Arena

CHAPTER 10

TREMBLING WITH FEAR, URIAH LAY UPON THE floor of the audience chamber, cursing the fates that had made him such a creature of contempt. He well understood the role he was doomed to play. Though born with the ability of controlling the mana, he was born stunted as well. He had thought that as he learned to master the mana he could thus somehow gain respect, but it never came. There had been a time, an all-so-brief time, when it had been different. But the lure of power offered by Zarel had been too tempting to resist. To be captain of fighters rather than a lowly fighter whom the others never understood.

Others called him crafty, a sneak, a lickspittle of the Grand Master. He saw it simply as survival. He was captain of the fighters, to be sure, though there were some in his command who had more powers than he. Zarel had elevated him thus for one reason only-he could be controlled, and he cursed himself for knowing that cruelest of facts-he would tolerate any abuse that others would have long ago rebelled against… simply because his life had been one of abuse since the day he was born.

The room was deadly silent, the guard of warriors, secretaries, and court hangers-on frozen in place while Zarel struck Uriah yet again.

“You should have anticipated this, damn you! Didn’t any of you think that they might try a rescue through the sewers?”

“My lord, the sewer gate had been barred shut years ago and set with traps. It was thought to be impossible.”

“Well, it wasn’t, damn it!”

The dwarf said nothing, emitting only a low grunt of pain when Zarel kicked him before turning back to his messenger, whom he had dispatched to the House of Bolk.

“Has Kirlen sent a reply?”

The armored warrior lowered her head and said nothing.

“Damn it all, what is it?”

Zarel looked as if he would raise his hand but the messenger looked up at him coldly. He stood, hesitant for a moment, and then savagely kicked Uriah once again.

“Did she say anything at all?”

“My lord, she told you to perform an action upon yourself which is physically impossible,” the warrior replied slowly.

Zarel looked at the warrior, sensing that there was a certain defiance in the woman’s tone.

“Go on.”

“She declared that the one-eye is now officially a Bolk and that as such he is granted the right of the brotherhood to immunity from prosecution for crimes committed prior to his acceptance.”

“Get out.”

The warrior came to her feet, bowed low, and then strode out of the room. Zarel watched her go, realizing that he had suffered a tremendous loss of face. First off, the mob was now firmly on One-eye’s side, they had a hero to worship who they felt was one of them. Worse, though, his own people were now suspect. The lock had been oiled and there was the chance that one of his own people had done it. He had killed the prison guards out of hand for their failure and now his warriors were upset over his fit of temper. His magic fighters were growing restless, angered at the humiliations hurled upon them by the mob. Even though several hundred of the crowd had been killed to quiet them down, he could sense that his own fighters were now upset, the lower ranks even fearful, for several of them had been killed during the day of rioting which had ensued.

And tomorrow Festival would start and half a million of them would be brought together in one place. If something triggered them, the results could be disastrous. Some offering would have to be made to quell the mob and win them back. Though he hated to consider it, he knew he would have to dig into his treasures to buy them off.

“Send in the captain of my catapulters when you and I are done. I’ve thought of something that might be amusing for the Festival.”

“Your catapult captain?”

“Just do as you are ordered.”

Zarel turned away and for a moment Uriah thought he had been dismissed.

“Uriah, is there any chance we can get at One-eye between now and Festival.”

The dwarf looked up and came to his knees.

“I don’t think so, great lord.”

“Why not?”

“Jimak, Varnel, and Tulan are all bribeable. Kirlen is not. There is only one thing she wants and that is your power and the path to being a Walker. Nothing you can offer her other than your own power would be sufficient and she sees in One-eye a means of causing embarrassment, perhaps even of throwing the mob against you.”

Zarel looked down at Uriah.

“Sometimes, Uriah, I think you are too smart.”

“Only in service to you, my lord.”

“Why?”

Uriah hesitated.

“You are my lord.”

“Not sufficient.”

Uriah lowered his head.

“Because the others would never take me in.”

Zarel laughed coldly.

“The traitor of Turquoise, the one who fed me all the information while wearing their colors and unbarred the gate for the Night of Fire.”

Zarel smiled and looked down at Uriah, who squirmed uncomfortably.

“Who is this One-eye?” Zarel asked as if directing the question at himself.

Uriah looked up at him, saying nothing.

“You wore their colors for years, do you remember him?”

“No, Master,” Uriah said quietly.

“Get out of here.”

Uriah scurried away, barely avoiding a kick that was aimed in his direction.

As he closed the door he looked back at Zarel.

