The Shifting Sands

For a long time they shouted and beat upon the door, but no one came. Finally Barda charged at the door in fury, trying to burst it with his shoulder, but the wood was thick, the lock was heavy, and his efforts were of no use.

At last they admitted defeat and flung themselves back on their beds.

“We were fools not to expect this,” Barda panted.

Jasmine was silent. Lief knew that she was fighting panic. For Jasmine, being imprisoned was the worst sort of torture. After a moment she sprang to her feet and ran to the window, shaking the bars and calling loudly to the blank sky. But the wind snatched her cries and blew them away unheard.

“Could Kree fit through the bars?” asked Lief. Jasmine shook her head, but the question had given her an idea. She snatched the cover from her bed and pushed it halfway through the bars so that it flapped in the breeze like a flag.

The second bell rang. Time dragged on. Lief gritted his teeth. How their enemy must be laughing at the ease with which they had been tricked.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door and the handle rattled. They all shouted and immediately heard the sound of a key in the lock. The door swung open to reveal Mother Brightly, wearing a bright red dress and a sunbonnet tied with green and blue ribbons. Her cheeks were flushed and she was very short of breath.

“I was just leaving for the Games when what did I see but one of my coverlets flapping from a window!” she exclaimed. “I could not believe my eyes, and came running at once.”

Quickly Lief, Barda, and Jasmine explained what had happened. The woman listened with many exclamations of horror and dismay.

“Oh, I am ashamed that this has happened at my inn!” she cried. “I hope the upset will not affect your performance. I have told everyone that I think you will be finalists, at least.”

“But — is it not too late?” Lief asked.

Mother Brightly shook her head decidedly. “Not at all!” she snapped. “Follow me.”

Leaving Kree and Filli behind in the room, Lief, Barda, and Jasmine followed the woman down the stairs to the empty dining hall. There she served them food, and great mugs of foaming Queen Bee Cider. “Eat and be strong,” she said fiercely. “We will show your spiteful enemy that Mother Brightly’s favorites are not to be trifled with!”

When they had eaten and drunk their fill, she led them through the training rooms at the back of the inn, along a covered walkway, and into an arena. The Games Opening Ceremony was still in progress, and many heads turned to look at the newcomers. Barda, Jasmine, and Lief lifted their chins and ignored the stares and whispers.

“Good fortune!” Mother Brightly whispered, and bustled away, leaving the companions alone.

The arena was a large, round field of sand surrounded by rows of benches that rose, tier after tier, high into the air. The benches were crowded with people, many of them waving red, green, and blue flags bearing the gold medal that was the symbol of the Games.

The competitors, clustered together on the sand, raised their hands, pledging that they would fight as well as they were able. Among them, easily seen because they were so tall, stood Joanna and Orwen. The scar-faced stranger was there also, not far from where Lief was standing. A ragged piece of cloth was knotted around his neck like a scarf.

Was it protection from the sun? Or to hide a wound made by Jasmine’s dagger in the hallway last night? Lief’s fist clenched as he raised his own hand. All his doubts and fears had disappeared. Now he was only angry, and determined to show that he could not be defeated so easily.

Soon afterwards, pairs of names were read out, and the contests began. The rules were simple. All the pairs fought at one time. Each pair fought until one could no longer stand.

The loser was taken away. The winner, after only a few minutes’ rest, was paired with another winner to fight again, for endurance was considered as important as strength, agility, speed, and cunning.

Lief, Barda, and Jasmine soon learned that the idea of a fair contest played no part in the Rithmere Games. Competitors fought with savage fury, biting and clawing, butting with their heads and tearing at their rivals’ hair and eyes, as well as punching and kicking. Nothing was forbidden except the use of weapons.

The crowd roared, waving their flags, urging their favorites on, hissing and booing those who did not fight well. Sellers of sweetmeats, hot food, and Queen Bee Cider did a fine trade as they wandered up and down the aisles between the seats, shouting their wares.

As more and more defeated competitors left the arena, disappointed and nursing their injuries, the space between the struggling pairs grew greater. Each fight was harder than the last, but Lief, Barda, and Jasmine managed to survive every round.

Unlike most of their rivals they were used to fighting for their lives. They had all learned much since they first met in the Forests of Silence. But even their early training helped them now.

