“Don’t worry, my friends.” Zarel’s voice boomed across the arena through the power of his far speaking. “They will come back again at the end of the day’s festivities with even more gold.”
His words were greeted with cheers of anticipation.
Garth looked back over at Hammen and grinned.
“Is it taken care of?”
“I can’t promise, but you sure did pay enough.”
“Fine.”
“The drawings have started,” Hammen announced, and he pointed across the arena field to where a single monk was now reaching into a golden urn.
“It’s no longer by Houses,” Hammen said.
“You could be matched up against your own from now on.”
As he spoke Naru looked over at Garth and grinned.
“Maybe we fight now and I take all your spells.”
“Maybe.”
“One-eye!” The cry rose from the mob. Garth looked up to see that he was being pitted against an Ingkaran fighter.
“Who is he?” Garth asked.
“Ulin. Tough, maybe an eighth-rank by now. He’s incredibly fast gathering his mana in. I’d suggest going for him physically; otherwise, you might have a tough time of it right from the start.”
Garth stood up and looked over at Naru.
“Not this round.”
“Don’t lose, One-eye. I still wish to fight you.”
Naru’s match appeared on the board and the giant stood up, laughing and stretching.
Together they went out onto the field, the mob coming to its feet and applauding two of its favorite champions. Garth turned and looked back up into the stands. Some of the spectators were now sporting eye patches, which were being hawked by souvenir salesmen, and he could only shake his head over this new style that had taken the fancy of the crowd.
Naru thumped Garth on the back so that Garth nearly lost his footing as the giant turned to go to his own circle.
The trumpet sounded again as Garth reached his circle and stepped into the neutral box. Across the fifty-fathom width his opponent stood ready, arms already extended.
Zarel stood up.
“By my decision there shall be a new rule for fights, starting with the fourth elimination.”
The audience fell silent in anticipation.
“If either of the two fighters declares it to be a death match, then so it shall be. Payment on all bets of a death match shall not be charged my ten percent fee. All winnings are thus yours to keep. No spell of healing may be used on the fallen.”
There was a moment of stunned silence and an instant later the arena erupted in wild cheering.
“The mob,” Hammen sniffed angrily. “They’re back in his pocket.”
“Except for the private bookmakers. He just put them out of business unless they can offer better odds.”
“Also, my friends. Any fighter who declares a death match and makes his kill shall receive from my hands, from my personal hoard, a spell which he may draw out of my personal satchel, or five hundred pieces of gold.”
From the arena floor many of the fighters raised their clenched fists in gleeful salute.
“He’s spending a fortune to buy them back,” Hammen said.
“And the House Masters will lose all their best people,” Garth said quietly. “Masterful.”
Garth looked back toward where Kirlen sat and could sense her rage. If the House Masters dared to try and raise a protest over the slaughter, the mob would riot, but this time against them. Zarel had outmaneuvered them for the moment and in the process had weakened them as well.
The circle master for Garth’s fight came to Garth’s side and extended her hand. In it were a white chip and a black.
“Choose death or a single spell match,” she said coldly.
“What about the public declaration?” Hammen asked.
“Tell your servant to shut up or I’ll have his tongue ripped out,” the woman snapped.
Garth looked at her coldly and then took the white chip.
“A spell match.”
She looked at him with open sarcasm and, turning, started across the circle to Garth’s opponent.
“Brilliant,” Hammen snarled. “Most fighters will assume the other’s going for a death match anyhow so they’ll choose it as well in hopes of winning the Grand Master’s prize. It’s going to be a slaughter pit out here.”
The woman stood before Ulin, extending her hands and Ulin took one of the proffered chips, signifying his choice of a death or single spell match. She went back across the circle and, pulling out a red flag, raised it. Red flags appeared all across the arena floor and the crowd went wild with bloodlust.
“Fight!”
Garth leaped into the arena, moving fast, charging straight at his opponent. Ulin stood with arms extended, rushing to draw in his mana and create the first spell. Garth continued his charge, drawing out his dagger. Ulin looked up at him and started to point even as Garth slammed into him, striking Ulin on the side of the head with the dagger’s hilt. Ulin crumpled up, falling over backward.
Ulin, howling with rage, came up with his own dagger and lunged in low at Garth. Garth jumped aside.
“Just lie down, damn it, and act like I knocked you out!” Garth snapped.
Ulin, however, driven by a wild rage, came at him again, feinting low and then going for a throat slash while all the time turning to work around toward Garth’s blind side.
Ulin’s hand scraped across the arena floor and he tossed a handful of sand into Garth’s face, blinding him. Garth staggered backward, the screams of the mob rising to such a hysterical pitch that he could not hear where his opponent might be approaching from.
Garth fell backward, as if guided by instinct, and felt Ulin go over him. Rolling on his shoulders, Garth somersaulted over, landing on his feet, trying to wipe the sand from his eye.
Ulin pressed in again, not even giving Garth time to raise a circle of protection. Garth rolled again, Ulin’s blade slicing his shoulder open, and the sight of the blood caused the cheering to become even louder.
Barely able to see, Garth sensed another blow coming in hard and he raised his left arm to ward of the blow. The dagger sliced his wrist open, the icy pain of the hit stunning him.
Ulin pulled back and then dived in again. Garth ducked under the blow, coming in low and sweeping out with his legs. He caught Ulin just below the left knee and the fighter went over. Recovering, Ulin leaped upon Garth, struggling to pin him to the ground. The two rolled in the dust and Ulin moved to drive his dagger into Garth’s eye. Garth jerked his head aside as the blow came down, the dagger slicing open his cheek.
Howling with delight, Ulin yanked his dagger free from the sand and raised it for a killing blow.
Just as the blow started to descend Garth managed to wrench his right hand free from Ulin’s grasp and drove the blade upward. The dagger slipped in just below Ulin’s chin, piercing through the roof of his mouth and up into his brain.
Ulin’s downward strike faltered, going wide. Garth let go of his own blade as Ulin, with a near-supernatural strength, somehow staggered back to his feet, Garth’s dagger driven up to the hilt into the bottom of his jaw.
A gasp of amazement went up from the mob at the sight of the man staggering about and then, ever so slowly, his legs crumpled and he collapsed to the ground. Garth, panting for breath, came up on his knees, the screaming of the mob thundering around him, deafening him so that he wanted to cover his ears and shut the sound out.
He felt hands grasping him around his shoulder.
“Heal yourself, heal yourself, you’re bleeding to death!”
Wide-eyed, Garth looked over at Hammen and then back at Ulin.
“You don’t have time for him, damn it, heal yourself now!”
Garth, gasping for breath, nodded and concentrated upon his mana. The power came slowly as he felt himself weakening. At last the power was there and Garth slowly extended his hands. The blood pouring out of his wrist, arm, and face stilled, the skin drawing back over upon itself even as he felt his strength return.