Who is he? the Grand Master had asked. Uriah smiled and limped away to nurse his bruises of the body and of the heart.

“You played good joke.”

Garth smiled, forcing himself to stay awake as Naru poured another round of drinks. The giant looked over the side of the table at Hammen, who lay passed out on the floor of the feasting hall, and laughed.

“Old man weak and now he stink bad,” Naru laughed.

Garth tried to nurse his drink along, his head swimming, wishing that he had control of one of the rare spells of curing drunkenness.

“Oh, but that bad trick you play on Naru.” The giant looked down into his drink and shook his head.

“Sorry, but if you remember, we were fighting at the time.”

Naru looked over at Garth and his eyes narrowed for a moment as if he was struggling to decide whether One-eye was a friend or not. His features finally relaxed.

“You beat Grand Master and return my spells. You still my friend.”

Garth nodded, having gone through this discussion more than a score of times in the last several hours. Naru started to pour another drink, looking at Garth sadly when he realized that his new friend was not keeping up.

“Too bad I’ll beat you at Festival.”

“Of course.”

“Naru hear people say Grand Master will declare final fights to be to death.”

Garth stirred and looked over at the giant.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, Naru have friends. Grand Master do this more and more to make mob happy.”

“Why don’t you and the others refuse?”

“Can’t. Grand Master is Grand Master of Arena. When in arena can’t say no.”

“What about the House Masters?”

“Oh, they make good money from it, pay back of contracts, so they happy.”

Naru chuckled.

“Besides, Naru like breaking bones. Get many spells and mana from fallen, even though Grand Master keep part.”

The giant looked back at Garth and sighed.

“Too bad I must break your bones. I think I still like you.”

Naru raised his goblet to drain it, the movement setting off an inertia that kept the giant moving backward so that he fell off the back of his stool. He crashed to the floor, emitted a single belch, and passed out.

“One-eye.”

Startled, Garth turned to see Kirlen, the House Master of Bolk, standing in the doorway. The woman was bent over with age, hair long since gone from white to a sickly yellow, her wrinkled skin hanging loose on her face as if it had already lost hold upon the bones of her body. Her black robe clung to her slender frame as if she were a skeleton held up only by the staff she leaned against, holding it with both of her gnarled hands.

Garth slowly came to his feet and she motioned for him to follow her. Garth looked down at Hammen, who was sleeping alongside Naru, and realized that there was nothing he could do to rouse his friend. Moving carefully, so that he would not fall down, Garth stepped out into the corridor and walked behind Kirlen as she shuffled down the hallway and turned into her private quarters. The room was overly heated from a roaring fire and she went over to it, extending her hands and rubbing them. Garth looked around at the sparsely furnished quarters, which seemed almost like a monk’s cell, with nothing more than a cot and a desk piled high with books and scrolls. The four walls, however, were lined with bookcases crammed to overflowing. The room smelled musty, ancient, and somehow dangerous.

“Naru can be tedious, especially when he is drinking,” she said quietly.

“He’s interesting enough.”

“He’s an idiot. One of those rare savants who can barely empty the proverbial boot of its contents but somehow able to control the mana with remarkable ease. Someday soon he’ll get killed.” She pronounced her prediction with casual indifference.

She looked back at him and smiled, revealing a row of blackened stumps.

“I disgust you, don’t I?”

“No, my lady.”

”And suppose I asked you to share my bed?” she inquired, pointing to the narrow cot and cackling softly.

Garth said nothing.

“No, the Benalish woman, or Varena of Fentesk, with her golden red hair, now that would be different.”

She turned away for a moment and he almost felt a sense of pity for the flash of pain in her eyes.

“If you have the power I think you have, why don’t you rejuvenate yourself?” Garth asked.

She laughed, her voice breaking into a sigh.

“Ah, then I would have you, wouldn’t I?”

“That is not the question I asked,” Garth replied.

“Do you know how old I am?”

“I’ve heard rumors, my lady.”

“I lost count of the rejuvenations centuries ago. I lost count of the spells, the potions, the amulets that I burned upon dark altars. Each time I was made young again, but inside, inside one can be young but once. Youth is innocence on the inside as well as on the outside. No matter what spells I use, that innocence comes but once in a lifetime for all of us.

“Each time you turn back the hourglass you never quite gain back what you had, you lose a day, a week, a month. There are limits to the powers of this plane and I reached them long ago. Oh, I can live on for centuries yet to come, but only the Walker can grant me back my beauty and my passions.”

She paused for a long moment, looking into the fire. “Or by being a Walker myself.”