Not for nothing had Lief spent his childhood on the dangerous streets of Del. As Barda had told Mother Brightly, he could dodge and run with the best, and use his wits to foil enemies far bigger than himself. He was young, but because of his work with his father in the blacksmith’s forge his body was strong, his muscles used to working hard.

From boyhood Barda had trained as a palace guard — and the guards were the most powerful fighters in Deltora, only defeated at last by the sorcery of the Shadow Lord. For many years Barda had wrestled and fought his fellows as part of that training. And even during his time disguised as a beggar outside the forge gates he had kept his strength, following Lief through the city and protecting him from harm.

And Jasmine? Small and slight as she was, no one in that company had faced what she had faced, or lived the life that she had lived. Shrewd Mother Brightly had seen the strength in those slim arms, and the determination in the green eyes. But Jasmine’s opponents continually mistook her smallness for weakness, and paid the price.

The sun was low in the sky when the eight finalists, the ones who would fight their last battles on the morrow, were announced.

Barda, Lief, and Jasmine were among them. So were Joanna and Orwen. The other three were a short, heavily muscled man called Glock, a woman, Neridah, whose speed had amazed the crowd, and the scar-faced stranger whose name the companions now learned for the first time — Doom.

“A fitting name for such a dark character,” muttered Barda, as Doom stepped forward, unsmiling, and held up his arms to the cheering crowd. “I do not relish the idea of fighting him.”

Neither did Lief. But he had thought of something that worried him even more. “I did not expect that we would all be finalists,” he whispered. “What if we have to fight each other?”

Jasmine stared at him. “Why, we will decide who is to win, then just pretend to fight,” she said. “As, in any case, we must do for all our other bouts tomorrow. We must let our opponents win, and so avoid injury. We are already sure of 100 gold coins each, because we are finalists. That is all the money we need, and more.”

Barda moved restlessly. Plainly, the idea of cheating to lose offended him as much as the idea of cheating to win. “It would not be honorable …” he began.

“Not honorable?” hissed Jasmine. “What has honor to do with this?” She spun around to Lief. “Tell him!” she urged.

Lief hesitated. He was not troubled, as Barda was, by the idea of deceiving the organizers of the Games, or even the crowd. On the streets of Del, honor among friends was all that was required, and survival was the only rule. But part of his mind — the part that still simmered with anger over the warning note and the locked door — rebelled against Jasmine’s plan.

“Our rivals will know, if we do not try to win. It will seem that we are at last bowing to their threats,” he said in a low voice.

Jasmine snorted in disgust. “You are as foolish as Barda! Will you risk our quest for the sake of your pride? Oh, I have no patience with you!”

She turned her back and stalked away.

That evening the finalists ate together in the dining hall attended by Mother Brightly, smiling and bright in her ruffled red dress. It was a strange meal, for where only the night before the room had been busy and filled with noise, now it was empty and echoing. The defeated competitors, it seemed, had already been sent away. Lief wondered how they were faring, for many of them were injured and almost all without money.

Jasmine was still angry. She ate little and drank only water. “That Queen Bee Cider is too rich for me,” she muttered. “The thought of it sickens me. The air in the arena stank of it. The people in the seats were drinking it all day.”

Barda frowned. “It should not be sold to them. It is intended for use by fighters, who need massive energy, not for those who simply sit and look on. No wonder they cry for blood.”

Just then Mother Brightly rang a small bell.

“One word before you begin retiring to your rooms, my dears,” she said, as all the finalists turned to her. “I want no tricks or trouble here tonight, so I plan to take your keys and lock your doors myself. I will unlock them in the morning immediately after the waking bell.”

There was complete silence in the room. The woman looked around, her plump face very serious. “So sleep soundly and regain your strength,” she went on. “Tomorrow you must show no sign of weakness or lack of purpose. The crowd — well, it is always very excited on the final day. Very excited, indeed. It has been known for finalists who do not perform well to be attacked and torn to pieces. I would not like this to happen to any of you.”

Lief’s stomach seemed to turn over. He did not dare glance at Jasmine or Barda. So this was how the Games organizers made sure that all the finalists tried their best at the last. The crowd was their weapon — the crowd, swarming, acting with one mind, excited to fever pitch and hungry for blood.