[Ha ha! Is this really all the fabled warriors of the Folk have got? I can do this all day long!]
Grey raises his brows as I send my declaration ringing around the stadium, broadcasting to all and sundry in the crowd. The audience, normally reserved and respectful, are well caught up in the atmosphere at this point, watching their skilled swordsmen fall one after another.
I mean, they don't boo or anything, but many of them frown, which is pretty severe by their standards. I've been working this crowd all afternoon.
[Are you really that keen to continue?] Grey asks privately, knowing full well what the answer's going to be.
[Absolutely not, are you crazy? I'm getting burned, I'm getting frozen, I'm getting… beams of… dragon-shaped light shot at me. The last one grew a tree out of their sword and hit me with it!]
[You seem fine.]
[I've been taking damage and healing it, that doesn't mean I'm fine. My guts hurt, my carapace has fine cracks that'll take time to repair and I've run my healing gland so often it's demanding a paid vacation!]
Grey grunts.
[Those healing glands are cheats. Monsters can repair themselves with criminal ease.]
[You really want to get into a conversation about balance between monsters and you weaklings? Maybe we get to be stronger so we can survive the murderous hellscape of the Dungeon and not get sliced by people like you? Think about that?! I mean… how much money am I even worth at this point of evolution?]
Grey squints at my gleaming carapace.
[A lot.]
[Don't get any ideas. I come in peace. Also, think about how hard it would be to get shoes in my size.]
[Well, the line for fighters hasn't gotten any shorter. You can keep fighting as long as you want to. More and more schools are sending their pupils, even some of the better ones.]
[Like the sword-tree lady?]
[The Blade of Surging Life. It is ranked in the top thirty.]
I might be complaining a lot, but I'm only half exaggerating. I've been fighting mostly eighth and ninth swords, with the proportion of nines going up over time. One on one, they can't really hope to beat me, especially if I'm going all-out, but defeating them gracefully, one after another, dozens of fights in a row? I'm tired.
Up in the stands, I can see that the activity around my brathian trading partners has begun to slow down. Where once there was a surge of people, arguing, gesturing and conducting business, there's now a much smaller gathering, but even from my position, I can see Eran Thouris in her element.
She's wheeling and dealing, making inroads and helping the Colony's goods get in front of the people who need to see them. The entire point of my escapades here in the arena is to help make it a little easier for the Folk to accept us. Judging by the crowd I've managed to gather, and the sheer number of challengers, I think I've achieved my work.
[Alright, I'm going to call it here for today, Grey, if that's okay with you?]
Fur poking out of his robes, the wolf-Folk only gestures lightly with one hand.
[Why wouldn't it be alright with me?]
I shrug my antennae.
[I just don't want to step on any toes, culturally speaking. I'm learning a bit about your people, but I'm hardly an expert. We want good relations between the Colony and the Folk, so… if it's going to annoy a lot of people if I leave, then I'll stick around.]
He folds his arms across his chest.
[Plenty of people will be annoyed, but only because they don't get a chance to fight,] he grins wolfishly, [and the crowd will be disappointed they didn't get to see more good fights. Ninth swords lining up to fight a powerful monster one after another? It's a rare treat.]
Great.
[So… I should stay?]
[Of course not,] he snorts. [If you want to leave, then leave. We are the Folk, our appetite for the fight is bottomless. You could stand on this sand for a hundred years and people wouldn't have had enough.]
There certainly isn't any lack of people in the arena. Any time someone leaves, their seat is snapped up in seconds. Politely snapped up, but snapped up all the same.
[We should show you how to play tunnel ball,] I tell him. [I get the feeling your people would love it.]
And be good players, come to think of it.
Grey seems less sure.
[Tunnel ball… is… a game?]
[Oh, it's not a game, it's a religion.]
[We aren't religious, as a people.]
[Not yet.]
There isn't really an exit, as such, from the pit, so I just turn around and start scuttling over to the barrier and begin to poke my head through it. The crowd in front begins to move out of the way, a few people offering some claps, even the odd bow, then I'm up into the stands and out the back as Grey announces that ant Elvis has left the building.
I barely get two steps out of the arena before White appears in front of me, hand up, gesturing for me to stop.
[Problem?] I ask, but she only shakes her head.
[You want me to wait for Grey?]
She nods.
It takes him five minutes or so. I gather he had to speak to some of the swordsmen and women who were a little irritated they'd waited for nothing, but he appears unruffled as he approaches.
He speaks to White for a moment, and suddenly he looks quite ruffled indeed.
[White hasn't said anything to me. What's up?]
He growls, actually growls.
[The Legion is here.]
The way he says legion is almost like a curse word.
[Haven't seen them in a while. I take it you don't get along well with them.]
[We don't.]
[Hey, great! Neither do we!]