“And he will not grant it, and would most definitely block you from becoming one.”

She looked back at him, her eyes filled with a cold rage.

“You know, there was a time, a time so long ago I can barely remember it, when Kuthuman the Walker and I were lovers. How he praised my beauty then, how he pledged eternal fidelity to me.”

She cackled and then spit into the fire.

“And then he turned away as I grew older and could not reclaim my charms. He forgot such things and became consumed instead with other passions. To pierce the veil, that was all he desired.”

“He promised to take you with him, didn’t he?”

“How did you know that?”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

She stirred angrily.

“Who? Who says these things?”

“The Grand Master has it whispered about by his agents,” Garth replied softly.

“Damn him forever.” She poked the fire with her staff so that a sparkling swirl of flames soared up the chimney.

“So he forgot you in his moment of triumph, didn’t he?”

The old woman looked back at Garth as if he had spoken too much, bringing into words the humiliation of her heart.

“I helped him, you know, I helped him down through so many long years.” She pointed to the bookcases and the piles of dusty scrolls. “It was I who learned the paths and the spells, and the incantations to bridge the planes.”

“So why don’t you go yourself?”

“The mana. It is the mana which gives one the power to control magic in this plane. It is the mana as well which has the power to open the doorway into other realms when one knows the hidden path. I knew the path, but it was he who controlled the mana.

“He tricked me. On the Night of Fire he betrayed me as well.”

“The Night of Fire?”

“When Zarel stormed the House of Turquoise, murdering their Master and stealing their trove of mana. I was betrayed as well.”

Garth said nothing, his features calm.

“That means something to you, doesn’t it?’ “I heard the stories,” Garth replied.

Kirlen smiled.

“Yes, I helped him. I agreed not to object, not to rally to the side of Turquoise in return for the door to be opened for me as well.

“The following morning he was gone and Zarel was the new Grand Master.”

“Why did he betray you?”

Kirlen laughed coldly.

“Why not? The gateway to limitless worlds was now open. And with it the power to take anything he desired. Even now he strides the universe, conquering, stealing, pleasuring himself. What need had he of an old hag whom he had once loved when they were both young. He can have anyone now and love is nothing but a hindrance.”

She looked back into the fire.

“I learned that long ago, One-eye.” She turned and looked over at him and then hobbled across the floor, drawing closer so that her fetid breath washed over Garth.

“This is the final face of love,” she hissed. “This is the final face of loyalty, of honor, of glory, of vengeance, of all that is living. It is this,” she said, and, laughing, she pointed to her sagging folds of flesh, yellowed hair, and toothless mouth.

“So why the sudden loyalty to me?” Garth whispered in reply.

Kirlen drew back and laughed.

“You humiliated him. Even now Zarel trembles. Perhaps he fears for his power and his life. For that I thank you.”

Garth bowed low, struggling to keep his balance and to keep his mind focused, for there was more. He could sense there was far more.

“You’re of the House of Oor-tael, aren’t you?”

He looked back up and could feel the power radiating around her, coiling outward, fingers of light probing toward him. He tried to force an inner calm as she reached into him.

He could feel her eyes probing into him and he was startled by the power of it, for she was almost as strong as the Grand Master. He felt a lash of rage as her probing slowed and then finally stopped, unable to reach into the very core.

“You’re strong, One-eye.”

Garth said nothing, not daring to lower his guard.

“I think you are strong enough that if I tried to challenge you to a fight, you could actually harm me.”

Again he was silent. Her thoughts withdrew and he struggled not to sag down from exhaustion and drunkenness. He realized now that Naru’s actions were at her behest, to keep him awake after all that had happened and break him down with drink and simple exhaustion.

He looked at her and smiled.

“I can be of use to you,” he said softly.

“I should kill you now.”

“You know the mob is behind me. The Grand Master might hold power as a holder of mana but not even that power can control half a million who will be sitting in the arena come tomorrow. I am of Brown as well and that power reflects upon you. That can be of use to you.”

She smiled, her lips trembling.

“And suppose you are of Turquoise? You would have reason enough for vengeance upon me given what I just told you.”

“If I wanted such vengeance, I could do it now.” He flicked a finger toward the bookcases.

A startled cry escaped her and she started to bring her hand up.

“I would be a fool to burn them, for then we would fight here and now,” Garth said, lowering his hand and looking back at her.

She looked back nervously at her books and then again at Garth.

“You have the knowledge hidden within your books. But your path now is through the Grand Master because it is he who has amassed the mana and I suspect will soon have enough to try himself to become a Walker. Kill him and you could succeed to his throne and take all that is hidden within his vaults.

