Since it was just the two of them—Aida had opted to run last-minute chores in preparation for her departure to the Ash—Vir and Cirayus made good time to the Colosseum.
Despite refraining from using movement arts within the city, their relatively smaller frames allowed them to slip through crowds, and their extensive experience in combat allowed them to weave through crowded streets with ease.
The Aindri, especially, had a hard time of it. Some had bandies as their animal companions, while others rode Ash’va, and even other animals Vir had only seen in the wild. Vir had to thank the clan, though. Without them setting a precedent, he’d have had a difficult time convincing the Tournament staff to allow him to fight with Shan.
The stoic Ash Wolf had roamed off on his own, as usual. His smaller size did him wonders here, allowing him to pass off as a prana wolf to all who saw. Taming an Ash Wolf was considered impossible by all but Saunak, and so nobody even batted an eye.
While Vir needed him to appear for registration, the beast somehow always knew when to show up. After agonizing endlessly over his safety, Vir finally learned not to worry about his four-legged friend. Shan was not Neel—a fact Vir now accepted.
The Colosseum was a sight that took Vir’s breath away. That was saying something, given all that he’d seen in the Ash.
It wasn’t only the sheer size. The gorgeous carvings, inlays, and colorful banners that draped its circular stone walls all combined to form a magnificent building that inspired awe.
Vir hadn’t been able to imagine a building that could house forty thousand demons. Now, he wondered if that number might not even fill it.
Even from afar, its size broke Vir’s sense of scale. Standing next to it… Well, he truly felt like an ant.
“Over here, lad,” Cirayus said, thumbing to an entrance nearby.
On cue, Shan hopped down from a nearby rooftop and ambled up to Vir, matching his pace.
Vir followed the giant through a large corridor along with Shan, sneaking glimpses at the arena that lay inside. It was difficult to see, and soon they arrived at a large wooden door in the hall with a sign that said ‘Combatant Registrar.’
Cirayus entered and Vir followed, finding a spacious square room with a double-height ceiling inside. There were no windows, instead being lit by the amber light of magic tablet sconces on the walls.
The room was bare, except for a large table at the end, manned by a Bairan who was currently poring over an enormous tome.
Cirayus strolled up to the table and cleared his throat, prompting the demon to glance up, then back down, before jerking his head up again with his eyes wide open.
“Ravager! Thought you were dead… Should’ve known better that an immortal like you could ever die, I guess,” said the Bairan registrar at the Ravager’s Den, a grin forming on his face. As with the rest of Camar Gadin, the registrar’s office was similarly large, making Vir feel small and insecure. He’d begun to think the Bairans built their structures intentionally large to achieve exactly this effect when other clans visited.
Regarding the name of the place, Vir had to have Cirayus swear upon his family that it wasn’t a joke. That it was indeed named in his honor, for holding the record of most wins. It wasn’t even close—Vir suspected he’d hold that title for millennia, long after he was gone.
Vir had laughed most of the way to the Colosseum after that, putting Cirayus in a sour mood.
“Not dead. Not immortal, either. Merely training,” Cirayus replied, using the excuse he’d had Raja Thaman spread. Apparently, the Bairan clan lord was a disciple of Cirayus’ from long ago.
Vir’s godfather’s longevity, fame, and influence never ceased to amaze him.
“Training. You?” The registrar snorted. “Adinat help us if you’re still training. Poor fighters don’t have a chance.”
“Well, you never know,” Cirayus replied. “Maybe this time will be different.”
The registrar just stared at Cirayus.
“What?” Cirayus said. “You never truly know…”
The Bairan shook his head. “Ravager, I’d bet my firstborn that you’ll win.”
Cirayus scratched the back of his neck. “Well, er, that’s flattering, but I’d honestly rather you didn’t. Too much pressure, y’know?”
Sighing, the registrar finally opened the large leather-bound tome that sat on his desk. “Registering, then? You’re a bit late, but well, it’s you. Exceptions can be made, considering it’s you.”
“Aye,” Cirayus replied. “I’ll be registering. And I’m registering this whelp as well.”
The Bairan—whose body was not only larger than Cirayus’, but whose arms, chest, and legs all ripped with muscles, was not impressed.
“What, this whelp? Don’t even see any tattoos on him. You sure you want to apply, kid?” The registrar swept his gaze across Shan, lingering only briefly before returning to Vir.
“I do,” Vir said, matching the demon’s gaze. Size wasn’t everything. Tattoos were, and so he’d had Aida inscribe some fake movement art tattoos on his arms and legs. More of a semi-permanent paint than a real tattoo, they’d at least fool anyone who got a glimpse of his limbs.
While Vir intended to hide as much of himself as possible during the matches, combat could very well result in torn clothes. He wasn’t about to take any chances.
“Well, I suppose we can add you as a last-minute entrant, but I’m afraid I can’t waive the exam. Not for him.”
“Oh, I won’t be fighting alone,” Vir said, placing a hand on Shan’s back. “This wolf will be as well.”
“He’s Aindri?” the registrar asked Cirayus.
“He can speak for himself,” Vir said. “And no, I am not. I didn’t realize being of Clan Aindri was a requirement for fighting in the tournament.”
“I meant no offense,” the Bairan said tiredly. “Just… If you’re not Aindri, I think it’d be best if you fought alone. Tournament’s no place for an animal. Not even prana wolves. Trust me, leave your friend behind if you do not wish to see him injured. Even the Aindri lose their pets here.”
Vir stifled a sigh. This wasn’t a situation that could be resolved by shows of force or bursts of Ash prana.
“What will it take to convince you?” he asked.
“Oh, no convincing needed. Just making sure you know what you’re getting into.”
Vir nodded. “I do. Now, about this exam. I assume it’s combat-related?”
“It is,” the Bairan replied. “Can’t just let anyone into the Tournament, after all. Even with the preliminaries, we get far too many applicants. Now, Cirayus has vouched for you, so you get to skip the formalities and the panel review. But you’ll have to participate in a duel. And we’ll need both of you to fight, to gauge your abilities. If your wolf can’t pull its weight…”
“No need to worry,” Vir said, scratching Shan’s neck. He only barely kept the grin off his face. “I think we’ll do just fine.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, let’s have a name, clan, and Guardian Rank.”
“No official rank. And the name is Vaak. Of the Ash.”
The registrar’s pen froze, and this time, Vir did smile.
80
QUALIFICATION DUEL (PART ONE)
Vir followed the Bairan registrar down the halls of the Colosseum, along with Cirayus and Shan.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is finding a proctor right now? Everyone’s up to their ears in preparation.”
“Looks like everything is coming along,” Cirayus commented as a group of Bairans jogged by, carrying boxes and furled flags.
“Yes, well. Turnout is especially high this year, now that word’s gotten out that you’re back.”
Cirayus chuckled. “I imagined that would be the case.”
“Really?” Vir asked. “I’d have thought warriors would drop out when they heard you’d be returning. I imagine their chances of winning are far lower now.”