“Dress, hurry!” Johnis dashed to the line of battle dress and quickly shrugged into a red cape.

There were three things that all Forest Dwellers held in the highest regard, things Thomas of Hunter, their supreme commander, reminded them of often: their ferocity in battle, their gentleness in love, and their enthusiasm in celebrating at the end of a long day of both.

The celebrations consisted of all forms of song, dance, and the spinning of tales. And playacting brought it all together.

“Is this for real or is it a game?” Silvie asked.

“This, or that?” Johnis indicated the crowd’s roar from beyond the walls.

“That,” Silvie said.

“Killing for mere sport seems a bit barbaric, but this is the Histories.”

“Then this costume is ridiculous. Are we doing this to blend in or to fight? Because it won’t help our fighting.”

“I have no intention of fighting,” Johnis said, pulling on a metal helmet. “Hurry.”

Silvie threw on a cape like his, then a large metal helmet that covered her head like a gong. If they did get into a fight, the first order of business would be to ditch it.

“Good,” Johnis said, looking her over. “It’ll slow them down.”

“And us,” she said.

“Just till we get out of here.”

He led her quickly through the armory. Leather and metal fighting dress. Knives and mallets and swords. Enough armor and weaponry to outfit a whole division.

Silvie snatched up a sword and spun it in her hand. A long steel blade with a handle formed from wood. Not the best craftsmanship, and the blade was duller than she liked, but the balance was decent. For the first time since entering the fireball called Las Vegas, she felt a measure of confidence.

Johnis grabbed a sword and rushed forward without bothering to scrutinize it. Silvie had spent some time showing him the finer points of swordplay, and he was improving rapidly, but the lust for battle wasn’t what made Johnis great.

He tried a side door, found it open, and ducked in. Silvie followed him into what turned out to be a small white room with half a dozen stall doors and a row of white stone basins. Mirrored glass hung on one wall, reflecting them in their red capes and helmets.

“A bathroom.” Johnis’s voice echoed.

“Clearly.”

They stood undecided for a few breaths. The guards would now be coming through the armory. They were running out of time. Only one reasonable option.

“Hide!”

Silvie was halfway to the row of stalls when the main door pushed open. A man dressed in black slacks and a black shirt with a face that looked too long for the tuft of hair perched on its crown snapped at Johnis. “Enough heaving, man, it’s getting started.”

Then he saw Silvie, who stood facing them both. A grin twisted his white cheeks. “Oh, I get it. Save it for later, man.”