“That is your next step. Do that and the Walker does not care who rules here, only that they are loyal to him and serve his needs.”

“He would know what I desire.”

“Don’t you think he knows what Zarel desires as well, what all of us desire?”

She said nothing.

“Power, immortality, and eternal youth, which only being a Walker can bring. Kill Zarel at the end of Festival and you will have a year to prepare before the Walker returns once again. I dare say that within that year you could gather enough mana to do as you please.”

“How?”

“Zarel did it for his Master.”

Kirlen chuckled darkly.

“You’re goading me not only into killing Zarel, but the other House Masters as well.”

Garth smiled and said nothing.

“Why do you desire to help me?”

“Perhaps you could grant a one-eye immortality as well when the time came.”

“Perhaps I would not need a scarred face when that time came.”

“I’m willing to gamble on that. At the very least there would be room for advancement, perhaps as a House Master or Grand Master myself.”

Kirlen chuckled.

“Revenge and power. I think I might like you after all, One-eye.”

She turned and looked back at the fire.

“You’ve given me nothing all that new. I’ve thought it before. If that is all you have to offer, your usefulness is at and end.”

“I can help you. I could trigger the mob to bring about the Grand Master’s death.”

Kirlen smiled.

“And suppose you win the tournament. You would be gone, to go as a servant to the Walker in other realms. Then what?”

“Do I really want to win?”

“All fighters do.”

“Then why haven’t you done so and thus gained the path in that manner?”

Kirlen laughed coldly.

“I prefer to go in my own right and not as a servant,” she finally said softly.

“If I win, I win and will take the glory. But even in the process of doing that I can manipulate the mob to your favor and perhaps trigger the results you desire. Because that is the final part of the problem. The power of the mana is strong, but when half a million of the city turn against you, even a Grand Master might be overwhelmed. To have the mob on your side is worth the power of a hundred fighters. And if I don’t win, I will still be here to serve you.”

“Of course you will,” Kirlen said with a smile.

“Master.”

Garth opened his eyes with the greatest reluctance. It took several seconds to realize that the room was not actually spinning. The sight of Hammen looking down at him finished it, especially when the old man’s breath washed over him. He half crawled out of bed and staggered to the privy room, ignoring Hammen’s coarse laughter as he knelt over the hole to offer up his last meal to the god of excessive drink.

Cursing and spitting, he came back into the room.

“I’ve laid out a change of clothes, oh exalted Master,” Hammen announced. “I’d suggest burning what you’re wearing now.”

“Shut up.”

“Such gratitude.”

Garth looked at him, bleary-eyed.

“How come you’re not hung over?”

“More years’ experience and, besides, I had the good sense to pass out before you. I must say old Naru is even more impressed with you now.”

“How is he?”

“Down in the steam room soaking it out, where I’d suggest that you head now. Festival ceremonies start at noon and you want to be ready for it.”

Garth stripped down and followed Hammen down to the lower level steam room and went into the swirling mist, finding a wooden bench in the corner. He looked around and, in the shadows, saw Naru stretched out on a bench, snoring loudly.

Hammen came in a minute later with a birch switch.

“Get out of here with that,” Garth snarled.

“Shut up and take it like a man,” Hammen replied as he set to his task with what Garth suspected was a little too much enthusiasm for his work.

“Naru’s really not such a bad fellow,” Hammen said, nodding to the giant, who stirred, groaned, and then rolled over. “We had a long talk this morning. If you could call it talking.”

“And?”

“Kirlen wants you dead.”

“Did he say that?”

“No, but you could read between the lines, as they say. Kirlen ordered him to drink you under the table.”

“I sort of figured that out.”

“She also told him to challenge you then.”

“So why didn’t he?”

“He passed out first. I think you’re presenting old Naru with a real moral dilemma. He’s forgotten about the kick; his brain can’t hold more than one thought at a time. He just remembers the return of his satchel.”

“So if he won’t do it, there must be someone else.”

“Naru’s their best fighter and has been for years. I think she has it figured that you can take anyone else, and besides, she wants it done quietly and to make it look legitimate, a fair grudge match. But it won’t happen until the last day of Festival.”

Garth grunted a reply as Hammen struck him a bit too hard across the lower back with the birch switch.

“Once more like that and I’ll take the damn switch to you.”

“Got to beat the poison out,” Hammen said cheerfully.

“What’s the advantage of killing me then?”

“When, at the end of Festival? Trigger a riot, the Grand Master loses face in front of the Walker, and she eliminates him.”

