By asking the locals Konrad quickly got his bearings and headed off in the direction of the West Ward gate. The nature of the city gradually changed as he walked, the large houses and wide roads giving way to smaller dwellings with narrow alleyways branching off in odd directions.

The Cloven Shield tavern was bigger even than Daniel Reeds house back in Fallow Vale. It was two stories high and its vast doors and window shutters were flung open to tempt in the meagre evening breeze.

Outside, tables were crowded with patrons drinking and laughing and music drifted from the lute of a bard. Serving girls passed too and fro carrying half a dozen tankards in each hand that were so large that Konrad doubted he would even be able to lift one.

He spotted swords, shields, and axes strapped to the backs of the drinkers, bows and spears were leaned against tables and everyone wore some kind of body armour, leather or plate, all in various states of wear and tear.

None of these people looked like the image of Athir, and none looked like what he thought a champion would, but they were certainly adventurers.

Konrad found a table outside that was empty save for a man who was leaned over on the table top weeping loudly.

A pretty serving girl came over and reached out to scratch Spirit behind the ears. “What a beautiful dog, my uncle had one just like that, a little bit smaller though. What can I get you?”

“A cup of ale please.”

The crying man on the table gave a muffled moan and several of the patrons glanced his way and chuckled.

“What’s wrong with him?” Konrad whispered, indicating to the crying man.

The serving girl gave a mischievous grin. “Errol, why are you crying?” She asked in a loud voice.

The drinkers on all of the tables around all cheered and took up the cry until every table was shouting “Errol, why are you crying?”.

The unfortunate Errol lifted his head, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t know,” he wailed and burst into a fresh round of sobbing.

“He doesn’t know!” The crowd repeated, laughing and jeering. Some slapped Errol on the back good-naturedly and others put a few coppers in his hand.

“I’ll bring you your ale,” the serving girl said with a barely concealed grin.

Torches were lit and placed in sconces on the wall as darkness fell over Tajar. The bard struck up a flighty tune on his lute and he was joined by a keen fingered fiddle player. Konrad tapped his feet to the music and watched a burly adventurer with a crooked nose climb onto a table and do a little jig. He proved to be remarkably light-footed until he tripped on an empty tankard and crashed to the table. Konrad joined in with the laughter that rang out as he was helped to his feet and offered cups of ale.

“Being an adventurer looks like fun,” he mused and Spirit growled in agreement while she gnawed on a bone she had found on the floor.

“Can I get you another?” The serving girl asked.

“Yes please, and I’m actually here looking for someone. She’s called Athir.”

“She’ll be inside, but you’d better hurry, the fight’ll start soon and from what I hear she mightn’t be in any state to talk afterwards.”

Konrad jumped up to follow the serving girl. It was a warm evening and inside the tavern the heat mixed with the smell of spilt ale and reek of sweat and leather armour. Konrad fervently wished that the small gods had given him the ability to breathe through his ears.

“Out back,” the serving girl said, pointing to a door where the chatter of conversation could be heard. “And that’ll be two bits for the ale,” she said, handing Konrad a wooden cup. He fished out a few coins and headed out the back door.

A fifteen foot square pit had been dug in the dusty earth and filled with gravel. Patches of dried blood the colour of rust were dotted here and there on the stones and it was ringed by a crowd talking excitedly.

On a chair at the back of the area sat a lone woman. Her blond hair was straight and cut neatly at her shoulders and she wore only a few pieces of armour, a basic leather jerkin and bracers on her wrists. Although the armour was used it looked well cared for, Konrad saw small neat stitches where the boots and jerkin had been carefully repaired.

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The woman raised her hand and took a deep glug from a bottle then let her arm hang limp. The bottle hit the stones with a gentle clinking sound.

“Money on the fight?”

A small wizened man with a long grey beard and a red pointy hat set on his head at a jaunty angle stared up at Konrad. “You boy, few coppers on the fight? I’ll give you good odds.”

A handful of coins magically appeared in his outstretched palm and jingled merrily.

“Who’s fighting?” Konrad asked.

“You just fall out the sky? Athir’s back and willing to fight whoever wants to try their luck.”

Konrad looked up at the woman on the chair who was now clearly drunk, her eyes were closed and she was swaying gently in place. “That’s Athir?”

“The fallen champion herself, and she’s a got a Faelen demon in her tonight. She’ll fight the Father himself when she’s in this kind of mood. So how about that bet? Five silver’ll get you twenty if she wins.”

“I’ll take that bet,” called a woman and the short man pushed past to greet his new customer.

A bell rang out into the night and the noise of the crowd picked up.

“Make way for the challenger, Brutha the giant of Charnal!” cried a voice.

