Then again, there was that “beat him to a pulp” thing.

Elyon, by the mercy of the Roush, save me, he pleaded, referring to the stories of the white bats that had once protected them from Teeleh and the evil Shataiki bats. None had been seen in thirteen years, but some said the shrieks of the black bats could be heard in the desert night.

The legends didn’t matter at the moment, but Johnis could use a miracle. Some of the power of old.

A little magic, maybe.

But there was no magic. Not here, not now. There was just him with smelly Horde hair wrapped around his bare, sweating belly.

How had he managed to get into such an absurd situation? Quick thinking could save your life or end it, Thomas was known to say.

Johnis was the king of quick thinkers.

Billos swung around, gazing at the crowd and wearing a grin. “I must say, I have to agree. It’s all become a bit boring and sick to me as well. Some fool has gone off and hidden the ball and won’t give it back. Fine, let’s try something else. All those who think that the fool who is hiding Thomas’s Horde hair ball should give himself up, step forward and be counted.”

Without pausing to consider precisely why it made perfect sense, Johnis stepped out. It did make sense, of course. Perfect sense. The best defense was always an aggressive offense. So said Thomas Hunter.

Billos faced him. “Good, one boy who knows the meaning of honor. A small boy without much meat on his bones, but more courage than the rest. Is he the only one?”

Almost as one the entire first row of onlookers stepped out to form a ring around the stadium.

Billos glanced at Darsal. “Check behind them.”

Darsal took off in a jog, running behind the row that had stepped out, scanning the ground and bleachers for the ball.

“This is absurd!” Jackov cried out. “Give me my way and I’ll find you your Horde football, sir.”

Darsal finished her loop and rejoined Billos, shaking her head. No ball.

Thomas studied his fledgling Guard recruits. “I still don’t think any of you are using enough of the muscle between your ears to be counted as leaders. The objective of this entire game was a simple one. You started well, Billos, but have still failed at the objective. Which is what?”

Billos, the seventeen-year-old with dark hair, returned Thomas Hunter’s stare. “To cross the opponent’s goal with the ball.”

“Rules?”

“No killing or intentionally maiming,” Billos said.

“Yet the ball has yet to cross the line. You have all failed to satisfy this objective.” Thomas walked around them, swinging his sword angrily. “You’ve all stood here like idiots engaging me. The opportunities for victory have been countless in these last few minutes!”

Silence.