The zombie scorpion is gigantic.

  I remember Darius in the dungeon, clinging to the tail of a live one as if riding it. Well, now add a body to match that tail a warrior like Darius can grab onto. The entrance to the arena is spacious, but the undead barely fits through it.

  As it appears, its dark carapace reflects the dawn light with an oily sheen. Each step of its multiple legs makes the sand crunch under its weight, and its articulated tail rises above the body, ending in a stinger that, if it pierces your head, is more likely to burst it, given that at its thickest section it’s as thick as a head.

  On its back they’ve fixed a structure of metal and leather, a kind of reinforced saddle for its rider. The scorpion stops beside Darius, snaps its pincers with a dry and threatening sound, and for an instant the entire amphitheater falls silent.

  Then it erupts in ovations.

  No one expected this.

  Never, in the history of the arena, had there been a duelist who chose a giant zombie beast as a mount.

  Whitmore’s horse must be very well trained because it doesn’t get scared or try to flee. It simply remains still beside its rider, who, standing, holds its reins.

  There’s a stone platform situated to the east of the arena, an elevated and protected position at an intermediate height between the stone tiers and the ground. There stands a man dressed in a dark tunic with severe lines, cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt and high-shaft leather boots. From there he dominates the central circle without interfering in combat.

  “He has a seal engraved on his belt, but I can’t make out which house,” I comment to Vincent, who’s beside me.

  I have to raise my voice for him to hear me.

  “It’s the royal seal. He’s the arena master. He has several judges under him, but he officiates the arena champions’ duels himself.”

  “Thanks.”

  In fact, the man carries a ceremonial staff in his right hand, made of dark wood, and I think that metallic thing at the bottom is the reinforced tip.

  When he raises it upward, people fall silent, as if by magic.

  Ah... the anticipation. That means the duel is about to begin.

  In fact, the two contenders mount their steeds. The count’s footmen withdraw. Then the master lowers his staff toward the stone platform he’s standing on. The dry, metallic sound of the staff against rock tells me that, indeed, they’ve reinforced the tip with iron or some other metal.

  I’m still hearing that sound marking the start of the duel when Whitmore has already spurred his horse and is charging without hesitation, sword raised high.

  I have to give his horse credit. It’s very well trained. Not just any mount would charge against an undead that doubles it in height, not counting the tail with the raised stinger.

  Darius didn’t respond immediately. He let the scorpion advance with a sidestep, calculating.

  Due to the height difference, Whitmore couldn’t go for Darius, so he tried to cut the leather straps securing his saddle, to dismount him. He coordinated perfectly with his horse, which shifted to dodge both the scorpion’s pincers and its stinger. However, the count’s sword didn’t manage to reach the leather strap. Instead, it struck the carapace, without even denting it.

  Hooves against the ground, sand flying, the black horse neighing as it turned and galloped toward the other end of the arena, where it had been initially.

  Darius has simply remained on his mount, with an enormous smile on his face, so pronounced I can see it even from up here.

  I think I get him. The guy was dead set on riding one of Ronan’s undead and now he’s debuting his own giant zombie scorpion in a duel.

  Makes sense he’d jump to defend the necromancer’s honor. Between Joe saving him in the dungeon and such a gift...

  The count doesn’t seem demoralized and, with expertise, spurs his horse to repeat the attack. His strikes try to be precise, but the horse faces a dangerous rival. I think any other mount would have already ended up split in two by one of those enormous pincers. This one, however, dodges with precision and approaches so its rider can launch his attack. But Whitmore doesn’t manage to hit the leather holding the saddle, and I know that carapace was very hard when the scorpion was alive. Now that it’s been improved as Ronan’s minion, if he doesn’t attack it first with some kind of magic, he’s not going to manage to penetrate, dent, or break it with his sword.

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  Of course, he can’t channel magic into the sword. Only I can. But I’ve seen the two redheads throw fireballs before striking with their weapons. Maybe something like that could work for him.

  As for Darius, he’s not going after him. Seems like he’s letting him be. In the end, it seems the count finally realizes the futility of his attacks and changes strategy.

  He stays at the opposite end of the arena, and sheathes his sword. With one hand he holds the reins. With his right he begins making movements to cast a spell, while moving his lips.

  I look at Darius.

  Why isn’t he moving? Why isn’t he attacking to stop him?

  Several seconds pass, in which I can almost hear my heart beating, as the noise around me has come to a halt. We all know what Whitmore is doing and we all hold our breath.

  Darius simply sheathes his own sword (so it doesn’t fall?) and grips the saddle. Though he’s already anchored to it by straps.

