FSE

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Marek hated working these remote assignments. Far removed from any civilized towns, these places were lawless at best and had the uncanny ability to attract any form of low life within a hundred leagues. If a business had any but the smallest of dealings here, there was a sure bet it was somewhere on his never ending list of things to investigate for the realm. Very little grew out here, and very little of that was even remotely useful, let alone edible. It was a harsh life for anyone that called this place home.

He still had rations for another week's time, and he was doing well in conserving his water. He knew the carriers would be coming through here, hell they had to be. The whole reason this settlement sprang up was due to the water source found several years ago. The territory was technically part of the realm, though this was contested by the neighboring country of Sidon. As a result, neither of the two kingdoms which could lay claim to the lands actually did so. There were several so called autonomous regions along the border, this one being the most recent. True enough, there were legitimate reasons for traveling this route, but it would be costly. Anyone entering the settlement would pay a base tax for just passing through. The more one paid, the longer their safety was assured by the ruling faction. Another fee for leaving and you'd be on your way to your own devices. This system worked well enough in keeping order within the settlement's boarders, anyone foolish enough to break the rules would be lucky to die within a day. The unlucky bastards lasted a week, sometimes longer depending on their condition and how sadistic their punishment was to begin with.

Marek lay motionless covered mostly by the cloak he'd spent days working on. Getting the color just right in order to match the hues of the barren landscape was a long practiced art on his part. From this distance, he'd be indistinguishable from the environment. Hell, even a mage scrying the area would pass him over unless they were explicitly looking for him in the first place and already had a general idea of where he was. The only movements he made were to shift the spy glass if something caught his attention.

He hadn't spotted either of the two people he was looking for, but he did know they'd pass this way. Prior to the settlement, only caravans large enough to carry the needed supplies could make the journey across the wastelands. His targets were single riders and their horses would need food and water at the least. They could also just buy a fresh horse outright, trading the old one plus a bit of coin, and he wasn't sure if both or just one would do this in an effort to keep their pace. Both men had a reputation that would keep bandits well away. Sure, gather enough people and even the strongest person would fall eventually, but bandits worked with odds, and being counted among the dead was the most likely result of tangling with either of these two runners.

Marek focused his spy glass across the horizon, several travelers had made their way into the town already, most probably wanting little more than to get out of the dust and sand the wind kicked up, but_this_ was interesting. The glint of metal had caught his attention, and sure enough someone was enjoying making a show of themselves. That it was one of the wolf clan was surprising as demi-humans were exceptionally rare in these parts. Barren lands surrounded by human domains weren't exactly the sort of places you'd expect to see any of their kind. This one traveled with an entourage just as ostentatious as the overly ornate shield and sword he carried. The thick gray fur was immaculately groomed and he was casually chatting with the other members of his group. Marek spent a moment going over who this might be, but his knowledge of the area was specialized to his assignment of dealing with the smugglers. If neither of them showed over night, he'd venture into the town in the morning. He'd been there several times, mainly for gathering information about the surrounding areas and a bit of gossip from the locals, but hadn't been in the town in over two weeks for fear of missing his mark. The time frame for the shipments had been set rather long, nearly a month from the reports he'd read. If something was happening in the town, it could impact their plans, and thus his own may need to be changed.

He was safe enough riding the streets. He paid only the basic fees for entering and leaving the settlement, cultivating the idea he was just someone without extravagant means who wanted to remain lost and nameless. Since he hadn't paid for the benefits of protection, three attempts had been made on his person, each ending exceptionally badly for the would-be assailant. Dealing with the bandits near the settlement made sure both the attacker and target were known. The last of them was at least of middling skill and fairly disliked, this would be enough to deter most others from making an attempt.

Marek shifted his attention back to scanning the distance. The wolf and his group were leisurely making their way toward the settlement. Whatever business they had, they were of sufficient status to not worry about being accosted and were obviously in no hurry. His own targets would be far more discreet in their movements.

