"Are you sure?" Arthur asked, his voice low, almost distant, his eyes fixed on the man crossing the battleground like a shadow made flesh.
Fedlimid was already waiting at center stage, arms swinging loosely at his sides, shoulders rolling back with slow, unnatural ease. At first glance, it might have seemed like a warm-up, but Arthur had seen too many men before the killing started. That wasn't limbering up.
That was containment.
Tension radiated off Fedlimid like heat from stone just before it cracks.
Across the arena sands, the announcer raised a hand, his voice booming through the amphitheater.
"Master Nogg! A mage from overseas, representing no faction but his own formidable craft!"
The name meant nothing to Arthur. But the man did.
Nogg stepped into view with clinical calm, his robes too pristine for this place. His eyes were empty, wide and distant, as though he had looked too long at something that shouldn't be seen, and had never quite returned.