”You got all of that from Naru?”

Hammen smiled.

“It doesn’t take much to figure out. Actually, Master, I think it’s time simply to get the devil out of here. You’ve had your fun, you’ve bearded the Grand Master, now take your winnings and move on.”

Garth turned and looked over at Hammen and smiled.

“Not yet.”

“Damn it, Garth, you don’t stand a chance. All four Houses and the Grand Master want you for one thing or another. Give it up.”

Garth smiled and said nothing.

“I found out where Norreen is hiding.”

Garth stirred and looked back at him.

“Ah, that got your interest, didn’t it?”

“Where is she?”

“I sneaked out this morning and talked to a couple of lodge brothers. If you want to know anything in a city, make friends with the thieves. They’re up in arms anyhow since the Grand Master broke the code and murdered my friends. The ones who escaped with us yesterday are really spreading trouble. Anyhow, they found her hiding out at the edge of town and are keeping an eye on her. I could get you to her and we could be on our way.”

Garth shook his head and stood up, grabbing hold of Hammen’s hand before the old man could start lashing his chest.

“Enough. Let’s get dressed.”

“Anyhow, if you’re so stupid as to stay, I also found a hiding place for you. It’s right on the Great Plaza.” Hammen paused and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Where the House of Turquoise used to be. It’s the building to the left of the Drunken Dwarfs tavern. It’s a knocking shop.”

“A what?”

“A brothel. One of my innumerable cousins runs the place. He knows you on sight. Just get in there and he’ll take you up to the top floor, which is ours to use.”

“Alone, I trust.”

“If you want it that way.” Hammen sighed.

“Thanks. And make sure your friends keep an eye on Norreen.”

“You’re really taken with her, aren’t you?”

Garth smiled.

“Sort of.”

Hammen cackled and then pointed toward the back door of the steam room. Garth started toward it, smiling as he passed Naru, who was snoring away.

“This heat could kill him,” Garth said and he leaned over to shake the giant awake, but Hammen pushed him on.

As they opened the door Garth stopped at the sight of the pool room.

“This isn’t the way out.” And he started to turn back.

Hammen shouldered into him and Garth, losing his balance, tumbled into the water.

“You’ve yet to get your ice water bath,” Hammen announced calmly as the room echoed with Garth’s roaring curses.

Still cursing under his breath, Garth One-eye formed up with the other fighters of his newly adopted order. Rank on rank they stood, the eighty-seven fighters of the House of Bolk, present for this, the Nine Hundredth and Ninety-Eighth Festival of the Western Realms.

The tension in the audience room was electric as the fighters, resplendent in their brown doeskin tunics, trousers, and leather capes stood in formal ranks of order, their tunic fronts glistening with battle honors won in Festivals past. Garth came into the room quietly, moving toward the back of the four-man-wide column.

“One-eye.”

Garth turned and saw Naru at the front of the line, looking back at him and motioning for him to come up to his side.

“You good fighter, march as Naru’s escort.”

Garth looked over at the ranks and saw that this gesture on the part of the House’s highest fighter had won him more than one additional enemy.

Naru looked back at the other fighters and chuckled.

“He is Naru’s friend, isn’t he?”

Several of the others laughed coldly as Garth moved past their ranks and came to the front of the column to stand to the left of Naru and directly behind the brown-and-gold-striped pennant of the House. Trumpets echoed in the audience room and Garth followed the lead of the others, bowing low as the doors into the private quarters of the Master of the House were flung open to the accompaniment of rolling drums, crashing cymbals, and shrieking pipes.

Garth looked up and could not conceal his amazement.

Fifty warriors, dressed in brown leather armor and helmets, were bearing a massive dais nearly two fathoms across. The platform was ringed with skulls cast from the finest crystal, and set into each of them were eyes of rubies and circlet crowns of spun gold. Atop the dais stood six more warriors and upon their shoulders rested a second, smaller golden platform and throne of silver. Kirlen, however, did not sit on the throne, but rather was hovering above it as if she was sitting upon an invisible cushion, legs crossed, spindly arms folded across her brown and golden surcoat, while above her floated a Kurdasian carpet to act as a sunshade. Resting at the foot of the throne was a golden lockbox that actually seemed to be radiating power. Within it was the yearly tribute of mana bundles from the House of Brown, which would go to the Walker.

