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Arryl knew the outcome, having been forewarned by
Nelk. The skilled fighters had already been picked out by
the veteran gladiators. Two, even three, would converge on
the newcomers while the rest took on the other prisoners. It
might look as if the sides were even, but the experience and
brutal skill of the gladiators would almost immediately turn
the tide in their favor. The crowds would cheer because
most of their favorites would win and no one would pay
any mind to the dead, who were convicted criminals,
anyway.
Sylverlin was grinning with anticipation. Nelk was
eyeing Tremaine with an almost indifferent expression. He
had armed himself with a sinister-looking ball-and-chain
mace that gave him almost half again the reach of his other
weapon. Tremaine was somewhat startled by the change,
and tried not to think of what an accidental blow might do
to him. His only protection lay in a rusting shield, his
sword, and his skill.
The horns sounded their death knell. The gladiators
charged their chosen opponents. They all avoided the
knight, knowing he was reserved for Nelk.
All except Sylverlin. He ran up behind Nelk. Tremaine
shouted a warning.
The elf turned. Sylverlin shot past him, sword ready
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