"I'll think about it," he said.
Four days later, Darrow returned with skewers filled with grilled prawns, bass, onions, and thick carrot slices. He was careful to remove the skewers before leaving the shallow bucket by Maelin's cell door.
"Great Chauntea!" Maelin exclaimed at the first smell of the cooked meal. "I can't believe it! Where'd you get the onions and carrots?"
"Lord Malveen sent me to the market yesterday," said Darrow.
The master had wanted the gallery cleaned, and Darrow needed a mop and a feather duster to do it properly. Since he needed supplies, he also asked permission to fill the larder for himself. He was still surprised at Stannis's generous allowance, and he was grateful for the display of trust.
As Maelin savored her meal, Darrow fed the others. The elves gazed at him suspiciously, and Voorla sniffed at his bucket. After a careful taste, the troll scooped handfuls of fish into his fanged mouth.
"Meer ngla todu fosha," said the troll.
"You're welcome," said Darrow. He hadn't a clue what the troll had said.
After he'd swept the walkway and collected the dinner buckets, Darrow saw Maelin sitting on her cot. She looked at him with a calm expression.
"Are you coming in?" she asked.
For the past three nights, he had thought of nothing else but the touch of her hands, her mouth, her legs. He had never lain with a woman, and he wanted her; there was no question about that. But if it were a trick, or if Stannis should find out… he dared not take the chance.
"Maybe tomorrow."
He said the same thing the next day, and the next. Each time, his fear overcame his desire.
Nearly a month into Darrow's new servitude, Stannis announced a special occasion to be held in the secret arena. Darrow's stomach filled with cold dread, for he suspected the day spelled disaster for one of the prisoners. He busied himself with the day's chores to keep his mind from the evening's events.
When the appointed hour arrived, Radu appeared beside Stannis's pool. When the bloated, eel-like vampire rose from the water, Darrow was ready to drape his master's favorite mantle about his smooth shoulders.
"Be a darling and open the door for Rusk," Stannis said.
Darrow paused, momentarily surprised before he realized that Stannis must have sent the Huntmaster's invitation magically. He wondered why Rusk did not simply enter the hall, then realized that the cleric was wary of the wards. Stannis might have altered them to permit his servant to come and go, but obviously he did not fully trust his childhood friend.
He wondered why Rusk had not returned to his forest lair as he walked to the doorway. Sometimes he and Stannis would sit for an hour beside the grand stream. Stannis dismissed his servant after Darrow had served them their wine, so he did not know what passed between the two. They were both supernatural beings, he realized, yet somehow he still did not think of his master the same way he did of Rusk: as a beast.
Darrow thrust such thoughts away as he opened the door to the N cluttered courtyard. The silver-haired cleric stood waiting for him just outside the door.
"Lord Malveen requests-" began Darrow.
"I know," said the Huntmaster. "Lead on."
Darrow obeyed, and Rusk followed him exactly, careful to step only where he had seen Darrow safely pass.
They walked through the River Hall and into the portrait gallery, where Darrow opened the secret way. Rusk pushed past him and descended the spiral stairway. Darrow followed, noting that crimson lights now flickered in small braziers under the mounted heads of the trophy beasts.
Without waiting for an invitation, Rusk sat down in a chair beside Stannis's vast fainting couch. Darrow took his place at the vampire's side. Immediately he refilled his master's goblet with the earthy red wine Stannis favored. He looked to the eyes above the golden veil, but Stannis and Rusk both looked down into the baiting pit.
Radu Malveen stood on one side of the fanged pit inside the sunken ring. He held his slender long sword in its plain leather sheath in both hands. On the other side of the pit, a dozen weapons were thrust point-first into the sand. They ranged from a pair of Mulhorandi short swords to a giant's glaive, with all variety of blades and polearms between them.
In the stands above, Rusk sat brooding in a high-backed chair. Beside him, Stannis reclined on a vast fainting couch. Darrow stood nearby, attending his master's whim.
When Stannis reached out, Darrow ensured that his fingers closed on a crystal goblet of the finest vintage.
Sometimes Darrow dreaded the seemingly inevitable request for a less savory beverage, but thus far he had been spared the responsibility of providing his master's baser requirements. Such tasks remained the duty of the master's other servants.
There were at least two of these minions, and Darrow suspected there was a third, perhaps even more. There was no way to tell them apart. Neither human nor wholly like the creature who had spawned them, the minions were naked, manlike figures with deep purple skin and grotesquely deformed limbs. They slipped out of the pools in the River Hall at night in answer to their master's unspoken summons.
Whatever he whispered to them, Darrow was never allowed to hear. Sometimes they returned with food for the captives. On occasion, as he passed through the hall on an errand, Darrow glimpsed baskets of wriggling eels or sea worms, only to note their absence on his return. Worst of all were the sounds of brief struggles that sometimes reached his quarters late in the morning, after his master had sent him away. He knew he was not welcome to attend such events, and he was grateful for the excuse.
Stannis drained the last of his wine and dropped the glass. Darrow barely caught it in time to save it from the floor.
"On to the entertainment!" he cried, slapping his rubbery hands together. "Would you like to inspect your gifts before we commence?"
Radu shrugged and closed his eyes. He drew his sword and cast away the scabbard.
With a twisting gesture, Stannis activated the switch to make the steel plates rise from the walls of the pit. Behind them stood the captives. Voorla paced impatiently, while the elves stood serenely in the middle of their cage. Maelin gripped the bars and stared straight across at Radu.
"Our uncle enjoyed watching bloodsport," Stannis volunteered. "He would release beasts from either side of the arena, and his friends would wager on the outcome. As you can see, my brother prefers an armed opponent. Which should we release? Hmm?"
"The troll," said Rusk.
"A formidable opponent to face without the benefit of fire," observed Darrow. "Is that your thinking?''
Rusk shrugged.
"Which would you select, dear boy?" asked Stannis.
Darrow hesitated before answering, "The elves, my lord."
"Because there are two of them?"
"No, my lord," said Darrow. "Because they were insolent."
"Excellent," said Stannis, practically purring his approval. "So shall it be."
Rusk snorted. Darrow glanced at him without turning his head. The Huntmaster sneered and shook his head.
Stannis gestured toward the elves, and the gate rose.
The elves turned to each other briefly. One touched the other's face for the barest second, and they ran toward the weapons.
Across the pit, Radu stood unmoving, his eyes still closed.
One elf took a short sword in hand. The other grabbed a rapier. Without hesitation, they ran lightly around the pit to flank their opponent. The one with the rapier held his weapon at full extension and charged. The point of his blade seemed to strike Radu before the man moved. He fell backward, rolling smoothly beneath and away from the rapier's thrust.
The elf with the short sword slashed at Radu, but the man came around too fast. One foot caught the elf in the ribs and knocked the breath from his lungs. Radu stood, opened his eyes, and parried the rapier's redoubled attack in one smooth motion, his blade cutting a perfect cone out of the air. With his opponent's blade out of line, Radu thrust the point of his sword through the elf's shoulder. He withdrew it just as quickly and stepped away.