Her bearers turned toward the main door and, with the trumpeters lining the corridor blowing a fanfare, the door was flung open. A roaring like an ocean torn by a hurricane thundered into the hallway as Kirlen was carried out into the Great Plaza. Behind her marched a company of Brown warriors, heavily armored, cocked and loaded crossbows at the ready. Next came the servants of the House, bearing flowers, pots of smoking incense, and urns of copper coins to throw to the crowd. Garth watched as Hammen moved in the middle of the procession, a look of disgust on his face as he lugged along a pot of money.

Naru growled out a command and the pennant bearer stepped out from the audience room and into the main corridor. The fighters of Bolk moved forward, already strutting in their pride and arrogance.

Garth marched behind Naru, struggling to hide his disdain for the whole rigmarole. They turned into the main corridor, which was now filled with the sweet smell of incense, and finally stepped out into the blazing light of the noonday sun. As they emerged from the House a thunderous tumult erupted and Garth felt his heart quicken.

The Plaza was packed from end to end with a flood of humanity. The entire city and the hundreds of thousands of visitors, who had traveled from the far corners of the Western Realms and even from beyond the Flowing Seas to witness the fight, were all jammed together. During the night, after the rioting of the day before had been quelled, thousands of laborers had constructed viewing stands lining the procession paths leading to the center of the Plaza and ringing the palace of the Grand Master.

Most of the places were rented to the nobles and well-heeled merchants, so that they could be above the shoving, roiling, stinking crowds. Even as Garth looked around in amazement, one of the viewing stands collapsed and the crowd let out a hearty roar of approval at the downfall of those who thought themselves to be the betters of the mob.

The screaming multitude of Brown supporters pressed in on all sides as the procession made its way into the Great Plaza. The mob around Garth was waving brown pennants or strips of dirty brown cloth, chanting, cursing, hollering, lost in a mad frenzy of joy. As the servants ahead of the fighters made their way through the narrow path held open by ranks of warriors of the Grand Master, the struggling masses pushed and shoved for the copper coins and free admission tickets to the Festival that were being tossed out by the servants. Garth saw an entire urn go tumbling through the air and laughed at Hammen’s effort to be rid of the burden, most likely after filling his own pockets to overflowing first.

“One-eye!”

It was a lone voice but within seconds the cry was picked up and raced through the mob, the chanting rising, swelling, echoing above the hysterical roaring of the cheering mobs who were gathered about the processional paths being taken by the three other Houses.

“One-eye, One-eye, One-eye!”

Garth looked over at Naru, who turned and gazed back at him, and he could sense the fighter’s sudden confusion. The mob had a new hero. The giant looked around and glowered, angered at the fickleness of the mob. Garth moved to stand directly behind Naru and, reaching out, he took hold of the ends of the giant’s cloak, lifting it off the ground in a show of obeisance by playing the role of a servant. Naru, looking back over his shoulder, grinned and returned to strutting. Those closest to the procession, who could see Garth’s actions, fell silent in confusion, but half a dozen ranks back his gesture was invisible and the crowd continued to roar for Garth.

The procession, moving slowly, made its way toward the palace and, as they passed, the mob fell in behind them, waving their pennants and cheering. At the edges of Bolk’s procession crowds following the House of Fentesk to the left and the House of Kestha to the right brushed against the supporters of Bolk. Fights started to break out between the rival groups, the brawls adding to the general aura of celebration and excitement.

Each of the four processions came into the central part of the Plaza and now the Masters of each House started into their shows. Sparkles of light appeared above the processions, clouds formed fifty fathoms overhead and lightning bolts flashed across the Plaza. Dragons of light soared through the air and for a moment an Ingkara dragon wrestled with Fentesk’s, the crowd screaming with delight when Fentesk’s dragon exploded. This nearly triggered another brawl between the supporters of the two Houses until Ingkara, following the rules of the procession not to engage in any displays of conflict, caused its own dragon to disappear in a puff of smoke, thus ending any direct challenge of power.

Directly in front of the great pyramid-shaped palace of the Grand Master the four processions finally came together and marched before the front of the palace. Tulan of Kestha floated atop a gray cloud, flashes of lightning dancing around him, illuminating his presence with an unearthly light. Varnel of Fentesk appeared to be riding on a pillar of fire that flared around him, and Jimak of Ingkara rode astride a coiling funnel of wind, which howled and whistled, the pennants of his followers whipping over their heads, the miniature tornado catching up hats and flinging them high into the air to float back down.

Garth caught a glimpse of Varena at the head of the Orange column of fighters, moving with a cool, almost languid, ease, and for a brief instant she spared him a quick glance and then looked away. The turmoil of the hundreds of thousands jamming the Plaza was at near fever pitch, and for a moment Garth sensed that in fact all semblance of control was about to break down into a wild bacchanal of rioting.

