Tina glanced from the middle aged man in purple and white linen getup to Devon, who offered her a brief and attempted reassuring smile. That was not, she decided then and there he was not particularly talented at.

He turned back to the nobleman.

“She’s a winner,” the dwarf offered flatly. “And as agreed, should she win, you will hand over the hammer. You remember the wager.”

The way he said that the second time, Tina figured he had some doubts about the arrangements. He eyed dared around as she took a step back. Was there some possible way out of this, get back to her life?

“No worries, my good man,” Consul Merimus said a honeyed tone that pulled Tina’s attention right back to him as he tapped himself on the chest. “Consul Merimus does not back out of any wager of any kind.”

The man offered a sly smile at the both of them.

“Have you seen my current champion on the floor?” he asked. “Are you sure you want to throw this young woman to Hyperion’s Lioness.”

Hyperion’s Lioness?!

“Yes, Devon,” Tina replied, now thinking that she was being used, not to mention threatened. “Are you sure I should be thrown to-?”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Perhaps we should take a glance at what my champion is capable of,” the nobleman said. “Above all, I want to sure that the spectators are entertained. They are so disappointed when a match all over in but a few moments.”

“Yeah, I should think so,” Tina decided growing aggravated now.

She decided that being angry would be better than scared.

And she didn’t like what she saw, and now understood what all that burning smell was about.

They were led back to the stands and could see that in the late afternoon sun there was now some kind of activity down on the sands under the now flickering torchlight.

Below there did seem to be some sort of familiar game going on that did immediately remind her of dodgeball, or at least some kind of practice for people who did play the game. But it wasn’t any variation she’d ever seen or played or even practiced before. Certainly not the Murderball she was familiar with. That torchlight was not coming from torches, for instance.

Yes there were men and women scattered about the playing field, and yes there were ones throwing balls at the others trying to avoid being hit. The exercise did seem similar enough to the reps that she was accustomed to, although there wasn’t any team play per se.

And these players, they were wearing some kind of armor, a mix of metal plate and some kind of chainmail. Not to mention helmets that just about entirely covered their heads. Why?

That was what made her eyes go wide as she watched these players in action.

They were throwing balls that exploded into flames on contact. Some kind of seriously flammable liquid filled them, because when they missed, the fire would spread all along the walls and over the sands and onto the players, who were quickly doused in water after becoming human torches, even if they weren’t directly hit. They were throwing balls filled with Greek fire at each other!

“Oh My God! What the hell have you gotten me into?!” she yelled at Devon. “You didn’t say anything about being burned alive!”