforcements surge in from behind. Formations are thrown out the window.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The waiting is over. The melee begins.

  I try to keep focus on as much of the action as possible. I can keep every detail of the fight in my head for a short while, enough to tell if anyone needs to be repudiated afterwards. I also assess my fighters both old and new as I intend to invite all newbies to join the Arena permanently.

  As expected, the three mercenary brothers are highly effective. They know how to fight in close quarters and how to support one another. They also do not waste their wind shouting. Neither does the old Legion veteran. It is a job to these four, nothing more, nothing less. They have no sense of dramatic style, they are soldiers.

  The four of them form a remarkable team. At well over sixty summers, the Legion veteran is still very much agile. Slippery as an eel, the Wolf Team cannot pin him down. One can hardly believe he can deliver the blows with that shrivelled frame. Whatever the Wolf Team tries, he cannot be bested. When a few of them gather to take him at once, they enter the range of the mercenary brothers who take them from behind. Before Wolf Team figures it out in the general confusion, they lose quite a few fighters to this trick.

  Things are going better than I’d hoped. In a frenzied melee such as this, there is little room for skill. It all depends on pure brutality and in that area my veterans have no direct advantage over the newbies. I could see it now that if Griffin Team’s initial folly could have been avoided, they might even stand a chance to win.

  After a few minutes of tremendous noise and dust, things begin to quiet down. Most fighters are excluded through a fake or a real injury or they surrender. Those that surrender are mostly Wolf Team. After doing their part, they surrender simply because of exhaustion. It is not against the rules but the havoc the mob puts up each time this happens reflects my own annoyance. It is not professional of them to surrender when tired. This is supposed to be a representation of real warfare. If you call quits in a real battle, you end up dead or a prisoner of war. The only reason they do this is because they are confident in victory against my citizen army.

  The leathery veteran is cut down rather too brutally for my taste. I memorize a few names whose pay will be cut significantly for it.

  Wolf Team keeps a deep reserve. These are the ones that defended their position in the beginning and devoured the bullies. These men never joined the main engagement and now wait close to their entrance. I see Balm and his healers scurry past them to collect the fallen men.

  Only a handful of Griffin Team remains. Two of the mercenary brothers, some regulars and a citizen or two are surrounded by fourteen Wolf Team members. Both sides are exhausted, the fighters barely able to stand upright.

  Suddenly, all fourteen of the Wolf Team surrender. Their deep reserve, ten rested men, steps forward to finish the job.

  I can see both remaining mercenaries recognize the situation: an exhausted man has no chance against a rested man. Yet still they try to galvanize what’s left of their team into a compact formation so no one can be assaulted without support. Even so, it’s easy to predict the outcome of the final engagement before it starts. Exhausted as my citizen army is, it cannot hope to stand up to rested fighters of Wolf Team.

  One by one, the Griffin Team falls down or is forced to surrender. They cut it pretty close though: only four of the Wolf Team are still active. If the bullies and brawlers hadn’t rushed mindlessly into it, they might have a chance of winning. But now they are all down. The fight is over.

  And then the beastling emerges through the Griffin Team’s gate, sun flashing off its white fur. I confess I completely forgot about it and judging by the looks Wolf Team gives it they feel the same way. Rallus himself stops in the middle of his closing speech when the beastling appears as if from nowhere. The spectators didn’t expect this; they begin to shout insults as they realize it’s a beastling that stands there. Because it still holds the greatsword that I gave it, the fight is not over yet.

  After a few moments of confusion, Wolf Team wastes no more time and advances towards the beastling. They are confident because they can see the same thing as I do: a big furry brute that has never held a greatsword before. The bestling moves its head slowly, looking up at the spectators spitting abuse, then at its opponents. It swings the greatsword around and sticks it in the sand tip first, a sign of surrender.

  “No, no, you fool,” I shout from my watch post. “You have to put your bloody hands on your stupid head to surrender!”

  Either it doesn’t hear me or its too dumb to understand. Or possibly too scared.

  This will turn into a disaster. Any moment now, the Wolf Team will pounce at it, beating that white fur into pulp. The audience itself is divided. Some howl for the beatling’s entrails, others already cry bloody murder. The mob doesn’t have any love for beastlings but if they witness it mobbed here today, word will spread that Arena uses beastlings as meat sacks. I will get fined for it and that’s something I cannot afford right now.

  One of the Wolf Team decides to make the first cut into that white fur. He charges at the beastling, bringing the padded mace back to hit with full force. The thing stands mute and still at his approach.

  The beastling moves only when the Wolf Team fighter is already up close to it. But it doesn’t move away, it jerks forward at the attacker. Suddenly the distance between them is reduced to nothing and the padded mace is too early in the swing to be dangerous. They collide body to body and the Wolf Team fighter bounces as if he’s struck a solid wall. The blow is so hard his helmet is catapulted off and pitches the sand.

  I am locked in rigid silence. What in hell’s name was that? Did the beastling do that intentionally or was it a result of movement in panic?

  Another of the Wolf Team approaches. This one holds a padded spear, aiming at the beastling’s torso, but he approaches slowly. As soon as the padded tip of the spear is within reach, the beastling grabs it and pulls on it. The Wolf Team fighter staggers forward while the beastlings sidesteps. Wolf fighter catches the beastling’s leg with his own, trips and stumbles to the ground. This all happens in a blink of an eye, almost too fast for my trained eyes.

  I had no idea something this big could move that fast. The damned beast hardly even touched him and he’s on the ground!

  Only two of the Wolf Team remain. Both of them come running at it, angry for two of theirs defeated in such a denigrating way.

  This time the beastling doesn’t stand still. It snatches up the greatsword it left stuck in the sand close by and puts all its strength in a mighty swing while the opponents are still too far away. Does it intend to frighten them with a show of its strength? But the beastling lets go of the greatsword midswing. Thirty pounds of steel come flying at the advancing Wolf Team’s pair. The blade collides into both of them and puts them on their backs even though they used their shields to block the attack.

  Several moments later I realize the people above are dead silent.

  “It... seems we have a winner.” Rallus sounds as baffled as I am.