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The bout they had been waiting for was about to begin.

The first one onto the field was a large, muscular man with flowing silver hair. He came out onto the field with a big, iron trident and a blue cape, shouting at the crowd, who loudly condemned him because he was to fight their champion. He would bellow angrily at the crowd and they would bellow angrily back. Some even began to throw rocks at him, which was quickly quelled by the arena guards. As Poseidon’s Wrath settled into one corner of the arena, Titus made his appearance.

A scream arose that could be heard all the way to Edinburgh and beyond. Titus walked out on the wet field, in his customary fighting garb, complete with his flashy red cloak. He lifted a fist to the crowd in acknowledgement and the money began to rain down on the field. A well-dressed woman in the front row actually climbed over the wall and ran out onto the arena floor, but she was quickly corralled by the field marshals. She screamed for Titus and fainted, promptly carried off.

Titus was in his corner of the arena, removing his cloak before adjusting his gloves as he always did. Whether or not they needed it wasn’t at issue. It was simply something for him to do while stalling the start of the event, time enough for his opponent to be thoroughly demoralized to hear how much the crowd loved him. It was a ploy and always had been, but Titus was brilliant that way. He’d learned to use the energy of the audience to his advantage.

Titus had his head down, looking at his gloves, but in his periphery, he could see his opponent. He’d seen the man in practice, so he had an idea of what he would be facing. The man was big and powerful, but clumsy. He’d seen that right away. He would be no match for Titus’ speed, and Titus wanted to end this as quickly as possible. He wanted to get back to Esme and wait out the night until Ambrose and Conan’s departures were confirmed.

Although he couldn’t see them, he knew they were in the audience, watching him. Of that, he had no doubt. The rain began to fall heavier, and lightning began to light up the sky overhead, peppered with big cracks of thunder. A storm had rolled in, in earnest, and that electricity was feeding the crowd. They were screaming Titus’ name, now pounding on the floor of the lists in rhythm. The sound was deafening. Titus stopped fooling with his gloves and went to the iron frame on the sidelines that held an assortment of clubs.

Although he rarely used a weapon, tonight he was going to make an exception because Poseidon’s Wrath was big enough that he just might not go down with one swift kick to the head. If one didn’t do it, Titus was fairly certain he wouldn’t have a second opportunity. Therefore, he selected a solid club and signaled to the field marshals that he was ready.

He would delay no longer.

Poseidon’s Wrath had a club and a shield, and he charged Titus across the muddy arena. Titus approached him steadily, waiting until the last moment to dart out of the way just as his opponent brought his club around in a blow that would have surely taken his head off.

As Titus moved aside, the momentum of the swing threw Poseidon’s Wrath off-balance. The man tried to turn around because Titus was behind him now, but he ended up falling over into the mud. Titus charged, using his club to deliver a series of heavy blows around the man’s head so he had to lift his shield to protect himself. That left his tender belly exposed and Titus’ last blow was right to the man’s abdomen.

It was a brutal hit.

Poseidon’s Wrath was in pain. He lay there a moment before slowly rolling to his knees. Titus didn’t give him a chance to rise. He jumped on the man’s back, threw the club across his neck, and began to pull. His opponent was in a bad way as he was slowly strangled, and he tried desperately to dislodge Titus, who held fast. It was like riding a wild horse as the man bucked about, but, slowly, Poseidon’s Wrath began to fade. Little by little, his actions lessened until he collapsed onto the ground.

The crowd went wild.

Titus removed his club and pushed himself off the man as the field marshals ran forward to make sure his opponent wasn’t dying. Just as Titus turned for the crowd to decry his victory, Poseidon’s Wrath suddenly came alive and tossed the field marshals aside. Titus was just turning around to see what the commotion was about when a giant fist came flying at him.

Caught in the jaw and neck, Titus went flying.

The crowd screamed with horror as their champion went skidding through the mud, crashing into the wall of the arena. Poseidon’s Wrath roared as he charged Titus, who was dazed from the blow, but not so dazed that he didn’t see the man bearing down on him. As Poseidon’s Wrath bent over to grab him by the throat, Titus rolled out of the way, and Poseidon’s Wrath went crashing, head-first, into the wall.

With the world rocking unsteadily, Titus leapt to his feet, grabbed Poseidon’s Wrath by his long, silver hair, and smashed his head twice into the wall, so hard that he split the man’s forehead. But he did it once more because he was terrified the giant would try to rise up again and kill him this time, so he wanted to make sure he was incapacitated.

Poseidon’s Wrath fell into the mud, this time for good.

Rubbing his throat, Titus backed away from the man as the crowd stood in stunned silence. He continued to back far away as the field marshals once again approached Poseidon’s Wrath, only timidly this time in case the man was playing dead. Titus’ hand still on his throat, he finally raised a fist to the crowd in a show of victory. When they saw this, they began to chant his name, over and over again.

Titus!

Titus!

Titus acknowledged them as Axel came out onto the field. He went to Titus first.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

Titus shook his head, coughing. “I dunna think so,” he said. Then, he rubbed his jaw. “I may have a loose tooth, but nothing that willna heal.”

Axel nodded, looking him over. “I can send a physic to you should you want,” he said. Then, his gaze drifted over to the crumpled opponent. “I must speak to Clegg about these foreign warriors. They seem to think that this is a killing field and we cannot allow that, not for any of our warriors.”

Titus looked over at Poseidon’s Wrath, now on his back. His entire face was bloody from the split scalp. “It isna the first time this has happened and it willna be the last,” he said. “Dunna worry about me, Axel. There’s no man alive who can kill me in combat.”

There was the peacock again, arrogant and confident. Axel flashed a grin at him before making his way over to his opponent to make sure the man wasn’t dead. As the crowd screamed and money continued to rain down, Titus quit the field. As he came to the edge of the arena, Cam and Brody and Galan were waiting for him.

“You survived Whale Dung, did you?” Galan said, a twinkle in his eyes. “I will admit, I had a brief moment of doubt when he hit you with his big fist.”

Titus was unstrapping his gloves. “If he’d hit ye with that blow, we’d be picking ye up in pieces, little lass,” he said, glancing at him. “Yer eyes look well enough now.”

Galan grinned. “They were well enough to see you fly across the arena when Whale Dung hit you.”