ZAREL EWINE, GRAND MASTER OF THE ARENA, looked around at the howling mob which filled the arena.
“Sometimes I wish you all had but one neck,” he snarled under his breath, dropping the power of far speaking so that his true thoughts could not be heard.
The circle of monks lifted up the brazier and carried it back into the tunnel, while a dozen monks, cowls covering their faces, remained behind, standing respectfully to the left side of Zarel’s juggernaut. From the far corners of the arena the four House Masters now approached, this time on foot, for the only magics allowed in the great fighting circle were those of the fighters engaged in the contest and that of the Grand Master himself. Behind each of them were four warriors, bearing between them a heavy gold urn, which contained golden disks with the names of the fighters of the Houses engraved thereon.
He waited, disgusted by the wild howling of the mob and what he suspected was the deliberately slow pace of Kirlen, who hobbled along, resting heavily on her staff. The four stopped at the foot of the great juggernaut and Zarel finally stirred, stepping down from the throne to the fanfare of trumpets and drums.
At the foot of the throne was the ceremonial circle of choosing, a solid sheet of gold several fathoms across which was set into the sand-packed floor of the arena. To one side of the circle the monks stood silent, their cowls pulled up to cover their faces, and before them was placed a silver-inlaid table. Zarel stepped into the circle and the four House Masters followed while the servants carried the urns over and placed them on the table.
Zarel looked at the Four Masters, his cold gaze settling on Kirlen.
“Is his name in your urn?” he finally asked.
“Who?” Her voice was filled with a cold sarcasm.
“Damn you, you know of whom I speak.”
“He is enlisted in my House by the right of my choosing and you may not interfere.”
“He is a wanted felon.”
“He was a wanted felon,” Kirlen replied sharply, “or have you forgotten the rules? No fighter may be arrested during Festival or taken at any time from his House.”
Kirlen looked around at the other three House Masters for support.
“He’s dangerous,” Jimak of Purple replied. “You should have killed him.”
“You only say that because he’s not wearing your color. Besides, you had him and would have more than happily betrayed him to Zarel for what I suspect was nothing more than another golden trinket.”
“I did no such thing.”
“He betrayed all of us,” Tulan interjected.
“Of course he did,” Kirlen chuckled coldly. “But I’m the one who has him now and he’ll fight for me and he’ll win. I think, Zarel, your rage comes from the fact that it will be the Walker who will finally have him and not you. Let him decide what to do with One-eye.”
“You seduced him away from me,” Varnel of Fentesk snapped, looking over angrily at Kirlen. “That was in violation of the rules.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” Kirlen replied tauntingly. “Go over and ask him to come back like a good boy.”
“Shut up, all of you,” Zarel snarled.
“How dare you,” Kirlen hissed. “You might be Master of the Arena, but together we have more power than you.”
“Try it,” Zarel replied heatedly. “Just try it. Without me and the arena you would be nothing.”
“Rather it is the other way around,” Kirlen replied. “You can’t even control one lone hanin. You are a joke and unfit to rule.”
Zarel fixed her with his gaze and then he noticed that the mob had fallen strangely quiet. There was an electric-like tension in the air, as if they somehow sensed that something was going wrong down in the golden circle.
“I’ll remember that after this is over.”
“I hope you do,” Kirlen replied coldly.
Zarel, struggling to control his rage, turned away from the four Masters and beckoned for the monks, who had stood to one side, to be guided over. Assistants approached the monks, while others uncoiled a long hose of a curious black substance at the end of which was attached a bell-shaped funnel, the other end of the hose disappearing inside the access tunnel.
Four of the monks were led over to the urns. Their cowls were pulled back to reveal that the four men were blind and that their ears had been sewn shut. They were the Choosers of Combat, one of the most exalted positions to be held in the city. In payment for that honor their eyes had been taken from them and their ears closed over so that they could not see what they did, or hear a whisper of coaxing to reach to a certain spot in the urns which contained the names of the fighters.
A trumpet fanfare sounded and the arena settled down to an unearthly silence. The monks each reached into an urn and pulled out a golden disk, upon which was written the name of a fighter from one of the four Houses. In turn they deposited the disks into a black leather bag, which was placed at the end of the table. A fifth blind and deaf monk then reached into the bag, drew out two disks, and placed them to his left. Then he drew out the other two disks and placed them to his right.
Another monk, who had not surrendered his sight, now stepped forward and picked up the funnel attached to the hose which snaked back into the main tunnel. He looked down at the first two disks, while to his side stood two more monks, who acted as witnesses.
“Haglin of Fentesk,” he announced, speaking into the funnel, “versus Erwina of Bolk, circle one.”
His words were carried across a hundred fathoms up to the men and boys who manned a great display board mounted along the top of the west side of the arena. The crowd was silent, all heads turned to gaze at the board. Seconds later more than a dozen boys scurried up the framework of the tote board bearing letters and symbols which spelled out the names of the first two contestants, their personal symbols, House colors, and assigned circle for the fight.
“Lorrin of Kestha versus Naru of Bolk, circle two.”
The gold disks were set aside and the blind and deaf monks were directed by their assistants to draw out four more disks, which in turn were divided by the final decider of matches.
“Alinar of Fentesk versus Ogla of Bolk, circle three.”
Dozens of boys now swarmed over the tote board and the first match was finally spelled out. A wild, hysterical cheering erupted and it seemed as if the entire spectator stand was suddenly buried under a blizzard of paper as the howling mob pulled open their gambling sheets to check the records of the fighters and calculate odds. The mob then looked back at the board, waiting expectantly while the official master of the numbers decided upon the odds that would be offered. The numbers finally appeared, three to one in favor of Erwina of Bolk over Haglin of Fentesk.
The crowd reacted in its usual manner, hooting derisively at odds which were, as always, stacked in favor of the Grand Master. At the top of every stairway leading down into the arena the betting booths were now open for action and by the tens of thousands the spectators swarmed out of their seats to place their first bets, while in the stands tens of thousands more haggled out private wagers. Such betting was, of course, illegal in the arena; only bets placed with the Grand Master were allowed, and hundreds of his agents were hidden in the crowd, ready to arrest any who tried to run their own private operations. The laying out of the first twenty-five matches continued, odds going up on the boards, the crowd roaring its disapproval at some of the offered bets and then racing to wager their coppers, silvers, and golds on what they thought were sure wins. The first arrests were made as well, fights breaking out as the Master’s agents tried to carry off illegal bettors so that warriors had to push their way down through the aisles and benches, their clubs rising and falling to clear a path.
The first set of twenty-five matches was finally decided and Zarel, without another word, turned away from the four Masters, dismissing them as if they were nothing more than servants. As Kirlen turned and stepped out of the circle she made a show of spitting on the ground, which caused a ripple of approving shouts to rise up, especially from the quarter of the arena dominated by Brown’s followers.