“Stop it!” Agron whirled on her. “Or I’ll cut you down myse-”

“By the crowns of kings,” Crixus murmured, his powerful voice hobbled by horror.

A massive, tawny paw emerged first.

The face of an evil, ancient man materialized, twisted with the countenance of a beast. A crimson mane framed weathered features and a shining stinger flicked back and forth above its bulk. One of the three leonine beasts prowled into the arena, driven by a perverse hunger born of savage instinct and humanity’s vile cruelty.

“Merthy…” one young man gasped.

Wurhi’s eyes widened, recognizing the word in Makkadian.

“Merthykhuwar…” he moaned. “Manticore!”

“Formation!” Crixus barked. “Shield bearers up! Anyone with a pole-arm get in back! Weapons down!”

Gannicus surged to the front with three others, raising mismatched shields - some bronze and some wood. Crixus moved back with Agron, Saxa and the frightened young man. He threw an agitated look at the two thieves. “That means you! Get your heads right or we all die!”

Wurhi grimaced, biting down her dread to coax her feet forward. Merrick - wan as a corpse - pushed up beside her, and the two reluctant pit-fighters lowered their spears over the shield bearers’ shoulders. The Zabyallan had seen such formations practiced by the mercenary armies in her homeland. She desperately hoped she mimicked their motions with some proficiency.

Crixus looked to the young man. “Varro! What in hells is a manticore!? What are we facing?!”

“A hells spawn…” Varro moaned. “One ravaged a neighbouring village when I was a boy…it didn’t even leave the bones…”

Their foe drew a breath.

Its jaws parted, revealing three rows of leonine fangs that dripped onto the sand, and it shook the arena with a stone-ravaging roar.

The jubilant crowd exploded above.

“Behold my beast! I’ve trained him well!” the lean hunt-leader shouted over the din. He pointed directly toward Wurhi. “Go, my pet! Kill them!”

The manticore snuffed, its massive thews tensing.

“It’s going to spring! Keep those spears lowered!” Crixus cried.

Its muscles merely twitched. It shot forth like a ballista bolt. Sand kicked up in the wake of pounding claws.

“Brace!” the Garumnan shouted.

Wurhi tensed.

Skrrrrr.

The monster skidded to a halt.

Spikes flared on its tail.

Crack.

Its sting struck the air.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A man screeched.

Its spines had shot out, driving into the formation to crack off bronze and burrow into wooden shields. One had pierced a shield bearer’s knee, splitting bone and washing his leg in crimson ruin. The man collapsed to a screaming heap and his comrades shouted in horror.

Wurhi shrieked.

“Saxa, pick up that shield!” Crixus ordered. “Back, all of you, back!”

“But what about-” Agron reached for the fallen man.

“He’s dead!” the Garumnan clapped him on the shoulder. “Leave him or we’ll all follow!”

The captives stumbled backward, their formation shaking with every step. They varied in experience and fellowship, some only having hefted a spear or shield since their capture. Every movement lacked the practice of trained soldiers and some nearly fell over their own feet.

The manticore stalked after them, its muscular form gliding across the sand with supple motion. Its sting waved sinuously over its body and its lips drew back in an abominable snarl that seemed a smile. Wurhi’s nerves threatened to snap.

Spikes flared once more on its tail.

Whoosh!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Saxa yelped as one impaled her wooden shield, driving a full finger deep through the oak. The crowd roared.

“This isn’t going to work!” Merrick’s spear shook.

“He’s right!” Agron lowered his stance behind the shield bearer positioned before him.

“It’s just going to keep flinging those things until we can’t keep up the shield wall! We’ve got to split up! Hunt it like a mammoth!”

Crixus grunted. “Everyone! On my mark, spread apart and circle it! Move fast!”

The beast stalked forward.

“Three…”

Its face twisted in low amusement.

“Two…”

Its spikes flared.

Crixus stiffened. “It’s going to loose! Not yet! Not ye-”

His words came a step too late. Gannicus and Saxa broke to the right and the others scattered. Spears tangled in shields and feet tangled in feet. Agron rushed to the left and Merrick barely leapt from his path.