* * *

By morning, Marek wanted nothing more than some warm food and a bed for a few hours, and maybe a chance to wash up. He needed to look like little more than a poor bastard, but looking dirty and disheveled didn't require him to be downright filthy. A few coins spent at the inn would take care of these and the chances of his targets arriving at this time were slim.

His horse was an old nag, cheaply acquired and impossible to scare. The thing was old enough it probably didn't worry about death anymore and being slow wasn't an issue for his needs. If he did need something faster, he'd be able to buy a mount in the settlement, or steal it if absolutely needed. The horse's mane was fully gray with age, and it plodded along at a measured pace toward the main road. He'd stashed his supplies in a few locations, not that many people traveled outside the main roadways, but if someone did follow him or happened upon his supplies by accident, he wouldn't loose it all in one go. The rocky terrain of the wastes offered little in the way of resources, but there were many places where one could hide things or take shelter from the midday sun.

The guards, such as there were at least, were fairly alert. No doubt they just started the morning shift, it was only a bit after daybreak. The men were decently armored, if only for show, and carried spears imbued with a lightning enchantment. For anyone without a battalion at their disposal, assaulting the guards would be suicidal. More than half the population here would slit the throat of a close relative if it meant gaining the favor of the rulers, and the same was true for avoiding their displeasure.

Marek pulled the horse to a stop, holding out the coins which totaled to the entrance tax. The horse would be glad to be at the inn's stables, a bit of extra feed and a watering trough would see to its contentment while he tended to his own needs. The horse continued on its way, slowly, through the nearly empty streets. Most of the locals weren't the type for early rising, save for those whose business demanded it. The innkeeper would be up, any rooms free could be rented for cheap since he'd only be a few hours at most and out well before the checkout call.

The stable hand had seen him a few times, and since he paid his bill up front, he was welcomed with a tip of the man's rather large brimmed hat. Anyone working outside learned quickly it was best to carry your own shade with you. Even as autumn approached, the glare alone would be enough to induce an insufferable headache. "Mornin'. The usual for the horse?" Middle aged and fairly slim, the man fit the description of the majority of laborers here. He had probably worked with horses his entire life given the slow and steady movements he made even around this old nag. Whatever he'd done to land himself out here, Marek didn't know, and so long as the horse was properly handled, he didn't care all that much either.

"Yeah. Gonna be here for a bit. A few hours at least, maybe more," Marek ended the statement with a non-committal shrug before swinging one leg over and stepping down off the stirrup. He took his saddle bag and pack just after dismounting. There were some materials he had to keep close at all times and his persona for this mission would keep what little he did own close at hand. Besides, the horse would be happier without the extras.

The horse was led to one of the few empty spaces at the trough. There were more mounts than usual, several belonged to the wolf's entourage based on what he saw yesterday. He had noted a marked increase in people arriving at the settlement and not quite as many leaving. Whatever was happening, it was drawing a crowd and that meant far less chances for a free room. Marek sighed to himself, if not a proper room then maybe a short stay in the stables would be possible. Either way he'd find out soon enough.

The inn was rather large owing to the fact that it was the only one in the settlement. The building was of fairly decent construction though it was built with function rather than form in mind. A set of large double doors adorned the front of the building and a smaller side exit led directly into the stables. The bottom floor was typical inn fare. A main dining area with ample seating and tables was at the front, the kitchen and storeroom were in back along with the owner's quarters. Multiple guest rooms took up the second floor, most with only enough room for a bed and nightstand. The inn did have a few rooms with extra space, though these commanded a higher price.

Marek pushed the door open, hauling his bags through the side doors before nodding at the innkeeper, "Any rooms?"

The portly man looked up from the counter at the noise, "Haven't seen you around in weeks." Marek merely shrugged at the observation. "Nothing open today, but a few should free up come morning. You can pick your table though." The space was empty save for the two of them, but some of the early risers would be wanting breakfast before much longer.

Marek nodded, "Baths open?" Adjacent to the outhouses were a couple of bathing stalls. Use of these would cost extra, the water had to be loaded by hand after all and the inn doubtlessly paid the town for whatever was drawn.