  Then the count finishes reciting his spell. I’ve been able to see yellow mana, the color of air, accumulating in his fingers. It shoots out toward where Darius and the scorpion are. And hits them.

  Darius remains fixed in his saddle, not moving. Right now, I don’t think he can. The problem is that the scorpion, which was still before the stun by its rider’s orders, remains motionless.

  It’s dead. It doesn’t breathe.

  So I have no idea if the stun spell affected it.

  And the count probably doesn’t know either.

  Oh, Darius, I think, you’re smarter than you look. Was that it? You stayed motionless instead of charging the count so he couldn’t tell if his spell affected your mount?

  Because it clearly affected Darius. He’s unnaturally rigid. But the zombie... When does a zombie present any state other than not seeming natural?

  Honestly, I hope it’s not under the effects of CC, but I have no way of knowing.

  Maybe if I ask Ronan mentally...

  No...

  Let’s enjoy the duel.

  (By the way, where’s Ronan? Wasn’t he going to use the duel as an excuse to come to the capital?)

  The count draws his weapon again and spurs his horse to approach his enemy quickly. That means his stun doesn’t last long.

  A murmur runs through the stands. I don’t know if it’s from anticipation or fear.

  The answer is in front of me, when the horse enters the range of the scorpion’s melee attacks and, at full speed, the stinger drops toward it. With a sharp shift, it manages to dodge it. I think it was the warhorse’s reflexes, not an order from its rider. But it can’t dodge the pincers. One of them grabs it by the back, behind where the count is sitting. It lifts the horse high while closing. Blood falls to the sand, and the rider clings to his mount. The pincers don’t fully close. They throw the horse against the stone wall marking the end of the arena and above which are the stands. I hear the sound along with the horse’s cries of pain. I feel the shudder of the rock under my butt.

  The horse is on the ground, agonizingly moving its head and front legs. The lower half of its body hasn’t been separated but I think the spine is severed. Darius seems to still be stunned and the scorpion must have prior orders because, being able to end the duel here and now, it doesn’t. It stays still and allows the count to pull his legs from the stirrups, including the one that’s been trapped under the horse’s weight.

  He looks injured, limping. But since he’s covered by plate armor and a helmet with visor, I can’t see his face. I imagine the helmet saved him from head damage.

  At some point, before he finishes getting up and while he’s still vulnerable prey, Darius recovers from the stun. He moves a bit in the saddle and speaks. With a raised voice, so we can all hear him.

  Something easy, because aside from the horse’s neighing we’re in the middle of a deathly silence.

  “You tried to stun me to finish me when I was helpless. I could do the same now.”

  The count gets up faster. I notice the anticipation in the atmosphere.

  Will this be the end of the duel? With a sword strike or a scorpion blow that makes clear who won?

  It doesn’t happen.

  The count has just gotten to his feet and tries to retreat, limping, without taking his eyes off Darius. He wants to get out of reach of that enormous pincer dripping blood.

  “But that would be boring. These people want to see action.” He raises his sword high and the crowd goes wild, cheering either Darius’s name or with affirmative shouts.

  Karina herself has let herself go and is cheering him with all her vocal power. Darius lowers his sword and silence falls in the hall. Even the horse seems to no longer have the strength to protest its imminent death if they don’t heal it with magic. The count, for his part, has moved far enough away to feel less defenseless.

  “I know your mastery with the sword is superior to mine. Though you’re limping. I think it’ll be a fair duel. Let’s fight!” he shouts as he releases the straps holding him to the saddle and dismounts the gigantic scorpion with a jump, sliding over its carapace.

  Sand rises as his boots impact the ground.

  The redhead doesn’t wear plate armor, but brigandine. He grabs the sword with one hand and takes a few steps away from his mount, which remains motionless.

  My gosh, the crowd is like in a trance, shouting his name. Even Vincent cheers him on. What the hell, I cheer him on too. This redhead is contagious and has a lot of charisma when he does what he likes. Which is clearly fighting.

  I’ve seen him train hard with Catrina and I imagine he’s been doing it his whole life. And now he faces someone more skilled with the sword.

  His excitement, the way he smiles as he advances toward his adversary, are like a song to action, to the sense of being alive, to the fire affinity running through his veins.

  I glance at Karina for an instant. The girl is exalted, doesn’t take her eyes off him, devours him with her gaze.

  I have no doubt that, right now, Darius is for her the embodiment of what her deepest desires seek in a man.

  I smile to myself. Those with high fire magic are so simple...