Ox picked up a small, wet length of tree branch. There were deep bite marks at its center. “Ox put this into Chosen One’s mouth, just as wizards say,” the Minion answered. “Keep from swallowing tongue, or Chosen One could die.” He smiled, almost sheepishly. “Chosen One almost bite Ox finger off.” He raised his eyebrows at the prince. “Ox thinking maybe wizards would have to put it back on, like foot.”
Another faint smile came to Tristan’s lips. “How long have I been out?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head. Ox looked up between the tree branches, finding the sun.
“It midday. You gone about five hours.”
Five hours, Tristan thought glumly. I have now had the second of my four convulsions. I can’t begin to imagine a third. Two more, and I will be a dead man.
Looking down at his right arm, he saw that the menacing black veins had lengthened even farther, extending into his hand. His arm felt far more stiff and sore than before. He sat there for some time saying nothing, quietly thinking to himself before trying to stand up.
With Ox’s help he finally came to his feet. He checked his weapons, also taking stock of where he was. Thankfully, the warrior had dragged him approximately twenty meters into the woods. Through a clear spot at the edge he could just make out the dark soil of the grave he had unearthed, and the heel tracks left in the snow. Choosing to say no more of it, Tristan began to exit the forest, Ox in tow. After walking silently past the grave, they headed for the Recluse.
The partially constructed foundation of the blue marble rose commandingly into the air, resting squarely atop the island in the center of the magnificent lake. But as Tristan and Ox approached the first of the two drawbridges, they could see no one. Nor were there any of the normal, busy sounds of construction work, or voices ringing out through the air that would accompany an undertaking as grand as the rebuilding of a castle. Sensing something was amiss, Tristan and Ox slowly stopped. It was then that they heard the sound. Cheering.
Turning, Tristan finally noticed a mound of earth to his right. It was approximately one hundred meters away, and covered with snow. It rose upward for about thirty meters, ran for some distance, and then descended to some depth. Looking at it, Tristan came to realize that it was a great bowl of some sort. The bowl was obviously man-made, and he was sure it had not existed at the time of Shailiha’s rescue.
Looking quizzically to Ox, he asked, “Do you know what this is? Why is there shouting coming from it?” The hollering and cheering seemed to come in waves, rising and then subsiding, over and over again.
“Was built after Chosen One leave first time,” Ox answered. He looked Tristan in the eyes, but it was clear he did not quite know how to proceed. “Is for Kachinaar.”
Tristan looked back at the mound. “What is a Kachinaar?”
“Is warrior’s vigil,” Ox said. “If one warrior accuses another, then Kachinaar held. If contest fails, then warrior guilty and killed, punishment already done. If contest succeeds, then innocent, warrior set free. Kluge use Kachinaar very much, sometimes in other ways. Traax use too.”
Tristan’s jaw went slack. “What happens during this Kachinaar?” he asked quickly.
“Kachinaar take many forms,” Ox said. “Best go look.”
Tristan had originally hoped to see Traax, the second in command, in a private setting. But on the other hand, confronting a great number of the Minions at once might prove more effective. Provided, of course, that they accepted his rule over them. And besides, there seemed to be no one at the construction site to speak with, anyway.
“All right,” he said resignedly. “But I do not want our appearances made known until I say so, do you understand?”
Ox clicked the heels of his boots together. “I live to serve,” he said quickly. Together they started up the side of the embankment. Finally reaching the top, they looked down.
Layered from top to bottom against the inner side of the earthen walls was row after row of blue marble seats filled with shouting and cheering Minion warriors. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, and it was apparent to Tristan that many of them were quite drunk. The amphitheater was in the shape of an oval, rather than a circle, as he had first presumed. The floor in the center was made also of blue marble, presumably having been taken from the nearby construction site. Tristan ordered Ox to lie on his stomach behind the last row, then followed suit.
There were perhaps a dozen Minion warriors on the floor of the amphitheater, where they seemed to be playing some kind of violent, deranged game. Arranged into two teams, each was struggling mightily to gain and keep control of some type of ball. As one warrior would gain possession of it and try to make it to the opposite side, those from the other team would use any and all means—short of weapons, he noticed—to try and take it away. There seemed to be no other rules whatsoever. Blood lay pooled in many areas upon the slick marble floor, and the bodies of several of the warriors, apparently smashed senseless from their previous participation in the game, lay inert along the sides of the ring. Some of them, unconscious and their mouths open, were quite obviously missing teeth. Others of them were splayed out in very unnatural directions, their limbs obviously broken. It was then, during a split-second break in the action, that Tristan could finally see the “ball” clearly. It was the severed head of a fellow warrior.
Aghast, Tristan turned to Ox. “What is the meaning of this?” he whispered angrily. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing!”
Ox indicated an area segregated from the others. Small and square, it held a single warrior. He was seated in a marble chair, his hands, wings, and feet bound tightly with rope. He looked extremely worried.
“He accused,” Ox whispered back. “If team on right side take head across to opposite end three times first, then he guilty, and die. If team on left get head and take across other way three times first, then he innocent, and live.”
Tristan shook his head back and forth in utter disbelief. “This is insane!” he snarled. “Only a proper court can make a man guilty or innocent! Besides, I outlawed this kind of behavior before I left Parthalon! Why are they disobeying me?”
Ox looked back, an obvious expression of complete misunderstanding upon his face. “Pardon, but Chosen One wrong,” he said as courteously as he knew how. “Chosen One never outlaw Kachinaar. Ox know. Ox there that day in courtyard.” He looked back down to the bizarre game. “Is Minion way,” he added with finality, the pride in his warriorship showing through.
Tristan thought for a moment, his mind going back to that awful day when he had slain their previous leader, subsequently being anointed the new lord of the Minions. Ox is right, he finally realized. I only outlawed those things that I knew of at the time. He looked back down at the horrific game as the warriors continued to gleefully, recklessly maim each other.
“Why do they use the head of a warrior?” Tristan asked. “And where did it come from? Did they kill someone just to provide a head for this awful game?”
“If two warriors accused for same crime, and first one guilty in different Kachinaar, then head brought here for second. Is only time this place used. Kachinaar in theater special, and much enjoyed. Minions like.”
Tristan looked down again at the accused, sitting alone in the marble box. “If this man is found guilty, then how will he die?” he asked, playing along for the moment.
Ox pointed to another segregated area at the side of the amphitheater floor. “There,” he said. “If guilty, warrior go to that.”