Warp World by Kristene Perron, Joshua Simpson Page A

over to Viren. “Your move.”
    Viren grunted, passed the ball forward to Swinson, and plowed into Cerd, knocking him flat. The move cost him, as he landed on the injured shoulder, but he used the opportunity to elbow Cerd in the ribs while he was down.
    “Sorry, deckie, honest mistake,” he said.
    Cerd pushed off the ground and skirted sideways. “My sister hits harder than that.”
    Kype rushed toward Swinson like a runaway river barge. Kype was the biggest man on Cerd’s team, a former prisoner of the Secat who bore his three-fingered hand as a badge of honor, a mark that he had never given over to the hated Damiar.
    He charged over Swinson without slowing but now Keer loomed in front of him, a much more formidable opponent. Kype tossed the ball to Wyan, who ducked Viren and shot down the field once more.
    Ama was ready for Wyan this time. She had lingered at her team’s end of the court just for this reason. She had already tossed her rope to Prow and now it lay flat on the ground. As Wyan approached, she sent up two shrill whistles and they pulled the rope taut. Wyan’s trailing foot caught and he fell to the ground in a flurry of arms and legs.
    The ball shot from Wyan’s hand and skittered across the floor as Tirnich pursued it. Wyan rolled out of his crash, wiped off the blood from a split lip on his sleeve and shot Ama an acid stare.
    Call me spawner again and see what happens , she thought, as another whistle went up and the field was reset.
    Tirnich was scoring the bulk of the points for Cerd’s team, so Ama kept her eye fixed on him, waiting for a break in the melee to dash between the players. As she hit her mark, Prow threw out; she grabbed the end of his rope and started to circle Tirnich. A moment later Wyan’s elbow smashed into to her cheek. She dropped the rope and went sprawling to the floor.
    “Foul!” Viren said.
    Ama stood, shook off the blow, dipped her head to one side as if to acquiesce, then leapt forward and tackled her opponent to the ground.
    She had only a moment of surprise on her side, but she used it well, driving her fist into Wyan’s face.
    Wyan tossed her aside. Shouts erupted from watchers. Ama kicked at Wyan as he tried to run over her. Frustrated, he launched a kick of his own at her midsection. It connected poorly but was enough to give him an opening, and he pounced.
    He was on top of her in a breath but Ama hooked her legs around his waist and cinched herself to him. She slipped his punch, grabbed him by the collar with both hands, and snapped her head into his nose. By the torrent of blood that rained on her and Wyan’s sudden howl, she knew she had broken it. She slipped out from under him and stood tall.
    This fight ripped down any remaining veneer of sportsmanship and within moments the scene on the court was not much different than a night in the Alisir Port House.
    Wyan held his sleeve in an ineffectual effort to stem the tide of blood pouring from his nose. “Nod bad,” he said, as he staggered away from Ama and the improvised field.
    There would be no winner, and it was unlikely anyone would care.
    Viren and Cerd, as Ama had expected, had given up all pretense of play and were intent on settling the score between them. Thankfully, they were both already banged up and tired enough that neither could do the other any real damage. She collected her rope and staggered off the field. Experience told her these things settled themselves in their own time. For now, she would get a drink of water, wipe the blood from her face, and give her aching shoulder a rest.
    She had to admit, though, the brawling and cursing were the perfect remedy for homesickness. And, for a short while, since the game had begun, she had been able to think of something other than Seg.

    “I just paid for these people to be medically treated.” Seg groaned. Below him, the players below him crashed into each other. He and Fismar watched the Kenda from an overhead catwalk.
    Fismar had found a