With all the additional matches being fought that evening, admittance to the enclosure was limited, meaning Amero had only been able to take Bautisto in with him. It meant Bryn had to sit in the crowd with the other spectators, but he was enjoying the experience—the Amphitheatre was such an energising place it was difficult not to get carried away by the excitement. The early arrangement of the exhibition match did not prove to be premature, as Mistria had achieved his one hundred and twenty-five points the week before it was due to take place. He had rounded up a half dozen proponents of different styles, the plan being to fight them one after another in a gala spectacular. It sent a tingle down Bryn’s spine to think that in a few moments he would watch a close friend step out into the Amphitheatre, the greatest of all the arenas in Ostenheim, perhaps even the world, and face one of the greatest swordsmen to have lived. Mistria had already fought a Mirabayan, a Ruripathian, and an Auracian by the time Amero’s turn came.
