Whatever it was-it had been as bleak and hopeless as he had felt the day that he learned he was to be turned into a beast at the whim of a stupid woman who could not even write her own name.
Could it possibly be that she had deliberately chosen him, not out of self-confidence, but in the confidence that he represented her certain death?
And what could have led her to do that?
And what evil would he be forced to do, if that were really the way of it? Faro did not hate all women, just the arrogant mistresses. That distinction had not seemed significant, until now.
He stared up at the stone ceiling, wakeful, until dawn.
The Queen settled back in her seat, acknowledging the cheers of her subjects with a slight bow as she took her place in her private box along with her guests. It was somewhat unusual for the Queen to appear at a woman-trial, but so far as she was concerned, this was no ordinary trial.
This girl’s mother, Elibet, had come near to challenging the Queen for her right to rule-and only that providential earthquake had prevented a trial-by-combat to determine which of them had that right.
For years she had cherished her hatred of Elibet, but she had been unable to touch the woman's child because of the constant vigilance of Elibet's slave, Marcus. But when the girl turned thirteen, Adria had known that her vengeance would not be delayed much longer. Once Xylina came to take her trials, the Queen could arrange things so that only a miracle would enable her to win. The girl herself had given no indication that Elibet's talent had been inherited.
But that, after all, was what this trial was all about. Somewhat disappointingly, Xylina had shown no emotion, even though she must be sure that she had no chance-no shock, no dismay. A pity, in a way.
Still, the important thing was what would happen here. The Queen only hoped that the spectacle to come would not be as disappointing as the girl's lack of reaction. Xantippe had assured her that the slave the girl had chosen understood what he must do.
A hush of anticipation suddenly settled over the crowd, and the Queen leaned forward, her attention riveted on the entrance to the arena below her.
Xylina stepped forward, without fanfare, with no words. In accordance with the strictest rules of the trials, she was unclothed and there was nothing about her that could be used as a weapon. Not even a tie to hold back her long hair, which she had arranged to partially cover her breasts. From the flush spreading over the girl's face and neck, she found her nude state profoundly shaming. To that extent her judgment was accurate; the arena seldom saw as uselessly curvaceous a creature as this.
Queen Adria smiled. That flush was encouraging. It said that the girl would probably be foolish enough to first conjure clothing. A potentially fatal mistake.
Across the sands of the arena, a second door opened, and the slave Faro strode through it. Oh yes, he was a fittingly savage specimen!
Faro narrowed his eyes against the glare of sun-on-sand, and quickly scanned the arena, focusing immediately on the girl who was his target.
It looked as if she were trying to hide behind her long, golden hair. The effect made her seem curiously vulnerable. He paused a moment, assessing her, and saw nothing to change his original ideas about her. She was helpless.
She was his.
He stifled an abortive feeling of pity, and strode out onto the sand. He gave her a moment to stare at him, make her own assessment, and contemplate the smile of hate on his face. He wanted her to be afraid.
He glanced quickly around the arena, to make sure that there were no other threats. Then he charged. He knew better than to give her time to organize her power of conjuration, or to plan a defense. Even the weakest woman was dangerous, because of her magic. First he had to knock her down and out. Then pluck out her eyes. Then break her arms. Only then could he afford to start playing with her. To give the Queen her show.
He closed on the prey. She stared at him, frightened. She gestured. And in a single instant, the ever-fickle fates turned the tables on him.
Queen Adria leaned forward in her private box, smiling with anticipation, ignoring the guests on either side. She was waiting for the girl to make her first mistake. Xantippe leaned forward with her, but her other guest, the demon called "Ware," leaned back, his saturnine face enigmatic.
But the eager smile on her face was wiped out in an instant. Instead of making the fatal error of wasting time by conjuring something to cover her nakedness, Xylina fought back-in the best and cleverest way possible.
She conjured lengths of metal, like rods or blunted spears, about as long as her own forearm. They appeared in her hands so quickly that the Queen literally could not see the process of conjuration; they leapt into her grip, and were thrown just as quickly. The girl began hurling them at her opponent before the man had taken more than two steps, somehow producing them and throwing them so rapidly that one was still in the air as another formed in her hands. Her physical expertise was surprising, considering her lack of muscle; she must have trained for this. She had, after all, come to fight. Of course it would take more than lightly thrown rods to save her. Much more. Still, this was not a good sign. The girl was starting to resemble her mother. But no; that had to be a fluke. Her one desperate effort, doomed to failure as the man discovered that it was all she had.
The slave was not prepared for the rain of missiles. He was not even prepared for Xylina to fight. Several of her weapons actually struck his body with dull, meaty thuds, before he realized what was going on and protected his head and face with his arms. But he continued his charge, obviously well aware that the only way to end the potentially-deadly hailstorm was to reach the girl and get his hands on her.
He never got the chance.
Xylina changed her target the moment he protected his head, and began hurling her metal bars at the slave's legs. One of them scored as he reached the middle of the arena, tripping him and sending him heavily to the ground. One of the bars made a lucky strike to his lowered head.
He lay there for a moment, half stunned by the blow; moving, but not to any purpose.
At that moment, the huge, dangerous man was completely at Xylina's mercy.
The Queen scowled, taken as much by surprise by the girl's conjurations as her opponent was. She had been incredibly swift and precise, both in her choice of weaponry and in her ability to use it. There had been no warning of anything like this in Xylina's past-
-except that she was Elibet's daughter.
Then, as the slave shook his head and dragged himself to his feet, the girl abolished her conjurations. To the Queen's amazement, she stood waiting for him, seemingly helpless. As if she were refusing to act on her momentary advantage.
What could she be thinking of? Now the slave was angry. He would certainly kill Xylina. The girl had been terminally foolish, failing to finish it when she had her one lucky chance. Was it sheer idiocy-or lack of will? Either was enough to destroy her. This was after all no playground.
Or was it foolish confidence? Well, the slave would quickly test it, and put her down brutally.
If he could. If she didn't have something else planned. Adria was no longer willing to bet that the girl was as helpless as she looked.
The Queen bit her lip in vexation. The prudent course would have been to kill the slave before he recovered. Surely the girl couldn't possibly be planning to tame this brute, could she? Admittedly, he was a valuable commodity, and if she made him surrender, he could be worth a nice sum to the impoverished girl. But how could she dare even think of it?
Events were proceeding faster than Adria's thoughts. The slave did not waste any time, once he got to his feet. Again he charged, this time obliquely, and with an eye out for more metal projectiles.