Garth laughed and strode out onto the field. Greeted by a loud ovation, he walked slowly toward Zarel’s throne. From out of the tunnels the dwarf catapult teams emerged and the roar of the mob resounded even louder. Watching honors for favorite winners was one thing, but the chance for free gold was far more important.
“He plans to divert the mob with bribes while you’re taken,” Hammen said.
“It will be an interesting surprise. Let’s just hope it gets started quickly enough,” Garth replied.
As he approached the throne the other surviving fighters lined up beside him. He looked over at Varena, her features pale and haggard, and nodded a greeting. A brief smile flashed for a second and then she turned away. Garth looked at the other fighters, who stared at him coldly. The new rules meant that all of them were now gazing at men and women who would either be their victims or killers come tomorrow.
Zarel stood up and floated down from the throne to alight on the sand of the arena floor. Four of his fighters came forward bearing a golden tray, upon which rested the laurels given to those who had reached the final day of eliminations. Garth could not help but notice, though, that a solid phalanx of warriors was pouring out of the access tunnels, following by nearly all the Grand Master’s fighters. They moved out onto the arena floor in order to surround the golden circle.
“All of you shall be my guests at the palace tonight,” Zarel announced calmly.
“I’ve already been there once. I think I shall decline,” Garth replied calmly.
Zarel turned to face Garth. In the background was the rattle of dozens of crossbows being raised.
In the distance the mob was still howling with delight, but not for what they assumed was a simple boring ceremony to end the day’s fun. Nearly two score of wagon-carried catapults were now out, their dwarf crews loading up the first pots. The weapons fired, the mob howling with joy as the clay pots arced up into the audience.
“If you fight, I wonder if they would even notice,” Zarel said. “They’re getting stuffed on gold. I daresay as well that some of your opponents here would be more than happy to have you out of the way. In fact, if you were gone, we could dispense with the blood sport for tomorrow and return to the more traditional form.”
Garth looked sidelong at his potential rivals. He saw only Varena giving him a nod of support. Garth stretched and simply smiled.
The first of the clay pots crashed down into the audience and the mob surged to where the golden treasures would land.
The dwarf crew were hurriedly reloading, firing again and yet again. But the tone of the mob was already changing. The wild exuberant shouts were replaced within seconds by mad cries of panic and pain.
Zarel hesitated and looked up from Garth. The pots continued to rain down on the audience… breaking open to disgorge stinging scorpions, hornets enraged by their disturbing trips, and hissing poisonous vipers.
For several seconds all seemed to be frozen, Zarel looking at the mob, not understanding, the guards surrounding Garth with weapons raised, and the angry howling of the mob growing ever louder.
More pots rained down, bursting open, the terrified spectators writhing about, screaming in panic and rage, the vipers coiling around whoever was nearest, swarms of hornets stinging whatever flesh they came in contact with.
In the section of the stand closest to Zarel’s throne a Benalish woman leaped up onto the containing wall of the arena.
“Zarel! Zarel is killing us! Kill him!”
With drawn sword she leaped down from the wall. Like a damn bursting open, the mob started to flood down the stadium rows, gaining the wall and piling over it, the flood spreading out across the entire length of the arena.
The dwarf crews, still not comprehending what they were doing, continued to fire the pots into the audience. As the mob swirled around them they threw the rest out of their wagons, thinking the crowd was simply after loot. Their actions infuriated the mob even more and the wagons were swarmed under.
The warriors surrounding Zarel turned to face outward and stem the mad onrush. Panicked, they lowered their weapons and fired. Zarel turned back to face Garth, at last realizing what had happened and knowing that somehow One-eye was behind it.
He was greeted by a green cloud of smoke.
Ducking low, Garth darted around the throne, followed by Hammen, and was almost instantly lost in the crush of warriors struggling to form ranks and face the enraged mob that, by the hundreds of thousands, was now storming out onto the arena floor.
“Behind you!”
Garth turned even as Varena dropped a warrior who was about to bring his sword down on Garth’s back. Garth leaped aside as the flame-scorched body tumbled over. The three pushed their way through the warriors, who were staggering backward as the onrushing wall of the mob slammed into them.
Garth raised his hands and the warriors to either side recoiled from him, a dark terror gripping their hearts. He pushed his way through the ranks, using terror to clear a path, Varena by his side. They broke through into the struggling mob and at the sight of him the mob parted, cheering wildly, and then pushed on again, shouting with rage.
Garth gained the edge of the arena and climbed over the wall. The stands were still half-full, except for the wide circles of empty spaces now controlled by the creatures that had burst out of the pots. Garth ascended the steps, reaching the top of the arena.
The betting stands were in shambles, the mob looting them. Beneath each stand was a chute down which was dropped the money taken in betting to arrive in carts far underground by which, through hidden tunnels, the winnings would be taken back to the palace. Some of the mob were tearing at the holes with their bare hands, shouting curses down the holes. Still others vented their rage on the booths, tearing them apart board by board.
The arena floor was chaos. A dark knot of warriors held in the center. The Master’s fighters were now in the fray, casting out walls of fire to drive the mob back.
“I’m going back to my House,” Varena said.
Garth turned and looked at her, taking her by the arm.
“Maybe you should leave.”
She pulled her arm free.
“I’ve studied all my life for the chance to be the servant of the Walker. I’ll not stop now.”
Hammen sniffed and said nothing.
“That means we’ll have to fight tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“And if it comes to killing, then what? You know that bastard will require it tomorrow.”
She looked at him, saying nothing.
“Leave, Varena, for the sake of the Eternal, leave.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said quietly and, turning, she disappeared into the swirling mob.
“Same advice I’ve been giving to you,” Hammen said.
“And I’m just as pigheaded. Now come on, we’ve got work to do.”
CHAPTER 13
THE DOOR INTO THE ATTIC SWUNG OPEN AND Garth turned expectantly.
“Were you able to find her?”
Hammen shook his head.
“Damn.”
“Some people say she was killed at the start of the riot, others that the Grand Master’s warriors took her prisoner. There’s not a word of that Benalish woman at the moment.”
Garth said nothing, turning back to peek through the narrow window. Out in the Plaza all was finally still. Carts moved back and forth through the shadows, hooded monks picking up the hundreds of dead who littered the area around the palace. Fires still flickered across the city and in the distance could be heard the roar of the mobs. From out of the main street that led down to the harbor, a solid column of warriors was marching, their shields and spears glinting in the glowing light. Down below even the normal flow of business had quieted down, something for which Garth was extremely grateful.