Their team marched through the dark, armed and equipped with every resource and weapon they could bring.

Alex had a full bag of potions—both regular and booby-trapped—hanging at his side. Theresa had one of her great-grandfather’s swords and her massive hunting knife belted at her waist. Isolde’s stiletto blade hung from her belt, while Svenia and Hogarth clinked along in chainmail. The two warriors held halberds, while shields, bows and quivers were strapped to their backs; swords and maces hung from their waists.

Thundar gripped his mace, his crossbow hung from his back. Khalik had his shortsword belted to his waist and a new rounded shield hung from one shoulder. Najyah was alert, perched on the prince’s arm.

Grimloch carried his oversized crossbow across his back, along with a massive iron club in one hand. Unlike the one he’d used in the Grand Melee, long spikes rose from it. Brutus and Claygon carried no weapons of course, the pair were weapons.

The crowd roared as their team emerged from the tunnel and onto the stadium floor.

“Claaaaaygoooon! Claaaaaygoooon!” some chanted.

“Grimloch! Grimloch!” others shouted.

“Lu! Lu! Lu!”

“Thundar! Thundar! Thundar!”

“Khalik! Najyah! Khalik! Najyah!”

And finally—in the din—he could hear his name, “Roth! Roth! Roth! Roth!” being shouted over and over. His chest swelled with pride in himself and his friends: the goal had been to start making names for themselves, they were certainly succeeding.

But they weren’t the only ones who were being recognized.

“Indrajit! Hanumaaaaan!” screamed a section of the crowd.

“Tyris! Vesuvius! Tyris! Vesuvius!” others roared.

The audience was shouting for their favourites from all parts of the arena as Alex saw other teams already waiting in the stadium.

He counted fifteen sapphire-shirted Hydra Companions standing together; each held themselves with the ease of those used to battle, and they carried weapons that looked like they’d been well-used.

He recognized Roderich among them as their eyes met for an instant, then casually looked away. It was natural. No indication of being familiar with each other: no smile, no twitch of recognition. The deal they’d made regarding the Ursa-Lupine Brotherhood remained their secret.

Alex’s team moved past the Hydras, making their way to a designated area in the stadium. Each team was assigned a position within two parallel rows of participants where they’d be teleported to the battlefield from when the time came. Alex’s group walked between the rows, drawing eyes.

There were looks of challenge.

Looks of recognition.

Looks of fear.

The pride grew in Alex’s chest a little more as his teammates walked taller.

Though one of them seemed to bristle more than walk tall.

Isolde growled, glaring daggers when she saw the purple-shirted Ursa-Lupine Brotherhood. There were fifteen skilled battlemages, some had brought weapons, some only their spellcasting skills. One familiar red-haired figure stood among them: Derek Warren turned, noticing Alex’s group.

Alex watched him closely, calling on The Mark while reading his body language. His eyes narrowed.

Derek’s movements were…

…surprisingly graceful.

His stance was light. He kept his weight centred firmly on both feet. His back was straight, and he didn’t look uncomfortable in the chainmail hauberk he was wearing. The longsword belted at his waist had a finely forged bronze hilt, and the way he rested his hands on the pommel was relaxed.

‘Interesting…’ Alex thought. ‘He moves like a swordsman. I thought he was just some cheater. …then again, maybe I shouldn't be so surprised.’

He remembered Derek being eliminated from Baelin’s class because he’d foolishly worn heavy chainmail in the scorching hot Barrens. Which probably meant that he’d owned the chainmail all along: he certainly didn’t move like someone who wasn’t accustomed to wearing it.

‘And just because he cheated at alchemy and didn’t get into Baelin’s class because of more bad choices, doesn’t mean he’d be bad at everything. He’d obviously met the qualifications to enter The Games, otherwise, he wouldn’t be standing there. Isolde had never told them he had skills with a sword, though. Then again, she didn’t know much about him when they were dating. If she’d known him better, she wouldn’t have dated him in the first place.’

In any case, that was something to watch out for: better to never underestimate an opponent...no matter who they were.

