Malech was set to die by combat, but his captors realized too late that the tigers were a poor choice of first wave. It took Malech five minutes of talk to forge a bond stronger than the whip.
It was a similarly unwise decision to send slowly increasing numbers into the ring – those that Malech’s silver tongue didn’t ensnare were raised by dark magics, the practice of which had led to his sentencing.
Now, a seething horde of jungle cats, rebellious gladiators and moaning zombies broke the walls. Cromnan turned to the Judiciar. “Had to stick by tradition, did you?”