I reach a great flat expanse at the base of the Four Hills, all of it covered by people shouting and shoving. In other words, the Forum.

  I pass the merchant’s stands and head for the employment sector. Here, hundreds of people are lined up, waiting for someone to have need of their particular trade or to take pity of them if they're just a laborer. Every so often, an agent would appear and shout an offer in the air. The mob would immediately fall upon him, begging and pleading to be taken on.

  Are these poors my future? Am I seeing myself when I look at them, begging to be taken to an exhausting labor that would feed their families for a day?

  Perhaps. But today I am still Master of the Arena. Even if I’m broke, my word has some value.

  “Anyone looking for work?” Within moments I’m surrounded by people large and small, smelly and stinking. They are worse than flies. I have to shout through the noise they make. “I need anyone who has a fart of skill with a sword or a mace.”

  They are cautious in a blink.

  “Need knifing?” someone calls from afar. A Wend at least a head taller than me, bearded, hairy, mid-thirties. Muscles bulge under that greasy tunic. Most like a jobless mercenary. Guild trash, perhaps.

  “I need muscle, yes,” I say. “Steelwork, not knifing. For the Arena.”

  The swarm around me immediately thins out. Saves me the trouble of scaring the cowards away. The Wend shoves his way through them. “What’s the payment?” he asks.

  “Fifty scales. You go in, you make a show of fighting, then you yield and get your pay.” This was meant for the rest, not the Wend. I have better bait for the likes of him. “If your team wins, you get paid double even if you already yielded. If you still hold your weapon when your side wins, you get triple. If you’re the only one from your team who is left, you get five times that.”

  Oh, he likes the odds all right. He turns and whistles; two more appear just like him. Brothers or cousins. My lucky day.

  An hour later I march them onto Arena Grounds. I gathered nineteen. Most are ordinary citizens, here for what they think is quick and easy money. Half of them are country churls as I expected. I have a band of City-bred bullies, itching for a fight. The three Wend brothers had indeed been Infantry Guild but got fired for messing up a job. For dessert, I found myself a grizzled Legion veteran, retired but hungry to see some of the good old days.

  “They gave me a spit of land and gave me the boot,” he said when I'd asked him for his craft. He coughed up a mouthful and spat on the ground. “I don’t grow things. I kill them.” He’s a short and leathery old bat, the kind that would carve your heart out while whistling a jolly tune.

  Just as I march them in, Ysa brings her crop from the prisons. She comes with a group of pickpockets who were caught stealing but since the loot was never found they couldn’t be prosecuted. She also has a couple of brawlers, arrested for taking a tavern apart in a drunken rage. The Watch didn’t bother to clear up the details and arrested the whole lot. None had money to the pay the bail, so they were sitting out their sentence. Ysa had offered to pay them out if they fight. The City Watch was glad to take the money and be rid of them.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Ysa goes inside while I do the math. Twelve of hers, nineteen of mine. Combined with the Griffin Team fighters that were spared the food poisoning, that made forty-nine fighters.

  I needed fifty.

  I am one man short to a whole team. I will have to take one from Wolf Team. They’ll hate that. You don’t move a man to the opposite army right before a battle. My men are performers, true enough, but they’re still warriors. They proved that in the Breach.

  I am about to lead them inside when something catches my attention. I turn towards the Poor Quarter and I see it walking towards me.

  It must be a beastling, is my first thought. I have seen many beastlings in my life. Too many, to be honest. But this thing...

  It walks upright like any man or elf. Arms, legs, hands, feet, the usual. But this thing is taller than any other beastling I've ever seen, with far more meat on it. If I met it in an alleyway at night, I'd be worried, my cane or not.

  Its face is completely covered in snow white fur as is the rest of its body. The ears have that distinct cat-like look to them, pointy and upright. I've seen some that had truly beast-like faces. This one's feature look more human than most: flat face, small nose. Still a beastling though.

  Beastlings had a habit of wearing jewelry, ridiculous amounts sometimes. This one... has not a single extra thing on it. Its mane is completely cropped except one narrow strand of hair that was coming down to its shoulder.

  It wears what could be described as field hand attire. The clothes seem... unnecessary. Why dress if you're covered in fur? Trying to avoid accusations of indecency, I suppose.

  Gods only knew where it came from. Ran away from a farm on the countryside or a rich woman's domain where it was kept for sport? Either way, it was here now, looking for handouts, no doubt.

  The beastling walks right up to me, its eyes locked on me. It’s more than a head taller than me.

  A part of me wants to do nothing else than to bolt. The rest of me is insulted by the prospect. I cannot afford to lose face in front of the newbies. Somehow I collect myself enough to remember speech.

  “What do you want, fur face? This is no place for beggars.”

  The furry giant remains silent. I’ve heard their kind speaking before so I assume it can at least understand me.

  “You don’t get money from me unless you’re fighting in the Arena.”

  No response. Makes me feel like a fool in front of everyone. Anger manages to seep in.

  “The only reason I’m talking to you is because I need fighters and you look like you could handle yourself in a scrap. You want to join?”

  Slowly, it nods, keeping its expression, at least to my eyes, blank. That’s what I hate most about their kind – uncanny.

  “You got a name I can call you with?” I ask.

  It shakes its head slowly. No name.

  “Well, you’re in luck. I’m taking anyone I can today. Welcome to the Arena.”

  I turn and march through the crowd of my new recruits, noticing their astonished faces. It doesn’t look like any of them saw a beastling like this before so I didn't make that big of a fool of myself after all.

  Time to worry about saving face is over, I have a battle to prepare.