"Yeah, one is. I can have it ready in a bit. It'll cost a bit more since you're not in a room." Nothing ever came free.

"That's fine. How much for a plate, the bath and a hour or two in the stable loft?"

The innkeeper shook his head, "Tell you what, an even five marks and we'll heat the water too."

Marek was being charged quite a bit more than what he'd usually pay, but with the scarcity of rooms, the innkeeper probably saw a chance to make a bit extra. Fair enough, he wasn't in the mood to haggle. "Sure. I'll take the bath first." Marek placed five silver coins on the counter.

"Ness, get the second bath full and heated."

* * *

"Mister, you got ten minutes in the tub. I'll leave a towel here so you can dry and I expect you out by five minutes after that so fifteen total." The woman always gave Marek a stern look and this morning was no different. The innkeeper's wife was famous for her strict demeanor, at least among the people he talked to. In fairness, she dealt with drunks more often than not, it'd sour anyone's mood.

Once he was alone in the stall, he slid the bolt across to lock the door then stashed his bags between the tub and the wall. In truth, it was probably a bit paranoid. If someone did force their way in he'd be in no real position to defend himself or his property, but it never hurt to use extra caution.

After he got undressed he checked the temperature of the water. It wasn't cool, but it wasn't exactly hot either. If someone was reluctant to leave in the allotted time, they'd get pretty cold doing so. The soap was simple fare, basic lye crafted from ashes and a bit of oil added. The tub would need a bit of a rinse by the time he was done. The water was cloudy just from his entering and it only got worse as he scrubbed.

At the very least, he was clean and there should be food ready when he got out. With so many people at the inn, there'd be plenty of conversations during breakfast and this should net him at least a bit of information. A hard knocking at the door jarred him from his thoughts, "You've got five minutes left." The innkeeper's wife was being very particular about the time, the other customers would probably want to use the baths and they might be paying better too.

Marek toweled off quickly then pulled his bags out from behind the tub. He'd brought a change of trousers, socks and an undershirt. The overshirt and long dark gray coat were just as dusty as ever, as were his pants. A quick shake of each got most of the loose bits off, the floor could be swept quickly enough to not cause too much hassle. His boots and hat were the last to go back on, and just under the five minutes he'd been allotted.

Marek slid the bolt back and stepped through the door. On the other side he was greeted by a rather impatient glare from the infamous Mrs. Ness. She already had a broom in hand, but didn't fail to give an exasperated huff once she saw the tub and floor.

In the short time of his bath several of the inn's guests had made their way down for breakfast. He laid claim to one of the corner tables, others picked spots near the windows for lighting, or just to be a bit closer to the counter in case they wanted something extra. The serving girl brought a plate and mug to the table and flashed a brief smile, "If you need anything else, just ask." If he remembered correctly, she was a relative of the innkeeper's, a niece maybe. He never did catch her full story, but she seemed pleasant enough as she passed from table to table. More importantly, she was engaging with the customers and conversations sprang up around her.

It wasn't long before he had the information he needed. First, the wolf was a fighter of some notoriety in the area going by the name of Graveshold. This settlement had its own arena, if you could call it that, where bets and drinks flowed freely. In remote places like this entertainment usually came in the form of some type of blood sport between beasts or people. The wastes didn't offer much to live on, but there were plenty of creatures with horrendous dispositions that would tear into whatever faced them when cornered. The local favorite for a little over a year was a creature known as the Lizard and the wolf had traveled here to slay the thing. Some speculated the match was arranged by the arena's owner in an attempt to drum up more business. Others thought Graveshold wanted the fight as a matter of pride. He was billed as a beastman, regardless of how inaccurate the label was, and his status as the best beast fighter was questioned with the winning streak this Lizard was racking up.

