Zarel stood up and again made the ritual pronouncements, his arms raised heavenward. He dropped them.
“Fight!”
Again there was the wild explosion of spells, the flashes of light, creatures appearing to do battle, clouds of dust and cyclones of fire. In one of the circles a giant spider appeared, causing the caster of the spell to be disqualified when he lost control of the creature, which stampeded out of the fighting circle when it was set upon by a pack of wolves. The spider raced toward the edge of the fighting floor, heading for the grand stands, the crowd panicking, abandoning their seats and stampeding. Fighters of the Grand Master raced after it, striking it repeatedly with fire, turning it aside just as it reached the stands. Several of the spectators were caught by its spray of acidic poison, disintegrating into bubbling clouds of pulpy steam before the spider was finally destroyed. The fighter who had lost control of the spell walked away dejected, stripped of his spider spell as penalty, though the spectators gave him a warm round of applause for the exciting show, which would be talked about endlessly in the days to come.
One by one the fights ended. The sixth-rank versus second-rank death match dragged out longer than most had expected, ending when the second-rank fighter finally turned and tried to run away. He was chased for more than a hundred fathoms across the arena by his taunting opponent, until Zarel, disgusted, stood up and, raising his hands, blasted him into oblivion just before he ran through the circle where Varena and her opponent were fighting out a classic match of spell versus counterspell that had the mob on its feet.
Garth watched the fight intently, mentally noting the spells she was forced to reveal.
“Unless she’s holding back, she’ll have no secrets now in the later matches,” Hammen noted calmly. “Too bad for her. But then again, Master, you’ll have to face her sooner or later, so it’s to your advantage.”
All the other matches were finished but still the two fought on, the crowd falling silent when there was a lull, cheering or groaning in turn when one or the other seemed to be getting an upper hand. Twice Varena was knocked down, once by a charging berserker that crashed through her line of fire creatures, and again by several attacks from black knights. She finally turned the fight around when her opponent cast a black spell of life draining, for which she held a counterspell that gave her additional strength rather than weakened her, regaining what she had lost from the previous assaults. She pressed forward, relying heavily on fire spells mixed with swirling storms of ice, and her rival finally collapsed into unconsciousness, his power drained.
Varena, staggering with exhaustion, stood in the center of the circle while the circle master took a spell from her opponent’s satchel and presented it to her. To the surprise of many she then made the gesture of laying hands on her opponent to revive him, an action that struck a chord with the mob, which cheered appreciatively as she turned and walked away. As she walked past Zarel’s throne Garth could sense that somehow Zarel knew of Varena’s part in his rescue as the Grand Master leaned forward and watched her closely.
“Doubled our money,” Hammen hissed with delight as he settled back into his chair by Garth’s side.
“You give your friend the message?”
“I don’t know why, but I did,” Hammen replied sulkily.
Garth settled back in his chair, ignoring the performers, who again flooded into the arena. The stands were nearly empty as the mob swarmed out of the arena, heading to the food stands and privy pits, except for the crowds that tried to maneuver to where the clay pots were going to rain down.
“This is your match,” Hammen announced, and he looked over excitedly at Garth.
Garth, saying nothing, watched the tote board as the matches started to be listed.
“I bet that’s us,” Hammen said, pointing to the board as a boy scurried out on a catwalk and hung out a symbol before the first letter of the name had even been hung, the symbol a stylized rendering of an eye patch.
At the sight of Garth’s symbol the crowd started to cheer. Garth sat back, watching, as his name, which on the board was simply “One-eye,” was spelled out. His opponent, from Ingkara, was now listed, and confusion erupted among the crowd.
“Who is this bastard?” a Brown fighter asked, looking over at Garth as if he had the answer.
Garth turned and looked at Hammen, who sat in silence.
“He wasn’t on the lists two days ago,” Hammen announced. “Just a minute.”
He got out of his seat and raced back toward the grandstands, whereupon several spectators broke out of the crowd and came down to meet him. They conferred quickly and Hammen came back.
“It’s a setup,” Hammen said angrily. “One of Zarel’s men, at least eight-rank or better. He was seen in the march down to the arena. Jimak must have taken a bribe to let him into Purple’s ranks.”
“So I’ll fight him.”
“He’s an unknown, one of Zarel’s lieutenants. It also means the choosing was fixed. One of the monks must have palmed the name disks to set it up.”
“So it’s fixed. What the hell did you expect?” Garth said quietly.
Garth, sensing that he was being watched, looked up and saw that Kirlen was gazing down at him.
She smiled and nodded her head.
The odds on the board went up, three to one against Garth. The confused murmuring in the crowd increased.
Hammen turned back to the grandstands and cupped his hands.
“It’s a fix!”
Instantly his cry was picked up and echoed, a loud turmoil breaking out.
Hammen settled back in his seat, waited for a moment, and then stood up to head back to the wall.
“How are you betting?”
Hammen looked back at him with a hurt expression.
“Three to one against, we’ll clean up. Besides, if you lose, I’m dead anyhow, so what the hell.”
“Thanks for the confidence.”
Chuckling, Hammen went up to the wall and returned a moment later as the first of the warning trumpets sounded.
“Naru bet on Garth.”
Garth looked over at the grinning giant.
“I win either way,” Naru announced as if he had figured out a monumental task of logic. “Make money or don’t have to fight and kill you later.” Naru roared at his own joke.
The third trumpet finally sounded and Garth stood up, Hammen by his side, and stepped out from under the awning into the late-afternoon sun. The arena erupted with wild cheering that spread from Brown to the other three-quarters of the stadium.
Garth, ignoring the cheers, walked toward his assigned circle and stepped into the neutral box, which was stained with blood from an earlier death match. Hammen took his cloak and watched warily as Garth’s opponent came forward.
“I know that bastard,” Hammen whispered. “He was captain of the guard down in Tantium. A killer. This doesn’t look good.”
Zarel Ewine leaned back in his throne and chuckled softly. The captain knew his job and what was expected. Later it would be a simple task to eliminate him rather than have to worry about the fact that the man might talk about the violations of age-old traditions, the fixing of the match, the bribing of the monk, who would have to have an accident as well, and, finally, the fact that the captain carried a spell given to him by the Grand Master for use in the arena.
Zarel took up his cup of wine and sipped at it contentedly, waiting for the fighters to get ready.
The captain from Tantium walked calmly over to his neutral box alone, without a servant, unclipped his cloak, and let it fall to the ground. Ignoring Garth, he bent over and stretched lazily, his bare arms rippling with muscles.