The sudden clatter of wooden odds boards being hastily wiped and rewritten sent a wave of frantic shouting through the gambling stalls along Eastern Thoroughfare.
Inside the sunken stone amphitheater, sixty thousand spectators packed the perimeter tiers, their collective roar echoing off the high granite walls as the semi-final match was called. Caleb Conway stepped onto the center platform of the dueling pit, his plain gray travel coat unbuttoned and his scabbard resting lightly against his hip. Across the red sand stood his opponent, a heavily armored swordsman named Patrick who served as the premier enforcer for the inner court syndicate.
Patrick wore plate armor forged from refined mountain steel, his fingers wrapped tight around the grip of a broad two-handed blade that gleamed with