He'd ordered an additional two ales to prolong his time at the table. An added tip with each drink kept the serving girl happy, paying tables were welcome after all. What he hadn't decided on was how the runners would react. One of them had a fondness for gambling and this would prove an ample opportunity to engage in the sport, but he didn't know as much about the other. The fight was scheduled for the evening, and there'd be a steady stream of people coming for the occasion. This made his task all the more difficult as there was a good chance the runners would simply meld with the crowd, both entering and exiting the settlement with the mass of people as cover. His best chances would be to spot either of them at the arena. He knew both of their faces well enough, and once spotted he could commit their clothes to memory making it easier to pick them out from the crowd, or if he could get close enough, he could mark them. Regardless of his success in spotting the runners, he'd duck out shortly before the fight ended. Either way, he had to intercept at least one of them after leaving the settlement.

* * *

Marek stretched in the loft, his bags buried in the hay where he'd feel anyone tampering with them. It wasn't overly restful, people kept trying to board their horses even with the lack of space and were arguing with the stable hand when being turned away. More than a few scoffed at the fact that his nag had a space but there wasn't room for their prized mount. In truth, the inn was just cheaper than trying to find space at the main stables and they didn't want to pay the additional cost. There were a few other places where one could board their horse, but these commanded a price beyond even the stables. The stable hand had just gotten rid of one such customer as Marek leaned over the loft, "Seems like a busy day."

"Mister, you've no idea." It was all the man could do not to curse at the dry remark, "And it'll get worse. Always does when a big name shows." He turned to pull a brush from the basket on the wall.

"The wolf fellow, Graveshold. He really that big a deal?" A slightly questioning tone entered his voice. Might as well feign interest at the get go.

The stable hand shook his head before turning his attention to the closest horse, "Personally, don't care one way or the other. Most folks been yammerin' about it for a while now, so I recon so."

Talk of the event must have spread fast when it was first announced. He'd been well outside the town when the news broke, but the match was already known both in and outside of the settlement. "I heard some of it at breakfast, but couldn't catch much."

"Recon you're not missin' out unless you like that sort of thing." All the while the man had been brushing the horse meticulously. "But you bein' here got the owner an extra bit on the space, cause it's full everywhere else. Ten times more than you paid."

Marek shrugged, "Guess so." He drummed his hands on the boards, working out how to proceed. He couldn't carry the bags with him, and couldn't leave them on the horse either. What he could do was take the important bits with him. "You up for making a bit on the side?"

"If it's something funny, nope." A flat out refusal from a very even tempered man.

Marek pulled his signet ring and a couple of small vials out from the bags and stashed them in two inner pockets of the coat. The rest could be lost without causing any real problems, "Nothin' funny. Look I can't keep them bags with me is all. You let 'em stay here till I get back from the fight and I'll give you that horse."

The man looked up at the old nag, it hadn't so much as moved save chewing on the feed. "It ain't worth much, so why?"

Marek gave a sly grin, "There's gonna be big bets on that fight, so chances are more than a few are gonna lose big. One of those fancy horses will help cover the bet, and whoever loses will need something to get home on. Hold the bags for me here and sell the horse for a good price. I'll take my luck at the fight, and may even be buying it back myself. Just tell the owner it's a gift and tie it up out back."

Marek could see the man weighing his options, but either way there wasn't a loss. "Nothin' funny 'bout them bags?"

Marek shook his head slowly, "Not a thing, you can check yourself. They're just nice bags is all."

The stable hand finally just shrugged, "Fine, stash 'em back far. I'll be here workin' anyways, just you be back by midnight."

"I'll see you then." Marek stashed the bags back and climbed down the ladder. "You want me to take it out back?"

The stable hand patted the nag on the rump gently, "Nope. She can stay here till folks get a bit more desperate. Always someone too big and important shows an hour before the show starts lookin' for a place for his horse. She'll hold the space till then."

Marek nodded then headed off towards the arena.

* * *

Gods was he glad he hadn't been here before. The place was every bit as he imagined it and then some, but it wasn't as if customers paid for a clean seat in a polite setting. This was a fighting pit, complete with bloodstained walls and the smell of piss, booze, and lost money. The place was a bit smaller than an average warehouse, but the pit had been dug down deep and reinforced with metal walls. No one could climb them and the bars would keep anyone, or anything, from escaping back the way they came. The place had a basement, the pit would be about level with it floor wise, it's just that the pit didn't have a ceiling while the rest was hidden from view.

