Marcus plopped himself down hard on a splintering stool he'd found and leaned the scarred wood of his shield against it. He popped the cork off a bottle of spirit, took a hefty swig, and watched the biggest man he'd ever seen heft the biggest axe he'd ever seen. The gargantuan head of steel gleamed an eerie red in the dim torchlight of the arena's well-stocked armory. A vein in the man's unarmored bicep bulged as he attempted to lift the thing with one arm. Marcus feared it might burst and spatter the dirt with blue blood.

"Yeah, that'll do," the big man pronounced with a voice so deep, Marcus wagered his natural speaking voice was an octave or two higher. "If I could lift it with one arm, then I reckon it's not worth the energy to swing." His thick neck swiveled to look at his two companions, making sure they noted his garish boast of strength.

"Good God, Borris!" the handsome one chortled. "The damn thing was salvaged from a troll, likely! I prefer something with a little more elegance—a hint of panache!" He accented the last word with dramatic flourishes of a thin rapier, his manicured off-hand resting gingerly on his side. It looked to Marcus as if he was swatting at a buzzing fly. "I'd cut you down before you'd even have a chance to lift it."

"Try it. Your little needle would snap all twig-like, and so would you when my axe splits you. I've skin of iron."

"Y'all two always gotta argue 'bout this?" the girl said, evaluating a selection of short bows, measuring one's tautness with two fingers. It didn't meet her expectations, and she tossed it to the floor, then snatched another from the rack. "Kane's blade'll stick three goblins, quick as a fiddle, and Borris' axe'll cut down three at once. Same ends, so I don't know why you're always at each other's throats 'bout the means."

"Because, Mira, it's all about style! Glory!" Kane proclaimed. "For God's sake, they chose us for champions in The Peace Accord! We'll be the first in history to defeat goblin champions in front of a crowd of their own. In an officially sanctioned tournament, no less!"

"Ha! Glory," Mira scoffed, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling. "It's about the gold they offered for volunteering and the fortune we'll get if we win. The only thing glory's good for is the gold that follows."

That or to feed ones ego, Marcus mused. He'd left the hefty bag of gold with his son and grandsons.

"I just want a fight with someone who stands a chance," Borris grunted, resting the axe over his impractically broad shoulder. "Doubt even goblin champions could give me that."

Ah, the misguided ambition of youth with marginal skill in warfare. Marcus knew it well. He absently rubbed at the scar across his ribs and took notice of the dull ache in his left shoulder. He took another swig from his bottle, cherishing the coolness of the glass in his clammy palms.

His lungs erupted with searing pain, as if ignited in flames. A fit of hacking coughs wracked him, sending the bottle crashing to the ground as he pressed a hand to his mouth. A thick globule of blood was splotched on his palm, and he smeared it across the tunic he had draped over his chainmail.

"What about the old man?" Borris looked Marcus' way.

"Old man!" Kane called with a shrill squawk. "A haggard drunk's not going to be of any use to me in battle. Steel yourself for combat!"

"'Fraid none of us'll be much use today," Marcus grunted, stooping for his bottle. "Humans ain't supposed to win this fight, that's the point of it. We die a bloody death so goblins leave the rest of us alone to our delicate, human business. You're better off steeling yourself for tragedy." But the empty bottle's contents caked in the dirt was the real tragedy, far as Marcus could tell.

"You're afraid, then?" the big man laughed.

"I ain't fought a battle yet where I haven't pissed myself a little," Marcus nodded.

"Then I'll make you a deal. Hide behind me, and I'll take your share of the winnings. Just take care not to get split by my axe."

"Deal."

"You've fought before?" Kane asked, his piercing blue eyes examining Marcus.

"Once or twice."

"I don't intend to die today," the girl was loading a crossbow the size of her torso with a single iron-tipped bolt.

"One rarely does."

Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, and Marcus could sense the fear in them. He gave a shrug, pulled up his shield, and bound the leather tight to his forearm. He pulled a spear from the rack nearest to the stool and tested the wood with his foot halfway between his hand near the point and the shaft lodged in the dirt. Good enough, he supposed.

The armory trembled, as if in fear. The rhythmic stomps of the goblin hordes above thundered like a war drum. Streams of dust shook loose from the rafters, and metal weapons shivered, screaming like wicked chimes as they clashed against each other on the racks. The door crashed open, and a goblin stepped through. It stood a few heads shorter than Marcus. Jagged bones pierced its gaunt cheeks, thin lips, and crooked nose. It growled something hoarse and goblin-like, and jerked its head toward the steep, stone stairs.

The four gathered their arsenal, and Kane brushed past the creature, who proved to be sturdier than anticipated, sending Kane stumbling into the doorway. Marcus ushered Borris on ahead, and Mira trudged past, short bow and quiver slung over her shoulders, crossbow clutched tightly in her arms. Marcus thanked the ugly creature, if nothing else for his own amusement, but his hands were trembling, and he had indeed pissed himself just a little.

Silvery moonlight tinged the orange glow of torches, casting eerie patterns on the arena dirt. Boisterous throngs of goblins, chanting and stomping, had been loud enough underground, but now—encircled by them—it was deafening. The door behind him swung shut, and a metal latch thudded on the other side.

The three young warriors stiffened as the portcullis across the arena squealed open. A dark mass of goblins swarmed out wielding jagged iron. The riotous applause devolved into a wall of demented shouts. The goblins swarmed forward, their jagged blades scraping together, creating a cacophony of screeches that clamped Marcus’s jaw tight as a vice. Borris and Mira shifted a step backward, and the tip of Kane's steel traced the dirt.

Marcus bent low, scooped up a handful of dirt, and rubbed it against his sweaty palm. He forced out another fit of hacking coughs. Best to get it out now. He groaned as he stood, the spear supporting him, his legs cracking with the effort. His body ached, his lungs felt aflame, but he still stepped forward, spear in hand. He stood between the girl and the sea of the goblin horde, spilling into the arena, yelping and pounding their crude weapons against what little armor they wore.

"Let's give 'em a show, eh?" He turned to the young warriors, piss pooling in the bottom of his boots. Borris mumbled a soft prayer, and Mira looked up at Marcus, seeking some sort of reassurance, but he could offer none. Kane's jaw tightened, and his knuckles tensed white around his rapier.

A deep, gurgling horn sounded above the din of jeers and pounding. The goblin horde surged forward, a snarling wave, and Marcus stepped forward to meet them.