And then, as if from high overhead, a clarion trumpet note sounded, cutting through the insane roaring. The note changed into a chorus of trumpets that echoed up and down, counterpointing each other in a wild, minor-keyed harmonic. Great drums rolled, booming with a deep, insistent rumbling, joined in by the thundering chords of an organ, the sound magnified and echoing back and forth across the Plaza. A hidden doorway, halfway up the side of the pyramid, slid open, and a golden shaft of light streamed out. The fountains about the palace, which had been stilled until this moment, leaped to life, soaring fifteen or more fathoms into the air, the geysers directly in front of the palace catching the light coming from the pyramid and breaking it into a rainbow stream of colors. Puffs of smoke burst out around the top of the pyramid and booming explosions erupted, caused by some frightful alchemy, while yet more streams of smoke soared upward, detonating into multihued bursts, followed by yet more thundering explosions that caused the mob to scream with fear and a wild ecstasy of abandon.

A cataclysmic volley of explosions wreathed the top of the pyramid and then a great flag rose up out of the smoke, unfurling to reveal the shimmering, rainbow-hued pennant of Zarel Ewine, Grand Master of the Festival and Arena, Most High and Exalted Ruler of the Western Realms, and Mortal Legate of Kuthuman, He Who Walks in Unknown Places.

The crowd, which only the day before had fought against the Grand Master, started to cheer, caught up in the abandon of the moment, as if all were forgiven. A shadow darkened the stream of light bursting out of the pyramid and then, as the trumpet, organ, and drum fanfare reached a mad crescendo, the Grand Master appeared, floating out of the opening in the pyramid as if he was riding the beam of light, which haloed and silhouetted him in a celestial fire.

As the last echo of the fanfare and thunderous explosions died away the hundreds of thousands in the Great Plaza fell silent. The Grand Master remained motionless and then, as he slowly extended his arms outward, almost as if preparing to offer ritual challenge, and even though the gesture was one of a noble greeting, an uneasy murmur raced through the crowd.

Zarel remained motionless. Below him a balcony of gold slid out from the side of the pyramid and he floated down, landing lightly on his feet. As he did so the four House Masters did the same, though Garth could detect a slight defiance in Kirlen, who stopped just short of alighting and waited until Zarel was standing like other mortals. She remained hovering for several more seconds and then came to rest upon her dais. Her gesture was not unnoticed by Bolk’s supporters and a ripple of applause raced through the crowd, counterpointed by catcalls from the rest of the mob and, surprisingly, some shouts of approval as well.

Zarel waited for a long moment, his gaze fixed upon Kirlen as if preparing to offer a rebuke. He finally turned slightly, as if to ignore her instead. Garth waited, sensing the subtle interplays, Kirlen defiant, with the slightest hint of support from the other three House Masters, which transcended, for the moment, their mutual hatreds.

Garth looked back up at Zarel and saw that the Grand Master was now staring straight at him and he could sense as well the barely suppressed rage, the man struggling with the temptation to order a massacre if need be in order to get at him.

Garth let the slightest of smiles crease his features and he bowed with a mock disdain. Again, the mob standing at the edge of the lines of fighters saw the interplay and, again, there was a smattering of applause.

Zarel remained silent, his features turning crimson. To those farther away the interchange was not visible and the long delay was becoming tiresome. A restless stirring swept the Plaza. Zarel looked away from Garth and back out across the Plaza and the crowds fell silent.

“Today is the first day of Festival!”

A numbing explosion of cheers erupted across the Plaza, so loud that Garth felt as if sound had almost taken physical form. Looking around him he saw the arrayed fighters were being swept up in the excitement, eyes wide, breath coming in short gasps, some of them raising their arms in an involuntary gesture as if already within the fighting circles.

Zarel rose up and floated off the high dais, lightning swirling around him, and again there was the trumpeting, the drums, the high minor chord shrieks of the organ. He came to a hover above a great platform sheathed in solid gold and resting on great wheels that stood as high as two men and which was drawn by half a dozen mammoths in harness. With a hundred trumpeters sounding a fanfare, the head of the procession started off while yet more explosions erupted overhead. A solid phalanx of warriors marched in formation around the Grand Master’s juggernaut-like dais and the mob pushed and shoved to let it pass, with more than one unfortunate falling beneath the feet of the mammoths or the great grinding wheels of the platform.

