"Now that you're finished putting this dump in order," he growled, relishing every word, "you will report to Knight Officer Darcan at the stables. He has some muck for you to rake."
"No! We can't-" Jacson inadvertently cried.
Massard took one step forward to stand before the young squire. His eyes narrowed to mere slits, and before anyone could move, he viciously backhanded the youth across the mouth.
The blow sent Jacson reeling. Catlike, he caught himself before he stumbled into the fire ring, and he crouched, his hand reaching for his dagger.
"Jacson, no!" Derrick hissed. The bigger youth grabbed his friend's arms and wrestled him back into line.
Massard's black eyes glittered. "Wise," he said, his voice full of venom. "Now, move!"
They knew all the pleading in the world would not help. For some reason, Massard did not want them to accompany Sara to the duel, and because of his rank, they couldn't gainsay him. They shifted in their places. Jacson's face glowed red with fury, and Marika hunched her shoulders and clenched her fists as if ready to strike Massard's sneering face.
Derrick forced his hand to salute his talon leader. "Yes, sir," he said stiffly. He turned to the others and drooped his right eye in a slow wink. His gesture acted as a balm to the others. They understood and allowed themselves to relax. Still angry but resigned, they followed Derrick away from the tents and off to the western edge of the tent ring, where a large complex of paddocks and stables housed the knighthood's horses.
Massard watched them go. Worthless, the lot of them, he thought. He had never seen such a group of weak, spineless, whining children in his life. They were worse than goblins. Well, as soon as he dealt with that conniving, boot-licking tramp, he'd beat some backbone into those brats or kill them trying.
He wrenched off his sword belt and stomped to his tent. Flinging open the flap, he tossed his sword on the rumpled blankets of his cot and was about to leave when something caught his eye-a bottle, sitting on the stool near his bed. A familiar clay bottle, with the wax-sealed cork and the maker's mark of his favorite dwarf spirits. His mouth went dry. He should not drink, not this close to a duel in which he would have to fight for his rank and reputation. He realized the drink slowed his reflexes and did strange things to his vision.
Yet again, why should he worry? The woman he was facing was no knight. She hadn't trained for twenty years or fought with Lord Ariakan during that glorious summer the Knights of Takhisis conquered Ansalon. True, she could handle a sword, but he was certain she would not be able to survive what he had in mind.
His hand reached for the bottle. He pulled the cork and inhaled the earthy fumes with a sigh of pleasure. Without bothering to wonder why a bottle of dwarven spirits had been left in his tent, he tipped the bottle up and let the fiery liquid burn a trail to his stomach.
Sara woke with a start. A noise, a light scratching noise that sounded like nails on fabric, disturbed her. She sat up, dazed, and stared at the dim yellowish light that leaked through the tent walls. She had been doing this all too often since Red Eric's brigands cracked her head. Every time she sat or lay down, she fell asleep.
The scratching came again, louder this time, and the tent Material jiggled under the pressure. Someone was at the door.
Sara groggily rose and opened the flap. A goblin face full of obsequious goodwill peered up at her. She recognized General Abrena's messenger in his filthy tunic and bits of purloined armor.
Her eyes flew to the sky to find the sun. "Oh, no! What time is it?" she cried.
The goblin peered upward, too, wondering what the fuss was about. "It's midday. High sun. General sent me to fetch you. She says almost time."
Rubbing her neck, Sara tried to calm down. She tied her hair back out of her way, then she picked up her new sword and her dagger and strapped them on. If Massard chose any other weapon, the general would supply one. She had no armor to wear-she'd never had more than the basic pieces she had worn during training years ago, and those were long gone-so she slipped on the heavy chain mail Saunder gave her. It was better than nothing.
She strode outside into the bright sunshine, the goblin at her heels. The camp seemed strangely empty without the squires. Now that the time had come to leave, she missed their noisy support. It was just like Massard's vindictive pettiness to send them to some onerous task instead of letting them witness the duel.
"Has Knight Officer Massard already left?" she asked.
The goblin shrugged his knobby shoulders. "Not in tent. Must have."
"Good." Sara pulled out her new thong decorated with dragon-scale disks. She had made a new one to replace the missing one the same day she woke from her long sleep.
"You won't need that. I'm right here."
Sara twisted around at the sound of the deep voice and saw Cobalt's horned head lying lazily on the ground beside her tent. The rest of the large dragon lifted himself off the ground from behind her tent and ambled around beside her. In the noon sun, his deep blue scales glowed with a richness all their own.
The goblin yelped and hid behind Sara's legs.
"Would you like a ride to the arena?" Sara asked goblin in an effort to be polite.
"No," said Cobalt and the goblin in one voice. The goblin scurried off before she could make any more dreadful suggestions.
Cobalt waited while Sara quickly saddled him. He extended his leg so she could climb up to his back, and as soon as she was settled in the saddle, he thrust off with his powerful hind legs into the cool blue sky.
Sara was grateful that he did not question the wisdom of her challenge. All she wanted now was a few minutes of quiet. She ran her hand down his long sapphire neck, enjoying the smoothness of his scales beneath her palm. She could feel his life-force surge beneath the protective scales in a hidden current of power and energy. She was thankful more than she could say that he freely gave her his support and companionship.
The dragon winged over Neraka, past the main gate, the Queen's Way, and the temple ruin to the southeastern side of the city, where the Arena of Death sat just to the south of the ex-lord mayor's playground.
The arena, a remnant of Queen Takhisis's days in the city, was an oval-shaped coliseum used for various bloody entertainments and killing sports. Its attractions were quite popular with Neraka's residents and quite lucrative for officials, who charged a few coppers for admission, sold beverages and food, and ran a betting ring. Consequently the lord mayor, and now General Abrena, made a habit of presenting events whenever possible. A duel between two officers wasn't quite as exciting as watching a mass slaughter of captives by hungry tigers, but there would be enough interest to draw a crowd. Especially since the news of Sara's brush with the horaxes in the ruin had spread through the city.
Cobalt circled around to overfly the arena, giving his rider a chance to see it from above. It was no wonder there was talk of repairing the place. It was a wreck. Too many years had passed, too much blood had been spilled in the sands, too many overenthusiastic fans had trampled over the seats, hacked at the stone with their weapons, or broken every awning and railing in sight.
This day, a fair-sized crowd gathered in the dilapidated tiers of seats and cheered when the large blue spread his wings wide and coasted to the sand-covered door of the arena.
General Abrena, several of her commanding officers from the Order of the Lily, and the Nightlord from the Order of the Skull walked across the sand to meet Sara. Lord Knight Cadrel carried the scepter of the adjudicator, the knighthood's judge in matters of contention.
Sara had seen duels often enough to know the procedure. She slid down from Cobalt's back, formally saluted the officers, and bowed to the Nightlord in his gray robes. "May Queen Takhisis walk with me this day and guide my efforts in her service."