“Zarel’s called in troops from Tantium. The ships are arriving even now. He’s stripping the countryside bare,” Hammen announced. “They say maybe a thousand or more people and several hundred warriors were killed down in the arena. The mob was still holding it when I left but I guess the troops are finally clearing it.”
Garth nodded.
“And the package I hid outside the city gate?”
Hammen held up the oilskin bundle and dropped it on the floor.
Garth nodded his thanks and, bending down, picked it up as if it was a treasured and fragile object.
“Master?”
Garth looked back at Hammen.
“I think I’m quitting your service.”
“Why?”
Hammen shook his head.
“Go on, out with it.”
“In the beginning it was different. I thought you were out on a lark, have a little fun, tweak the nose of Zarel, and make a profit. Though you’ve never said anything, I always suspected who you were as well.”
“But that’s changed, hasn’t it.”
Hammen nodded sadly.
“I passed along the front of the harbor tonight. They’re taking the carts down and dumping the dead in, letting the tide take them out. The sharks and empreys are having a feast; the water’s churning with the feeding.”
He fell silent for a moment.
“Don’t you have any remorse, any feelings over this?”
Garth turned away from Hammen to look back out the window as a company of warriors raced past and then disappeared into the night.
“Yes.”
“Then why? Thousands have died.”
“You have sympathy with the mob, is that it?”
“I was the mob,” Hammen replied.
“And what were you then? If you had not been with me, you would have been up in the stands howling for blood, trembling with ecstasy as a fighter hacked the guts out of an opponent. That was your life, wasn’t it? What are the permutations of tomorrow’s bet, can I get the right combination and win a thousand over the blood of someone else?”
Hammen lowered his head.
“I had to survive.”
“You call that surviving. That bastard in the palace has perverted everything the mana was intended for. He’s turned it into sport and money contracts and the Walker allowed it. That’s all the mob now lives for.”
“And Garth the liberator has come to change that? What right do you have anyhow? You’ve killed more in the last four days than Zarel does in a year. Are you any better than him now? Or is this all only for your own revenge?”
Garth shook his head and looked away.
“Damn you, don’t look away from me!” Hammen snapped.
Startled, Garth looked back at the old man.
“Don’t you feel anything about this?”
“I’m sick to death of it,” Garth said quietly. “But there’s no other way. I tried to think of another path but I couldn’t find it. Yes, I want to bring the bastard down, bring him down and all the corruption he has created. He has given the people of this realm an opiate, the circuses, the Festival, and corrupted the guilds of fighters and everything around them. They’ve all been seduced by it and this is the only way I know to bring an end to it, to lance the corruption and let the pus run out of it until it’s healed. It was better than hiding in the gutter like you.”
Hammen stood up and angrily kicked over his chair.
“You have no idea how I survived. What it took. And who are you to judge? Who are you to come sauntering in here and calmly decide to destroy it all? Because of you I lost four of my closest friends and have watched my city descend into chaos. At least before you there was order and the mob was happy.”
Garth reached down into his satchel, pulled out a small silken bundle and tossed it to Hammen. The old man caught it, and held it. Garth looked closely at him and smiled.
“You can control the mana, can’t you? I can sense that.”
Hammen lowered his head and let the bundle drop.
“You were once Hadin gar Kan, master fighter of the House of Oor-tael, weren’t you?”
Hammen started to shake and he lowered his head.
“Damn you,” Garth snarled. “You were the master fighter of Oor-tael, weren’t you!”
Hammen, sighing, picked up the chair and sat down heavily.
“And this is what you’ve become. A pickpocket, a street thief, a comic actor. A nothing.”
“Who are you to judge me now?” Hammen whispered. “I escaped the Night of Fire. I hid for weeks in the sewers and when I came out there was nothing left. I could never touch the mana again. I had betrayed my Master by fleeing. I would be tortured to death if found, and picking up my satchel again was the surest way to be found. So I threw it into the sea.”
Hammen was racked by a shuddering sob.
“Just leave me alone. I had almost forgotten after all these years. Why did you have to come and drag up the moldering corpses of the past? The House was dead, the Master dead, and all my comrades dead. There was nothing left. Are you saying I should have charged the palace alone and killed the bastard?”
Hammen laughed sadly through his tears.
“For what? It was finished and he had won.”
Hammen looked up at Garth, tears streaming down his gray cheeks.
“And who are you, Garth One-eye? I suspect, but who are you?”
“A memory, nothing more. Just a memory,” Garth said quietly. “One that refused to die.”
“Go away then. I don’t need any memories or nightmares to awaken me. Tomorrow the Walker comes and nothing can stand before him. Zarel is just a puppet, a paper-thin mask behind which the true evil lurks. He will dust you away like chaff on the wind. The folly is over. Now go away.”
“I think I’ll stay and see what happens,” Garth replied softly.
Hammen stood up wearily.
“I’m leaving. I’ll have no more to do with this. You’ll be dead tomorrow, Garth, and all the killing of the last days will be nothing but waste. I want no more of it. No more.”
Hammen went to the door and opened it.
“Hadin.”
The old man looked back.
“Hadin died twenty years ago.”
“Hammen.”
Hammen turned with a swiftness that caught Garth off guard. The blow of his staff caught Garth across the temple, knocking him over and sending him into oblivion.
Hammen stood over Garth, looking down sadly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a length of cord and tied Garth’s hands behind his back, binding him tightly. Then he reached into Garth’s satchel, feeling the power of the mana.
Mere touching it sent a shiver down his spine, conjuring memories the way smelling the scent of a flower might rekindle a long-lost dream of first love. He took the satchel from Garth and stood upright. All the memories washed over him, filling him with a fierce joy mingled with infinite sadness for all that was done and all that was gone forever.
Again he was young and filled with strength and was the first of fighters for the House of Oor-tael. Again all was before him and the power of the memories forced tears to his eyes.
He looked down at the body stretched out on the floor before him and he felt a sharp pang in his heart, the clear sight of the mana showing all, so much that he had known but could not quite believe.
He tore his gaze away from Garth and, drawing on the mana, found the spell he desired. He placed it on Garth, the power of it pinning him to the floor so that even after he awoke he would be frozen in place for hours until the spell finally broke down.
He started for the door and then turned back, kneeling down by Garth’s side.
“Galin.”
The name was spoken as a whisper. The old man reached out with a loving hand and pushed the hair back from Garth’s forehead, the way he had done so many years before when Galin was but a boy, the son of the House Master of Oor-tael, who would come to his father’s favorite fighter and sit on his knee for a tale of adventure.