Wurhi was not so fortunate. The squat, powerful man ploughed into the tiny woman like a fleeing bull, the impact flinging the spear from her grip and hurling her to the sand.

Whoosh!

Spikes whipped through the air just above her head. Screaming, she scrambled to her feet. Before her, the manticore snarled and sprang.

“Shit! Shiiiit!” she jumped aside as it barrelled past, crashing to the ground. It began to turn, with eyes flashing and breath hissing through bared teeth.

Wurhi ran the hell away.

Pumping her arms, she raced across the arena with every bit of her speed while drawing the bronze sword from her belt. Behind her, paws pounded on sand and her heart galloped like it would burst in her chest.

“Zabyallan!” Crixus roared. “This way! Draw it in!”

She glanced back. Crixus, Agron and Gannicus were forming an encirclement with Saxa and Merrick rushing to fill the gaps. The young man who’d identified the beast edged his way forward, trembling as a sapling in a storm.

Wurhi zig-zagged across the arena, using a tactic that served her well when fleeing alley hounds in Zabyalla. It served her here as well. The manticore pushed to follow, yet its great bulk barred it from cornering as cleanly as the tiny Zabyallan. With its speed countered, it began to fall behind. The creature released an almost human cry of frustration.

“That’s it!” its master screamed from the stands. “Chase her down!”

“Go to all hells!” she shouted up at him, diving to the side just as the beast sprang for her. It landed where she had been, skidding on the sand, but she was already sprinting for the encirclement.

The pursuing beast’s eyes unexpectedly narrowed at the slaves spreading before it, flashing with a human cunning. With a derisive snort, it changed direction to leap for Varro.

“No!” the young man cried out, turning heel.

“Stop!” Crixus shouted. “Hold posi-“

The manticore moved with the celerity of a hunting lion, and in mere heartbeats drove the boy to the ground. Its sting flashed high above its body, whipping back-

Shnk.

-and driving deep into Varro’s chest.

Bone cracked. With a hideous gurgle, torrents of venom rushed into his body.

The effect was immediate.

Varro’s cry sealed in his throat as every muscle tautened to the limit, contorting his form grotesquely beneath the beast. His lips peeled back from his clenching jaw so tightly that they tore apart - painting his teeth in a crimson slurry that blended with yellow froth pouring from his throat.

The young man’s eyes rolled back as his body gave a final shudder so violent that it tore his musculature and heaved him off the arena floor.

When he fell to the earth, he was dead. The cultists roared in approval.

Wurhi bent double and heaved.

“Bloody piss!” Merrick backed away, nearly dropping his spear.

The monster watched them with amusement, padding away from the corpse and circling the captives. It would abide until one moved again and then would spring. In this fashion, it would whittle their numbers down until only the small human that smelled of rats remained. The manticore would then toy with its prey to its content. A snarl - like a smile - consumed its face.

Wurhi bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted the rusty tang of blood. This would not work. The beast was too strong to fight like one would a man and too crafty to hunt as one would a beast. Her mind raced, thinking on what her companions would do.

St. Cristabel would have simply cleaved it in half and asked for seconds.

Kyembe would have sheared its face in twain or blasted it with hellfire.

Her look turned sour. Neither example remotely helped. She needed to think in her own terms. Fight like Wurhi the Rat.

And Wurhi the Rat never fought fair. Not if she could help it.

“Merrick,” she muttered. “I’m going to do something very, very stupid.”

“And why in all the gods’ sakes would you do that?” He looked at her as though she’d said the clouds were purple and green.

“Remember what you did when you first found me in the boy’s manor?”

“What…attacked you? Oh, you mean throwing bolas?”

“Yeah. I’m going to do something like that then go for Varro’s spear. Try and flank it. We’ll keep distant. Stick it like a couple of cutpurses on a guard in an alley.”

“Bloody piss,” he groaned. “That bald bastard’s going to get us killed the way things’re going. Alright. I’m with you.”

She sighed, steadying her feet. “Good.”

Wurhi the Rat shot forth.