Climbing to the highest tier of Ith-Korr was an adventure in itself; the cold air tore at the broad corded ladder that was the only path up, ropes moving wildly above and below us with every pull. Below, the residential district fell away, we passed another planked tier that was empty save for detritus or the waste of the area below, and kept climbing.

At the top we came to a broad courtyard carved entirely from the living vines. The canopy was only twenty or so yards above us, reaching out in every direction and dappling deep shadows, save for what lay ahead: a vast sunspot revealed a bustling crowd, and beyond, tall banners of red, green and gold rose at the edges of the courtyard, marking the entrance to the Horizon Arena itself. A marvel of both nature and craftsmanship, it was a colossal structure, again woven directly from the city’s vines, still alive and pulsing that unnatural green. I could just about see the starts of a massive, bowl-like shape beyond, completely open to the sky.

As we climbed out, we spotted an elf girl dressed in fine silk-velvets and covered in golden jewellery. Lenya sat there by the side of the opening to the lower tier, knees and staff pulled tight to her body, looking shaken. When she spotted us, she jumped to her feet and straightened up and put on her usual airs.

“Knew you’d come here. Took you long enough.”

“Did some shopping,” I said, indicating my new armour. “How did you know?”

“How could men like you resist?” she shot back.

She has a point. My heart raced and my blood pumped as I stepped towards the crowds. As we walked, I leant over to her with a smile.

“I suppose this is distasteful to you? I don’t think I’ll be much help in your search for more . . . learned folk with which to discuss your return home, so I suppose we’ll bid you adieu?”

Lenya glanced sheepishly around at the swarm of strangers, even made a twitch to reach out for my arm as the crowds moved around her, but she resisted and held herself as pridefully as ever.

“Maybe I could . . . I think I will grace you with my presence a little longer. . . . I’m also interested in this arena, so I suppose I’ll accompany you there.”

Massive poles with long red, green and gold pennants whipped in the high-altitude winds, bearing hundreds of embroidered sigils of — I assumed — previous champions of the Arena. Pushing past the crowds of jungle-folk, desert-folk, even a couple of coral-folk, and every other kind of folk, we made for the entrance, where a massive figure stood beneath a tall arch.

Posed with legs spread apart like a marble statue, with stature and indeed skin to match, one arm out in front, this stone giant man scowled at us from the darkness.

Haven’t seen one of you before.

Alator’s fist clenched at his side as the huge man peered down his flat nose at us with disdain.

By Jove, be calm for once.

“Next bout is in ten minutes, you will wait until then.”

“We’re here to fight,” I said, indicating my spear and armour.

He grunted and stepped aside, then barked down the low-ceilinged hall into the darkness:

“More meat for the grinder.”

Well, that’s intriguing . . . if a little less romantic than I’d imagined.

We passed him, Lenya curtseying as she went, and ducked through the hall into a little foyer area painted red and gold where a young jungle-folk sat cross-legged in front of a round table, upon which rested a massive tome lined with names and doodles.

Beyond climbed a different world. A high open stage of packed earth, fine gold dust and scattered stones was surrounded on all sides by tall rising stands lined with benches, all made of the same luminous living vines. It looked to me like the grandest arena I’d ever seen — though that was probably because the last arena I’d been in was an amateur production of Peter Pan as a kid.

The young woman looked at us with wide, black eyes and a pinched nose and her long, thin tail darted behind her and picked up a quill, already wet black.

“Name, Mista?”

“I’m Talbot, wanting my make my debut.”

“Mista Tal-butt,” she said slowly while writing it out. The script she was using, or perhaps just her handwriting, was completely illegible, so there was no point correcting her. Then she looked back up at me expectantly, and after a beat, sighed. “Do you have a stage name?”

“Uh, no. Do I need one?”

“Not particularly.”

“This place insults the nature of combat; I no longer kill for pleasure,” Alator said simply, turned on his heels, added, “I’ll try to find some other travellers like us, try to learn a little more about the World,” and walked away.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Why’d you come then?”

“Just wanted to see it.”

“All right. . . . See you later. If we’re still apart by sunset, we’ll head back to the Woven Vine.”

The little jungle-folk turned to the elf princess at my side.

“And you, Missus?”

“I’ll not be degrading myself in gladiatorial nonsense. I am Lenya of the Hoary Gold, Princess of the Fey Plains.”

“Lenya da what?” the jungle-folk’s already happy and mocking face burst open.

She paused a moment, then understood the confusion and I felt HEAT coming from her.

I cut across desperately:

“It’s just me that’ll be fighting. Lenya is my . . . she’s here to witness my debut.”

She huffed and stamped her heel.

The little jungle-folk giggled, her curled brown hair bobbing.

“So do ya have any, like . . . moves? Anything recognisable dat ya’ll use more dan once — something we can hype de crowd up to expect?”

“Uh . . . I have this thing where I run really fast and jump and try to stab them at the same time.” I ran my fingers along the table, had them jump, then thrust the spear (my thumb) forwards as my hand landed.

