Bleda’s man made the first move, putting his victim in a choke hold. The victim grasped his assailant’s wrist and elbow, and I funneled power. The crowd gasped at the sound of the bone cracking. My champion – not that he knew he was my chosen champion – twisted the screaming victim to the ground. I funneled more strength into Attila’s kick and the man’s head snapped backward at an unnatural angle. Bleda’s two remaining thugs drew daggers and spread out; I checked the crowd for shamans. There were three in the crowd – none of whom gave any sign that they were aware of me. Incompetents! No wonder King Magor’s invasion had ended in failure at the stone walls of the Empire’s Capital. 

The next assailant lunged at Attila. I thickened the air and pushed the assailant’s arm wide. Attila stabbed him just below his sternum. I added strength to the stroke, and Bleda’s thug was lifted off his feet. Attila twisted the knife while pulling it free. He quickly turned to face the final adversary. I smiled while the crowd roared with bloodlust. 

 The final assailant stumbled in his attack, another thickening of the air, and Attila buried his knife in his throat. I did not even have to lend him aid for that. The large crowd surged forward. I checked the shamans again – none of the fools gave any indication that they had noticed any use of magic. I might have been born the lowest of the low, kicked and spat upon by all, but that was going to change. I will shake this unforgiving world to its very foundations before I am done with it. All would know my name and shudder with fear. Today was just the first thread in my weave. I turned back toward my tent on the very edge of the camp as the cheering crowd carried Attila toward the center.