Your view of the action was determined by what you paid to get in. Pay enough and you'd be standing right on the pit's edge. Directly below that was a railed platform for guards and the trainers set against the steel walls, then finally the pit floor at the very bottom. Above the pit's edge were several rows for standing room and then some seats circling that area. Marek paid just enough to get in and sat at the top of the raised seats far in the back. The seat was cheap by the standards of the other customers, but it gave him the best view of the entire arena and as an added bonus, the stench of the place wasn't as pronounced. He hadn't expected quite so many people this early, but the best seats of each section were being taken quickly and the standing area was already full.

He sat back, leaning against the wall and stifling a yawn. It'd be a long wait, but there wasn't much else to do apart from scanning the crowd. He'd already stopped by the stables and chatted with the owner there. It took a bit of dealing, but the man let go of a fairly decent mount that someone had left behind, the implication being the person was dead and wouldn't be back for the horse. It was one less thing he would need to deal with when leaving.

There was, of course, an under card of sorts to the event. Things started out with a one on one duel, two people had decided to settle their feud in the arena and in a permanent fashion. Neither one was particularly trained, nor well equipped. Marek guessed the arena provided the gear for the two, one selecting a heavy two handed sword, the other a short sword and shield. The announcer did his best to sell the contest, and a few bets were placed if only for the sole purpose of goading the idiots on. Jeers from the crowd sprang forth as the two started swinging wildly at each other, drowned out only by the loud clangs when the two swords connected or when the longsword came up against the shield.

He didn't particularly care who won, all he was focused on was keeping an eye out for anyone that could have been either of the two runners. Eventually the heavy grunts and yells from the contestants gave way to a pained scream as the one with the longsword scored a lucky hit catching the other fellow on his sword arm. The blades weren't particularly sharp, but dull or not, it broke the man's arm while cutting it through to the splintered bone just above the elbow. The crowd erupted in a combination of cheers and laughter, eager to see the end of the contest. In the minutes that followed, the shield was eventually knocked aside and the man was practically bludgeoned to death, his screams ceasing abruptly at a particularly hard hit to his neck. The victor of this gruesome display gave the limp body a few more strikes for good measure, venting whatever animosity was between the two before throwing the blade down and pumping his fists in the air as if he'd accomplished something grand. The crowd, of course, loved the enthusiasm.

The night wore on in this fashion, Marek looking for his targets and largely ignoring the fools shouting at the other fools fighting each other. At the end of a contest, he'd make a cheer or two, if anything to keep himself blended with the crowd. Far back and quiet, he'd look like someone intently watching the action in the pit.

There were very few things that surprised Marek, he'd been through some rather unique times during his service to the realm, but three things happened in quick succession. First, the mark that loved gambling pushed his way to the front of the crowd standing around the pit. The man was hooded but just his presence was enough intimidate anyone standing in his way to the pit's edge. In a brief moment of luck, the lighting shone off the walls illuminating his face from under the hood.

Second, the "Lizard" made its entrance and the crowd roared its approval. The announcer provided the thing's introduction, but he wasn't listening to a word of it. Marek hadn't counted on a single demi-human being here until he spotted the wolf and his entourage the previous day, but here was one of the Saiyou, commonly called dragon kin by the few humans that knew of them, and it obviously wasn't here of its own accord. This complicated matters, greatly. Marek hadn't ever seen one in person, but their description matched the angry creature perfectly. It was armed with a short dagger, little more than a basic knife really, though it had a compliment of teeth, claws, and a long thick tail that tapered off at the end held nearly straight out. It stood somewhat hunched compared to how a human fighter would stand, but a human fighter didn't have a counter balance that whipped around with sudden movements either.

