Eir shrugged. "A typical man would not be able to. A typical man would have to work three lifetimes to gain a ship and crew like these. An extraordinary man could gain them with no particular effort. Hence, I assumed you were lazing."
Magnus's brow beetled as he turned her words over in his mind. "Why, sure! It was easy. A moment's thought." He leaned over the rail, allowing his magnificent pectorals to strain against the bandolier he wore. "When you have charisma, you don't have to work very hard."
"You'll have to work harder than that," Eir said.
"Who are you, porcelain girl, and why do you trade riddles with me?"
"I'm no porcelain girl. I'm Eir Stegalkin, who confronted and nearly destroyed the Dragonspawn, the greatest champion of Jormag."
"You confronted the Dragonspawn?"
"Confronted and nearly destroyed. We reached his inner sanctum-"
"If this is true, you are brave!"
"We seek warriors to join us to finish him."
Magnus's eyebrow cocked. "You want me to join you?"
"The Dragonspawn is the champion of Jormag. He has declared war on the norn nation."
"Jormag is a great threat," Magnus responded, nodding deeply. "But he is only one of three dragons who have arisen beneath our feet. The dragons are rising everywhere."
"Jormag is the dragon who afflicts your people."
"My people are in Lion's Arch, and the Orrian dragon afflicts us. I fight his champion-Morgus Lethe. He rules the sea. He sends dead things up from the bottom to sink ships and to feast on the living. I destroy his monsters. I save this city!"
"What about Hoelbrak?"
A slow grin began on Magnus's face, extending into his eyes. "The people of Lion's Arch are my people. I have chosen my battles." Magnus shook his head and laughed ruefully. "The world is changing, Eir Stegalkin. You must change with it. Perhaps I should ask you to join me. Get some sun on that lily skin."
Eir sighed. "When the Dragonspawn is dead, perhaps I will take you up on that offer. Just now, though, I need my own fighters."
Magnus's eyebrows lifted. "If it's fighters you need, it just so happens that I have a side business that specializes in them."
"What kind of business?"
"It's an arena where criminals can earn out of their jail sentences while providing the people of Lion's Arch with entertainment."
"Brutal."
Magnus let out a broad-beamed laugh. "They'd much rather fight in my arena than languish in a cell. I buy their billets, and the Lionguard makes sure they don't run off, and they fight until they've paid me back. It's in everyone's best interest." He grinned. "My booming enterprise might just be the place for you to find the fighters you need."
Eir shook her head. "I come asking after a norn legend and get sent to jailbirds."
Magnus laughed. "I saw a pair yesterday, a man and a charr. They fought like devils and destroyed a bearbaiting pit"-he paused to spit-"which I personally was glad of. But as head of the Lionguard, well, I had to lock them up. They're stewing just now in the dockside row house, but I'm about to send my agent to buy their billet."
"How much is their billet?"
"About five hundred gold."
Eir whistled. "Thanks all the same. If you change your mind about the mission-"
"I won't," Magnus said, smiling.
Eir turned away. "Come along, Garm."
"Nice wolf," Magnus called after her. "He'd be magnificent for boardings."
As Eir and Garm strode from the docks, she leaned toward her wolf and said, "You really would be."
He pricked up his ears.
Snaff and Zojja ran to catch up to them.
"What now?" Zojja asked.
Eir looked at the sky, deepening to dusk. "Now, we figure out another plan."
Caithe sat on a wooden bunk propped against a wall of thick-stacked stone. It was the only bunk in the cell, and she shared it with Logan and Rytlock. "We'll have to sleep in shifts."
"Logan better not sleep at all," Rytlock snarled as he leaned against the wall of the cell, "trying to steal my sword."
"You stole it first!" Logan growled, pacing along the bars at the front. "And now neither one of us has it. They confiscated it-and my hammer."
"Worthless hunk of metal! I can't believe you would compare my sword to your hammer!"
Logan whirled. "I don't. That's the whole point! I'm not carrying a fabled, sacred charr weapon."
"And neither am I, thanks to you!" Rytlock spat back.
"Enough!" shouted Caithe, suddenly standing between them, her slim hands held out to either side. "You're stuck together in a cell, and you're fighting over an empire? Over a sword that neither one of you has?"
The man and the charr snarled one last time before turning away from each other.
Just then, a dark-complected man strode up the cell corridor. He had a stern face beneath long black hair, and he wore embroidered silk robes. Behind the man came an entourage of muscular warriors.
Logan glanced nervously at them. "Those guys aren't Lionguard."
The man stopped, planted his feet, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You fight well."
Rytlock nodded. "If you're talking about the bearbaiting den back there, yeah, we sure do."
"I am Sangjo, an agent of Magnus, head of the Lionguard and member of the Captains-"
"The Bloody Headed," Rytlock interrupted.
"The Bloody Handed," Sangjo corrected with a wan smile. "He would like to purchase your billet."
"What are you talking about?" Rytlock snarled.
"Your debt to society-specifically, repairing the portion of the city you burned down," the man said sedately.
"Which is?"
"Five hundred gold."
Rytlock's eyes flew wide. "How are we supposed to get that kind of money?"
"Agree to Magnus's offer," Sangjo said placidly.
"Which is?"
"My boss is prepared to pay for your billet-if you agree to fight in his arena."
"What?"
"Master Magnus has an arena where you could fight for your freedom, earning money to pay him back. Or you could sit here and rot. It's your choice."
Caithe asked, "If we fought, how long would it take to pay him back?"
"Not long," Sangjo said, "perhaps a dozen matches-if you win."
"We can't fight," Rytlock said. "We have no weapons."
"Your weapons will be returned to you before each match and taken from you afterward."
Rytlock huffed, "Well, we can't fight for at least a week, since grawl-boy here broke my wrist."
Sangjo's enigmatic smile only widened. "Then let grawl-boy fix it."
Rytlock glared at Logan. "You could heal me?"
"Not all at once. A little bit now, and then an hour later, a little more."
"Why didn't you try?" raged Rytlock.
"You'd've taken my head off!" Logan shouted back.
"There's that," Rytlock growled. He sighed. "All right, I won't. Promise. Now, get to it."
ARENA
Next morning, Logan, Rytlock, and Caithe walked among stern-looking warriors who led them from the jail to the arena. Rytlock's wrist was fully healed, but the rift between the man and the charr was only partially so. Last night, both fighters had fidgeted and fussed as Logan healed Rytlock. This morning, neither had spoken to the other.
They walked through a narrow set of winding lanes, with half-timber houses leaning over them. At last, they reached a much-trammeled plot of land with the overturned hull of a huge ship in its center. Many people milled outside the wooden hull, and money changed hands. A few of the people there stared with lurid admiration at Logan, Rytlock, and Caithe.
"Fresh meat," one man said darkly.
Rytlock reached for Sohothin but, of course, his sword and scabbard were gone.
The guards marched them toward a wide rectangular entrance cut into one side of the overturned hull. The passage was preternaturally dark, shielded by a curtain of magic, but sounds came from within.
Feet pounded. Voices shouted. Swords clanged. Someone screamed.
"Are we making a mistake?" Logan asked.
"Quite possibly," Caithe responded.