Louis stood there for a few moments, undecided. Then, a surprising note of wisdom came from the wolf.
The wolf had been quieter of late, seeming to understand he was not needed. He also wasn't very familiar with human customs and had little advice to offer. Even so, wolves did have a form of honour between pack mates. As Louis mulled it over, the wolf offered the opinion that, since Louis agreed to the proposal last night, he was duty bound to uphold it, no matter the consequences. The Orc agreed. Orcs had almost no sense of honour, but he did at least understand kinship among brothers. So Louis decided to follow Warwick's advice and went to practice swings in the courtyard.
There was little activity there at this time of day, most of the guests out working or sightseeing, and people were unlikely to disturb an armed Orc as it was. Thus, Louis had the space to himself. At first, he felt a little foolish, swinging the sword around at nothing. But he soon got a feel for it. It really did feel good in his hand. Louis wondered now if it was this specific sword that felt so natural or if any sword would have done.
Though he had never had any training at all with sword-fighting, he soon found he was correcting his technique. Knees bent. Weight on front foot. Thumb on blade. Before long, he found he was looking forward to the real thing. And not just the Orc part of him.
Warwick returned an hour or two later. He smiled to find Louis practising. 'You're still up for it, then?' he said.
Louis nodded.
'Great!' said Warwick, with a sigh of relief. 'Let's go to the arena. And, um, you can't go like that.' He made a vague hand gesture at Louis's entire body.
With little encouragement, the Orc stepped back and Louis felt his body deflate. He watched, this time, as his muscles and fat withdrew into himself, as his body hair thinned and disappeared, as his skin paled. He could just glimpse his nose shrinking and his tusks pulling back into his mouth. It turned out Warwick's ingenious loincloth only worked one way and Louis just caught it as it began to slip from his hips. It had been perfect in the warm sun all morning but now he suddenly felt very bare outdoors, even though it covered more of his skin at this size.
'Perfect,' Warwick smiled as Louis re-buckled the belt. 'Don't want to reveal our secret weapon just yet. Let's go.'
Louis followed Warwick through the white, stone streets. It felt very different than when he had done it the previous day. His bare feet burned on the sun heated stone. Now, most of the people were taller than he was and he could see no further than a few feet ahead. Nobody gave him a wide berth any more, and he was shoved and jostled as he struggled to keep up with Warwick.
He caught glimpses of passers-by staring at him. Some were smirking, others scowled. They could tell where he was headed and it seemed they didn't think much of his chances.
The street grew steeper and Louis realised they were heading towards the centre of Stonewater. The bright white castle towered above them, but before they reached it, Warwick ducked left into an archway. It was flagged by two giant warrior statues, one in armour and wielding a sword, the other in a loincloth like Louis's, swinging a club.
Through the arch was a long, dark tunnel. Not far from the mouth was a wooden table, where a stern looking man was making marks on parchment. Beside the table was a large, wooden platform suspended from a rope.
Ahead of them, speaking with the man, was another combatant. He was many heads taller than Louis and twice as wide. His mean face and thick muscles were decorated with war paint. He had no weapon, but rhythmically pounded his fists together. The man at the table directed him to stand on the suspended platform. The moment he put his weight on it, it sunk to the stone floor with a thud.
'Heavy class. Fight ten. Through the door,' said the man and the combatant ducked through a small alcove, vanishing.
'My brother is entering,' said Warwick, stepping up to the table and yanking Louis with him.
'Name?' barked the man.
'Louis Ward.'
They exchanged gold and the man made more scratches on his parchment.
'Light class. Fight fourteen. Through the door.'
Warwick blinked. 'You don't need to weigh him?'
The man looked Louis up and down, his lip curling into an unkind smile.
'I think we can be certain which class he is. Through the door.'
Warwick patted Louis on the back and pushed him towards the alcove. Louis paused as he was about to step through and looked back. Warwick held up an encouraging fist. Louis went through. He did not need to stoop at all.
He found himself in a long, narrow passage that curved so he could not see the end. The only light came from the regular doorways on one side, each one opening to a small chamber. They seemed to be waiting rooms, many already occupied by fellow combatants. Some putting on armour, others swinging weapons, yet others simply sitting and meditating. None of them looked as nervous as Louis felt.
When Louis found an empty chamber, he entered, sitting on the stone bench. Gloomy sunlight spilled in from a small slit near the ceiling. Louis wondered if he should practice more, but remembered in this form he couldn't even unsheathe his sword. So he just sat and waited.
About every ten minutes, a young boy ran past the doorway, banging a gong and loudly chanting the number of the fight that was due, starting with number one. Louis waited through thirteen more, each one seeming to come more quickly than the last, until it was finally his turn.
He rose and continued along the the curved corridor, wondering if he might meet his opponent on the way. He didn't. At long last he came to the end, where it opened into another large tunnel. This time, it was the other end that led into bright, white sunlight. Louis could hear distant sound of a chanting crowd. Cautiously, he stepped toward it and out into the light.
The noise hit him at once. Rows and rows of people rose up around him in rings, each layer carefully carved out of the same white stone. Louis was standing in the sands of a wide, round arena, sunk into the ground so that the edges were too tall and smooth to climb out of.
His opponent had not arrived yet. As he stepped further into the open, a few people applauded half heartedly and he heard a few giggles. The laughter grew as it trickled through the crowd.
Louis felt himself go red, not with shame, but with anger. They thought him a joke, did they? They thought he would lose, did they, even before seeing his opponent? All his doubts and fears vanished. He was going to show them how wrong they were. Perhaps he would get his third kill that day.
The applause doubled as Louis's opponent entered the arena. Louis looked to see who it was.