The third thing that surprised Marek was the entrance of the wolf, Graveshold. While the demi-human did have a bushy tail, it wasn't nearly as weighty, nor as long as his opponent's. What became clear by his stance and mannerisms was that this wolf was raised, and more importantly trained, by humans. His size, power, and endurance made him a natural at dominating human fighters. Biology and a fair amount of training would put him above most anyone, or anything, which made a living in the pit. There was a problem to this, humans generally fought in the same way. Give a soldier a sword and shield and they'd be used similarly across nearly any battlefield. The same was true of beasts. An animal would fight and protect itself similar to others of its kind. True enough there were exceptions, people that specialized in some exotic style that bordered on art, but these weren't fighting in some forsaken hellhole in the middle of the wastes. What faced off against the wolf was neither human nor beast and so it'd fight nothing like those.

Graveshold was sneering at the Saiyou, Marek barely heard the last of the taunt over the boisterous crowd. Beastking of the pits indeed, he thought to himself. The wolf ended its taunt by pointing the sword directly at his opponent's head. Gravehold was right in one way, he was king of the pits, or at least the arenas within easy travel distance, but this merely made him the largest fish in a very small pond. Pluck the fish from it's tranquil waters and throw it into the turbulent waters of the world's oceans and the situation changes. Sharks, and worse, live there. Graveshold was staring into the jaws of one such shark, but lacked the broader experience needed to know it.

Marek looked for the nearest bet taker, fishing out twenty heads from his coat pocket. He kept these as emergency funds, and if by some chance he lost them then so be it. He caught the man's eyes and smiled while holding out the golden coins, "I'll take twenty on the Lizard." The man took the money, slightly confused by the large amount for someone in this section, and after examining each coin wrote the amount and victor on a slip before stamping it with the signet ring on his left hand. Marek took the slip with a slight nod in the way of thanks and stored it back in his emergency funds pocket. At three to one odds, he'd walk away with a tidy profit at the end of the night, provided he could make it back.

Having finished up with the side business for the night, Marek focused on the runner standing at the pit's edge. While Mareak was by no means a mage, he was capable of performing a few smaller workings and had a clear line of sight on the man. Marking the person himself would be felt in an instant. Marking anything that could be easily discarded, say the hood or the shirt would also be unwise. He settled for the sole of the man's right boot. A few words uttered under his breath and a small motion mostly concealed by the loose arms of his coat and the working was done. It was a bit of a gamble, but the man seemed fully absorbed by the two in the ring. With any luck, he wouldn't notice the small mark that appeared on the outer edge of the boot heel. If the man did sense anything, he didn't show any signs of doing so.

Marek put his attention back on the pit. The Saiyou was looking up toward the trainer's area, searching for something, or maybe someone. From this distance it was hard to track exactly where it was looking. He'd read that the Saiyou people lived mostly in small tribes and varied in both build and color. Those living in the realm inhabited the marsh regions of the far east, about as far removed from this place as you could possibly be. Perhaps it'd been brought in from one of the neighboring realms. Not all human kingdoms recognized demi-humans as people, some treating them as little more than monsters with the ability to speak. This Saiyou was a spotted light gray and while not quite as large as the wolf, was larger than an average human. It appeared to have clusters of scales, though not regularly spaced and mostly going along the back of the Saiyou's head and down it's spine. He'd have a better look after the fight and his other business were both done.

The Saiyou's face was expressive, though it was fairly lizard-like in shape, it's mood was reflected in similar ways to a human. Marek could see the questioning look as it's eyes locked onto something, followed shortly by a scowl before it turned, angrily toward the wolf and hissed its displeasure. Depending on what the Saiyou spoke, he might be able to figure out where it came from and how to get it back, but that was if it was willing to talk at all. He did know a smattering of the demi-human's common language, but nothing of the individual people's tongues.

There were lighter streaks around its snout and arms with a few in other seemingly random places. If he had to guess, these were probably scars. If they were received as part of what happened in the ring, or by the human handlers afterwards, he couldn't tell. The Saiyou might've even been a warrior for its tribe, it certainly held itself like one. The wolf was always in its field of view, even as the Saiyou was scanning the areas above it. Now, though, Graveshold had its full attention.

