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The challenger stabbed the end of his staff at Mathin, attempting to scorch his face.

Without looking at his footing, Mathin shifted onto another post, delivering a wicked low swing that came close to cremating the warrior’s hope of future pleasure.

If he was shaken, the man didn’t show it, coming back with a deadly rain of blows. So swift was attack and counter attack that Andrea couldn’t follow, could only tense in rising panic. Arcs of fire painted the gray morning, leaving a tracery of lighting over her vision. How could they see?

A gasp rose from the crowd as the challenger suddenly flipped backward, coming to rest with perfect control on a pillar.