"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. Logan and Rytlock said together.

"All of you pa.s.sed," 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 sc.r.a.ping 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 the arena gates. The ma.s.sive figure had s.h.a.ggy hooves and a body like a plow horse. His upper torso was muscular and topped with a horned head like a ram's.

"And second, we have the grawl Moropik!"

A gray-skinned gorilla-man bounded out of the dark corridor, lifted its furred face toward the crowd, and roared between widespread fangs.

"And last but not least, welcome the ettin Krog-Gork."

The spectators roared loudest of all for this lumbering brute, with its two heads and witless cries.

Eir, Snaff, and Garm sat back down.

"All right," Eir said soberly, "maybe there are no warriors here."

"You think think?" Zojja shot back.

"Let the battle begin!" cried the announcer. His hands moved in elaborate gestures, drawing the amplification spell from his own throat and sending it down upon the gladiators.

Mjordhein plodded forward and bellowed, "For Ulgoth the Mighty! We will reap you like grain!"

"Yeah," the charr grumbled under his breath, though the amplification spell shared his response with everyone. A wave of amus.e.m.e.nt swept through the crowd. Rytlock looked up and bellowed, "And we'll eat you like meat!"

The stands erupted.

The centaur drew forth a quarterstaff fitted with a scythe, the grawl lifted a mace encrusted with obsidian shards, and the ettin raised a club the size of a horse's leg.

Edge of Steel stood ready with flaming sword and war hammer and stilettos.

The centaur broke into a gallop, leading the monsters across the arena sands. "Come along, two-legs! The centaurs are taking back what is ours!"

Logan also charged, shouting, "All that is yours is death!"

The man and the centaur came together. Mjordhein swung his bladed quarterstaff to cut Logan's legs out from under him, but Logan leaped. The scythe cut through air instead of flesh. Logan planted his foot on the centaur's steely hand and kicked his other foot into the creature's jaw. The centaur reeled as Logan flipped over and landed in the sand.

Mjordhein's eyes went red, and he dropped his ma.s.sive horns and charged.

This time, Logan didn't dodge, instead bringing his war hammer down between the horns and atop the centaur's skull.

Mjordhein posted his legs, wobbled slowly on them, pitched backward, and crashed to the ground.

The crowd roared. Chirurgeons rushed out to aid the fallen centaur.

Meanwhile, the grawl turned toward Rytlock and charged: "For the Great One!" It swung its obsidian-bladed club at him.

The charr bounded in, flaming sword sliding along one edge of the club and shearing away the stones there. When the grawl swung a counterstrike, Rytlock raked away the other side of the club.

The grawl staggered back, staring in amazement at his toothless weapon. He should have been staring in amazement at Rytlock, however, who swiped his fiery sword beneath the gorilla-man's face, setting his beard on fire. Hooting and wailing, the grawl bounded away.

Rytlock grinned at the stands. "Frica.s.seed-charr style."

The crowd ate it up.

Chirurgeons rushed out to aid the grawl, and one shouted, "Unnecessary brutality!"

"Unnecessary brutality?" Rytlock roared, wheeling about. "I like the sound of that!"

Laughter welled through the arena.

Of the Killers, only the ettin remained. It trained one head on Rytlock and the other on Logan.

"Where's Caithe?" whispered Rytlock, though everyone in the arena heard.

"I don't know," Logan whispered back. "Statistically, this one should be hers."

"Well, let's do this."

The charr and the man charged side by side toward the great monster. Logan swung his hammer at the beast's left leg, but its arm smashed him back. Rytlock met a similar fate on the right side, hurled back twenty paces. Both charr and man tumbled in the dust as the ettin rushed to finish them off. Horned feet pounded up to crush their heads- But then the ettin staggered to a stop. Its knees buckled, and it plunged forward.

"Look out!" Logan shouted, rolling away.

Rytlock tumbled in the other direction.

As the ettin struck ground, its hunched back revealed a slender sylvari in black leather. She jumped free.

More chirurgeons arrived at a run, looking overwhelmed by this new team.

But the crowd went wild.

Eir and Snaff cheered as loudly as anyone.

"There you have it," called the announcer from his stand, "the fall of an empire. The undefeated Killers have now been defeated by Edge of Steel."

That name brought the fans to their feet and they cheered, "EDGE OF STEEL! EDGE OF STEEL! EDGE OF STEEL! EDGE OF STEEL! . . ."

The man, the charr, and the sylvari stood dumbfounded in the midst of it all.

Snaff turned to Eir. "They're the ones-the warriors we need."

"You'll never be able to afford them," Zojja put in.

"That's why I've got a different plan," Eir responded.

Zojja huffed, "Oh, here we go again."

Eir turned toward Snaff. "We can't buy them. But I bet I can make a deal with Magnus the b.l.o.o.d.y Handed."

"What kind of deal?" asked Snaff.

"If he lends these warriors to us, then after we defeat the Dragonsp.a.w.n, we'll lend some warriors to him."

"Who?" Snaff asked.

"Us."

EDGE OF STEEL.

I could get used to this," Rytlock said as a platter of thundershrimp was set in the center of the table. The tails were huge, and the red sh.e.l.ls had been cracked down the middle to reveal steaming white meat. could get used to this," Rytlock said as a platter of thundershrimp was set in the center of the table. The tails were huge, and the red sh.e.l.ls had been cracked down the middle to reveal steaming white meat.

Edge of Steel had earned five hundred fifty silver for their victory in the arena. They'd paid three hundred of it toward their billet, but the rest was for rooms and a feast.

Caithe speared some of the thundershrimp meat, twisted, and ripped it loose. She popped the morsel in her mouth. "Tastes a bit like devourer."

"Less poisonous, though," Logan said, dunking his own piece in drawn b.u.t.ter. "And it wasn't trying to kill us."

Too hungry to worry with silverware, Rytlock clamped down on a section of meat and tore it free. He tossed it into his mouth and leaned back, staring at the smoky rafters above-once the bilge of a s.h.i.+p. "Ahhh."

"Are you Rytlock Brimstone?" asked a voice nearby, unmistakably charr, unmistakably young.

Rytlock turned to see a cub fresh out of his fahrar, brown eyes gleaming with hero wors.h.i.+p. "Why, yes, I am."

"I saw you fight today," the young charr said. "Would you sign my sword?" He slid a wooden blade onto the table.

"Of course." Rytlock winked at him. Lacking a writing implement, Rytlock used his claw. He carved his signature boldly across the flat of the blade and handed it back. "There you go."