The announcer called for both fighters to ready themselves, the wolf clashed the ornate sword and shield together in a show of bravado, he certainly knew how to raise the excitement of the crowd. The Saiyou continued its hissing, though Marek was certain words were intermixed. It didn't sound like the common dialect he had learned, but there were probably things about the wolf meeting its ancestors or something of the sort. The gong was sounded, signaling the start of the battle. None but the Saiyou knew how it would play out.

Marek had to read on all the known demi-humans in the realm in case his assignments brought him into contact with them. Some of the demi-humans lived and worked in the human cities. Their unique skills and abilities allowed them to do certain tasks with ease. Take the Fen, or fox kin, as an example. They excelled at detecting pest rodents in crop fields. A Fen could actually hear the little creatures burrowing with those large triangular ears of theirs. Give them a good wage, a spear, and a bag and your fields would be cleared without resorting to more destructive means and in good time too. Marek had learned a bit of the demi's common from a Fen of the realm that called himself Vince. The agent had worked with him a few times over the years, and both decided that Marek being able to listen in on the conversations around was a great idea. Most humans had little reason to learn the language, so the demi-humans would speak freely around him. This was also where Marek honed his skills at hiding any sort of reaction. Vince would inevitably lead conversations in all manner of embarrassing directions, usually involving Marek in some way or another, and he'd had to sit and act like nothing was being discussed about his person in the slightest. Even when being glanced at in rather appreciative ways by more than a few vixen.

From the books he read, the Saiyou were highly a reserved people. They traded with the other demis, and even the human caravans which passed close enough to their territories, but for the most part they kept to themselves. When there had been clashes, the only descriptions the books offered were that the Saiyou were exceptionally fierce fighters. Even with this foreknowledge Marek was stunned into silence just as the crowd around him had been, his jaw hanging open.

The Saiyou had hunched low, it's haunches bunched tighter than any spring as it hissed at the wolf. At the sound of the gong, the wolf shifted its stance from showmanship to the business of fighting. Well, at least he was in the process of doing so. The Saiyou sprang forward, the primary three toes on its hind feet scoring deeply in the sand as it lunged with a speed beyond human. It moved faster than anything Marek had seen before, a gray blur of enraged reptile. Graveshold was caught off guard as well, the space between the two combatants evaporated in an instant.

Had the wolf been ready at the start, he'd have been in a proper defensive posture and might have weathered the initial hit. The Saiyou had spun, knocking the shield with its large tail. Had a human done this, there'd have been more time between the initial hit and the follow through, given that a human would need to make a full rotation. The Saiyou followed with only a half turn between the tail connecting and the dagger's strike. It was over before the gong's sound fully died down. The tail had the force of something akin to a roundhouse kick which pushed the shield across Graveshold's body. It had actually turned the wolf in the sand. To the his credit, the shield had remained in his grip, but this feat had it's own drawback. With his shield blocking his own sword arm, the wolf could only stare, briefly, as the dagger's blade sank deep into his neck. The Saiyou used its tail to brace itself against the sand and delivered a two legged kick square into the midsection of the wolf.

Graveshold hit the metal bars with a sickening thud, blood pouring out from the vicious gash in his neck and the punctures from the claws that pushed through his stomach. The pristine gray coat soaked red before the wolf fell to his knees, dropping both sword and shield. The Saiyou stared, still holding the dagger which had been wrenched free during its kick as the wolf breathed his last. The arena remained silent as Graveshold finally tipped forward, sprawled across the sand.

The Saiyou dropped the dagger and hissed at something in the trainer's area. The crowd erupted, but angry shouts could be heard from the guard area. In moments the guards had drenched it with water and their spears were put to use in subduing the so called Lizard, its angry hissing and snarls eventually silenced by the lightning contained within the spearheads. The announcer was doing his best to call out the events of the fight as the limp form of the Saiyou was dragged away from the pit through the barred gate from which it had entered minutes ago.

It took a few moments for Marek to collect his thoughts. His target was just as shocked as he was, though Marek had at least one up on the runner. He held a winning ticket, his mark had bet on the wolf.