The second fighter was the largest being that Konrad had ever seen in his life, towering at least two heads above those around him. He was barefoot and the only pieces of clothing he wore were a leather vest and a fighting skirt that flapped around his thighs. His skin was curiously grey and hard and covered in cracks as if he’d been hewn from a boulder.

He had heard stories of giants before, Alice was obsessed with them, but he’d considered them as something so far away they might as well be made up, like the Faelen. Now he was sure he was looking at a real one.

Brutha bent to pick up some dust and rubbed his hands together, giving Athir a mocking smile which displayed a mouth full of crooked yellowing teeth.

“Come’n fight me fallen champion,” he drawled.

Athir stood uncertainly and her chair was pulled away. She swayed gently on the spot, closing one eye and then the other.

“Two of them?” she muttered.

Brutha bellowed and stomped towards Athir and Konrad waited with baited breath for her to dive out of the way. Or perhaps she would use some gift from her god and fireball the brute into submission. What he didn’t expect was for the giant to charge her down like an avalanche, trampling her body into the gravel.

The crowd groaned and winced as Brutha came to a stop at the far edge of the gravel pit while Athir made a strangled noise and rolled over.

“Hur hur, wassa matta need a drink?” Brutha taunted.

“Can’t you just be quiet for a moment?” Athir groaned.

“Make me.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Athir said, and spat a bloody lump onto the gravel.

Brutha growled and reached down, plucking Athir up by her neck and holding her off the ground. With his free hand he gestured at the crowd, whipping them into a frenzy.

“Do something,” Konrad muttered.

Konrad's voice was low but Athir turned her head and looked directly at him as if she heard him. Her eyes were still glazed but he felt as though she was looking at a point an inch or two behind his eyeballs.

Brutha raised his other fist with a look of savage expectation on his face and he swung hard enough to crush her skull like an egg.

“Wait,” Athir commanded.

Brutha just stopped, his whole body tense and unmoving. The cords of muscle on his arms and neck strained and only his eyeballs moved freely, staring around in wild panic.

Konrad took a frightened step back as Athir refocussed on Brutha, a look of pure rage creasing her face.

The excitement in the crowd reached fever pitch. This was what they were here to see.

With a bellow that shook the ground Brutha broke free from whatever held him, his fist came down but Athir was too fast. She swung her body around his arm and let the momentum carry her onto his shoulders.

Brutha stumbled forwards as Athir grabbed two fistfuls of his greasy hair in her hands and clamped her legs around his neck.

“No,” Brutha croaked.

“Yes,” Athir said and threw her weight backwards

Brutha had a rapid decision to make. He could attempt to backflip, or risk having his head ripped off.

He chose the former.

Konrad watched open mouthed as the monstrous giant's body flipped over with Athir on his shoulders. Unfortunately for Brutha, Athir’s added weight was too much. She somehow managed to twist him in mid air and the giant landed face first on the gravel with a sickening crunch.

There was a heartbeat of silence before the crowd exploded in shouting and cheering.

Athir rolled over breathing heavily and pushed herself away from Brutha’s foul body, then she stumbled to her feet, shaking her head and looking around dazed in Konrad’s direction. He ducked down quickly and felt his heart pound in his chest as her searching gaze drifted past him.

Athir snatched a bottle of clear liquid from someone in the crowd and pushed them roughly back when they protested. She bit the cork out and spat it to the floor, taking great gasping glugs. Some people dared to slap a congratulatory hand on her back, but she ignored everything around her and when the bottle was empty she let it fall.

Spirit tugged gently at Konrad’s shirt sleeve.

“Good idea, let’s get out of here.”

Konrad left The Cloven Shield as fast as he could, with Spirit trotting ahead of him. He went back to a stable he had passed close to the gate and after a brief negotiation with the boy who stood guard over the horses, he handed over a copper piece in exchange for a nights sleep in the hay loft.

Spirit rolled around in the hay next to him until she was satisfied and breathed a deep sigh while Konrad lay in the hay and struggled to shift the feeling that the dangerous champion was still watching him.

“Why would Lyran send me to her? She looked right at me like she knew me.”

Spirit yawned widely and licked his hand.

“I suppose I could ask Lyran.”

He called out the gods name quietly and waited for several moments, but the only sounds were the gentle movement of horses below, or the occasional shout drifting in from the city.

“She did say that she would be too weak to help me, so I guess we’ll have to do this on our own. We can start tomorrow with the healers in the city, one of them must’ve heard of Lyran.”

Spirit was already sleeping soundly and Konrad curled up to her. Despite almost losing everything to the pickpocket and his concerns for Alice and his parents, he smiled. Being a champion was already turning out to be full of adventure.