Up ahead he saw Tyris’ team standing together: she was watching him and rubbing the shell of the immense Vesuvius. The vulcanchelone’s eyes were fixed on Claygon.

Thm. Thm. Thm.

One of his massive feet pawed the earth like a bull getting ready to charge.

Surrounding them were five tough looking battlemages: the kind of folks who looked like they spent half their time in Baelin’s class, and the other half killing monsters for entertainment. Her other team members were warriors wearing breastplates and holding spears, bows and blades. Tyris met his eyes and gave him a broad smile that showed her golden tooth glinting in the daylight.

He gave her a clumsy little wave, then looked past her at the rest of the field.

Indrajit Hanuman stood with his two shieldbearers as well as three archers. They were one of the smaller teams, but they moved with excellent coordination: like they’d worked together for a while. They’d be dangerous, especially with Hanuman and the shieldbearers harbouring some bad feelings after their Grand Melee beating. Each of them stared at Theresa, Grimloch and Thundar as they passed. They looked like predators who hadn’t seen a meal in days. Indrajit’s face was calm, but his eyes seemed to burn.

Alex’s group finally reached their designated spot, and lined up.

“Stand a little straighter, all, let us give the crowd something to admire!” Khalik said, smiling and waving up at the audience. Najyah—looking very majestic—flew into the air to circle them

The crowd roared.

“Well, don’t that make you feel good!” Thundar said, joining Khalik in waving. Alex followed right after and even Theresa gave a little wave.

She looked at Isolde as Brutus began barking.

“Come one, join us!” she said.

“…it is uncouth and childish.” The tall noblewoman crossed her arms.

“You are nobility!” Khalik laughed. “Come now, you know the value in giving the people what they wish.”

Isolde sighed.

Slowly she raised her hand in a little wave. Svenia and Hogarth joined in.

Khalik turned to Grimloch. “And you too-”

“No,” the shark man said.

“Fair enough.”

They continued waving until other teams entered the stadium. Some sent the crowd into loud cheers, but many seemed to be unknowns.

Until they walked in.

A roar swept through the audience: a swell of cheers mixed with a few boos.

Three centaurs emerged onto the stadium floor, moving in perfect synchrony. They were followed by four men and women in plate armour: their tabards bore the symbols of the four elements.

“Elemental knights,” Isolde said. “Fierce warriors well-versed in the arts of steel and elemental magic.”

Behind the knights came three wizards wearing chainmail, and bearing swords and staves like the Watchers of Roal. Finally, five hard-bitten mercenary-types in fine armour trudged into the stadium.

The Outcasts of the Divine Wind.

Every member of the team that had won The Grand Battle in the previous year moved through the stadium with ease and control through their body language. They were definitely warriors through and through, even if they favoured spells over swords.

Their body language was almost like watching a story unfold: Alex could see years of training, skill and talent in every step. ‘Goals for the future,’ he thought.

Some of his friends were already close to moving with that level of gracefulness.

As he thought of his friends, more of them appeared: Shiani strode into the stadium, flanked by Rayne and Rhea. Malcolm walked in just behind them alongside Eyvinder, Caramiyus and Angelar. They hadn’t brought anyone else with them on their team, but the magnificent seven of them would be dangerous enough.

They waved to Alex’s group as they walked past and took their places.

“Looks like all the guests are here,” Thundar said. “Is the party gonna start?”

Alex noticed one of the minotaur’s hoofs bouncing up and down with nerves. Isolde was twisting back and forth on her feet while Theresa shifted her weight from leg to leg. Svenia and Hogarth were outright pacing, and Brutus paced right along with them.

Alex realised that even his own breathing was a little quicker.

Only Claygon, Grimloch, Najyah and Khalik seemed completely calm: all four waited as composed as someone about to walk into an exam knowing they already had all the answers.

“What happened to all those nerves you had earlier?” Alex asked Khalik.

“Hm?” the prince raised an eyebrow. “Oh, those? I do not know…as I heard the crowd chanting our names, they seemed to melt away. I feel that no matter what happens on this day, we have already achieved more victory than many taste in life. Through luck or blessing, I am happy just to show our power.”