Lenya clapped a hand to her face to stay a cruel giggle.

“Just admit that you don’t, in future, Mista — that was embarrassing.”

Being talked down to so harshly by a woman who looked like a furry child was infuriating. I knew the anger was not worthwhile, but it still prickled my tone:

“I’ll show you what I can do. Just get me in the next bout.”

At that moment, a clarion call reverberated through the wood at our feet and rocked our ears. A wide grin split the jungle-folk woman’s face.

“That’ll be in two minutes, then. Enjoy your grand debut.”

I was shuffled up some well-worn, curving steps leading to a dark room to the side. Before the door was slammed closed behind me, I glanced back and saw Lenya yelp as hundreds of people rushed down the hallway and through the foyer, swarming her then spilling onto the benches, pushing and shoving for the best seat to watch the carnage.

The ready room was low-ceilinged, as everything was in Ith-Korr, and lit only by a string of living green-shining vine like a dim LED strip on the walls. The first thing I noticed were bronze and bone weapons lining stacks, all dull and cracked, and a few blood-stained suits of armour missing discs or scales sat by one wall.

Glad I went shopping!

I became aware of other people in the room first by their stink: sweat and fear like the gym room in secondary school before playing a no-contact (extremely full contact) rugby game with the older kids who had just gone through puberty and were now essentially walls of hard meat, while you and your buddies were little stick-like things in loose shorts and a hand-me-down vest. Was that image too specific? Well, it’s what came to mind, anyway.

They all stood at least at arm’s length of each other, all performing pre-fight rituals or exercises, some tapping their feet, some muttering under their breath. One, a man with massive, furry ears and long, black whiskers, knelt facing the wall, hands clasped before him, in silent prayer.

“So . . .” I piped up. “What are the rules?”

“FIRST TIME?”

I jumped out of my skin for the second time in a day as a booming voice sounded right in my ear.

SYS, FOR FU — Oh, sorry, I’m so used to it being you.

I turned to see an absolute barbarian towering over me. She had little white ears sprouting out the sides of a massive spiked iron helmet, small dark eyes set in a broad, white-furred face, and a big flat black nose at the end of a short snout — she was a massive polar bear woman.

“Yes, uh — first time.”

Her mouth sneered open, lips peeling back over massive yellowed fangs.

“NO FEAR. I LEAVE YOUR BODY MOSTLY WHOLE,” her fur vibrated and swayed as she shook in a guttural laugh.

That got a rise out of me — I felt the stream of my inner power ripple — but before deciding on running my mouth, I touched the Analysis Card in my pocket.

Name :

Hrunja the Frost-Born, Level 11

Stats :

Str 15, Dex 8, Con 14, Mnd 3

Skills :

Survivalism Lvl 2

Vigour Lvl 1

Weapon Mastery Lvl 4

Special :

Glacial Fury

Inventory :

Battleaxe, 52 Copper Coins

Weakness :

Overheats easily

Home :

Glareholm, Barbican

Glareholm — that’s new.

“LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU.”

I met her eyes and rose to my full height, still a good few inches shorter than her, and squared up.

“Save it for the stage,” I grunted.

Turning my back on her, I saw in the gloom a stout, muscular jungle-folk man with wiry, tawny fur. Green eyes sparkled in the dim glow. He wore a thick bronze helmet decorated with jagged teeth and bore the gold and green of the Arena. A coiled whip hung from his right hand.

“All right, gather ’round, you lot,” he barked. He flicked the whip and it cracked against the floor, bouncing harshly off the walls of the small chamber. “For the newcomers, I’m Kaelri, I’m in charge of you layabouts. From the moment you step into this room, to the moment you hobble out of it, consider me your loving, doting father.”

The joke fell flat.

“Look, veterans, you know what to do. You three,” he spat into the darkness. I turned but another sharp crack of the whip made me turn back to him, “You’ve got one shot to make an impression here. Remember, the crowd wants blood and brilliance. If you can’t give one, you better make damn sure to give them the other. Even though it’s the morning bout, make it a show worth shouting for!

“When that door opens, take the steps up and gather in the centre of the stage, looking out. The announcer will hype the crowd. When he says your name, do something. I don’t care what. During, we don’t want to see abject cruelty.

“Listen, this is a mortal battle — it’s life and death — but your glory, your livelihood, and the crowd’s patronage, requires you lot to PERFORM. Take a hit? Stand tall! Winded? Find your grit! The Horizon Arena is your stage, and for the next quarter hour or so, you’re the stars!”

I reached for the Analysis Card to inspect the rest of the combatants, but another long horn call sounded, unsettling dust from the vine roof, & the door was thrown open.

“As discussed,” barked a short jungle-folk man wearing thick bronze scale armour and holding a whip at his side, “This morning’s bout is a free-for-all. Make it worth the crowd’s time, make it back alive, in that order.”

I blew out my cheeks and stepped out towards the light.