Behind him came Ingkara, marching in the place of honor, since it was one of their own who had won the last Festival and thus gained the honor of being the chosen servant of the Walker. Behind them came Fentesk, for placing second, then Kestha, and finally Bolk. The great mob surged around them as the procession made its way across the Plaza. A stampede erupted as the spectators rushed down the side streets, streaming ahead of the procession to form up at the gates of the arena.

The procession skirted past the vacant spot where the House of Oor-tael once stood and Garth, sensing that he was being watched, looked up to see Kirlen turning and gazing back at him. He lowered his head in respect, half expecting yet another lashing probe, but there was none.

The procession reached the great thoroughfare that led from the Plaza and down a long, sloping road for a thousand fathoms to the gates of the city. Every rooftop was crammed with spectators, the colors of the mob now intermingling, the supporters of the four Houses cheering themselves hoarse with excitement as their favorites passed. And yet again a chant arose…

“One-eye, One-eye, One-eye!”

Garth lowered his head and yet still the cry echoed around him. For a brief moment he looked up and there was a flash of dark hair and stained leather armor on a rooftop, and then she disappeared.

The procession finally reached the gates of the city. The heat under the noonday sun was intense, even for this autumn day, the air thick with smoke, incense, dust, and the smell of unwashed bodies. Dozens were passing out now, falling, those around them robbing the sunstruck. Great barrels of wine and beer were opened at nearly every street corner, with mugs full of drink going for a copper, the cheap brews inflaming the mob to an even wilder hysteria.

Garth breathed a sigh of relief as the procession of Bolk warriors finally passed under the gate and, for a brief instant, the noise and sun were blocked out. As the procession emerged out the other side, Garth finally saw the arena below and he felt his blood quicken.

The arena was built into a natural, bowl-shaped valley just outside the city gates, just to the south of the harbor, which was crammed with shipping. The fighting area measured over three hundred fathoms across, the entire circumference ringed with seats that rose up for over a hundred rows, providing seating for more than three hundred thousand spectators. On the sloping ground that stretched from the arena up to the city wall hundreds of thousands more who could not get tickets were gathered to watch the spectacle, though all they could hope to see was the struggle of antlike creatures far below. Already the sloping ground was jammed by the mob, while down below in the arena, those who could afford seats were already streaming in and filling the stands.

As the procession made its way down the hill the cheering within the arena rose up to greet them. The head of the procession finally turned and went beneath a high-arching gate and stepped out into the center of the arena and the multitude roared with an insane frenzy, so that Garth felt as if he was facing the attack of a demon howl. The arena was clearly divided into four areas, marked by the fluttering pennants waved by the spectators. The procession, still led by Zarel, moved across the center of the arena floor and then broke in four different directions, each group of fighters taking positions in front of the sections of the arena reserved for its supporters. The fifth section was on the western side of the arena, directly beneath the tote board, which would show the odds for each of the fights. Here would sit the nobles and well-heeled merchants, as well as the fighters and warriors of the Grand Master, where they could catch the afternoon breeze wafting in from the sea. Directly in front of this section, out on the edge of the arena floor, was the high throne reserved for the Grand Master of the Arena, Zarel Ewine.

As the Brown contingent of fighters reached its section Garth breathed a sigh of relief. The formation came to a halt and then broke ranks to take seats in a shaded viewing stand resting on the edge of the arena floor. The procession had done nothing to help his still-throbbing hangover. The howling of the mob echoed back and forth in the arena, intensified, it seemed, by the heat, swirling dust, the smell of unwashed bodies, and the thick, heavy scent of greasy food cooking in hundreds of stalls that lined the top ring of the stadium.

Again there was the fanfare of trumpets and, surprisingly, the mob settled down almost instantly, a silence for which Garth was immensely grateful.

Across the far side of the stadium Garth saw the antlike figure of the Grand Master step forward, while from out of a tunnel set into the side of the arena came a procession of hooded monks bearing a great smoking brazier. The mob sitting in the arena came to its feet and Garth looked around to see that his fellow fighters now stood with heads bowed.

The Grand Master approached the brazier, raised his hands, and the flames leaped heavenward, black smoke coiling straight up into the sky, spreading outward on the faint wisp of a breeze coming in from the sea.

“On the third day of Festival shall come the Great Walker of Realms Unknown to take his tribute and the fighter chosen on the arena floor.”

Zarel’s voice, enhanced by magical powers, projected to the farthest ends of the arena, washing over Garth like a wave.

“In three days’ time let us find the fighter who shall be worthy to be known as servant of He Who Rules over All!”

“So be it!”

The reply was roared out by half a million voices, but Garth stood silent, except for the faintest of curses escaping his lips that was lost in the wild insanity of screams.