“Pft, easy for you to say,” Isolde sniffed nervously. “It was easier when all I wanted was to destroy Derek, but now…goodness, the possibility of winning dangles before us. I find myself wanting it, and high expectations bring high nerves.”

“I dunno, I think Khalik has it right,” Alex said. “We’ve come a long way. Let’s just beat the Ursa-Lupines and have some fun. Even if we’re knocked out, look how far we’ve come.”

“…guess you’re right, it’s not like losing means we’re dead,” Thundar said, grinning. “Unless a little imp suddenly appears, removes our spell-marks and screams, ‘Now, you’re playing the Death Games of Roal!”

“You know there’s someone out there literally summoning demons, right?” Theresa said. “That could actually happen, Thundar.”

“Hey, don’t blame me if it does.”

“Hold on, it looks like something’s happening,” she said.

A Watcher of Roal floated up to the centre of the stadium. Illusions flickered to life above her, giving the contestants and the audience a close up view of her face. Alex remembered that eyepatch: she’d been the one who’d explained The Games on the first registration day. That day felt like it was a very long time ago.

“Welcome to the final and most spectacular event of The Games of Roal!” she shouted. “The Grand Battle!”

The crowd screamed and whistled, and Alex looked around the stands for their family and friends, but couldn’t find them amongst the sea of bodies.

“This is the most prized event in all The Games,” The Watcher continued. “One that tests prowess and spell, teamwork and instinct: the culmination of every event in The Games, and the ultimate display of prowess!”

Suddenly, from a doorway in the middle of the stadium, brass constructs resembling cylinders with stick-thin arms floated. Each held a unique flag. The constructs circled the teams on the field in a cluster, stopped, then separated and shot toward each one to hover beside them. The flag waving beside Alex’s team was orange with a black star in the centre.

“The winners of the Grand Battle will be the last remaining team with the highest point count!” The Watcher announced. “The teams of combatants will be transported to a different area on Oreca’s Fall Island; it has been populated with summoned monsters. Each individual team shall begin the contest with zero points, and earn one point for every summoned creature they defeat. For each enemy combatant they eliminate from the field of battle, they will earn two points! Knocking an entire team out of the contest will give you points equivalent to double the number of combatants on that team! So, a team of five is worth ten points, for example, while a team of seven is worth fourteen! Seizing another team’s flag is worth five points in and of itself, that is if there are any teams still possessing their flag along the way.” The Watcher almost smiled.

She pointed up to an illusion floating above her which showed a low, flat-topped mountain. “For reaching the central point of the island, a total of sixty points will be awarded. Holding it—and preventing other teams from reaching it—will be worth ninety points for each hour it is held under the team’s control. The Grand Battle will last a total of four hours or until three teams are left standing! Remember, if your entire team is eliminated, it doesn’t matter how many points you’ve gained, they will all be cancelled and your team will lose. With all of that being said, may the greatest warriors of weapon and spell triumph! And please, we expect each of you to act with integrity. No dishonesty, underhandedness, or duplicitousness will be tolerated. Observers will be watching the island from above.”

She pointed to a row of observers seated near the stands. They included Watchers of Roal, professors, and even Baelin himself. The chancellor seemed to be watching the audience as much as he was watching the teams.

“Without further delay, let us begin!” The lead Watcher cried.

Large magical machinery—each piece looking like six golden orbs the size of human heads floating above brass platforms—began to hum, and spell-marks appeared on every contestant's hands, ready to whisk them away before a grave injury could occur.

Alex took a deep breath. “I’ll probably appear before anyone else when we teleport in. I’ll feel around for teleportation magic, then we jump the closest team as soon as you guys arrive.”

The rest of his team nodded.

He watched as several wizards floating above the teams cast teleportation magic.

“Let’s do this,” he said.

Then he felt the magic take him.

Alex appeared in the middle of a forest and took a deep breath as he felt flashes of teleportation magic nearby.

“The east is closest,” he said.

The air shimmered and his companions suddenly materialised around him. Without a word, he pointed east and charged ahead.

As one, his team followed, rushing through the trees to ambush the closest team before they could get their bearings.

At last, the final battle of The Games of Roal had begun.