Arena

CHAPTER 16

THE ROAD BEFORE HIM WAS A BRIGHT MOONLIT ribbon that traced over the hills of darkness. At the crest of the hill ahead he could see the tavern, an old favorite haunt, and he stretched in the saddle, glad that the day’s ride was nearly ended.

He looked over his shoulder at the young acolytes who rode behind him. Though tired, they chatted eagerly, for tomorrow they would reach the city. He half listened to their prattle and boasts of what they would accomplish at the Festival, what spells they hoped to win and the laurels of victory that they would wear upon their brows when they next rode this way at the ending of Festival time.

The old man listened, smiling to himself, able to do so since they could not see him. He was, after all, the Master, and they had never seen him smile, nor would they, at least until they had won.

They rode into the courtyard of the tavern and the old man dismounted, his joints creaking, cursing mildly at one of the young men for not being quick enough to help him down.

He walked into the tavern and looked around cautiously. It was late at night, but some travelers were still up, sitting by the fire, chatting. They looked over their shoulders at him and grins lit their faces.

One of them, tankard in hand, walked toward him. He knew the type and waited.

“So what are the chances this year?”

The old man looked him up and down.

“We’ll win,” he snapped, and his tone made it clear that he was not in the mood to talk odds and fighting records, or who would be the final winner.

The man backed away and returned sullenly to his friends.

The old man looked over at the innkeeper.

“See that my youngsters are fed and bedded down.” Reaching into a purse which was tied to the strap of his satchel, he pulled out a gold coin and tossed it to the keeper.

Turning, he went back to the door.

“Master?”

The old man looked over his shoulder at the young woman who cautiously came up to his side.

“What is it?”

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk, some fresh air.”

“You shouldn’t go alone.”

The old man laughed.

“I think I can take care of myself. Now get something to eat and go to bed-it’s a long ride tomorrow to the city.”

She hesitated.

“We think there’s something out there tonight,” she whispered.

“Go on, child, I’ll be all right.”

Reluctantly she turned away and rejoined her friends.

Opening the door, he stepped out into the moonlight and walked out onto the road.

The girl was right. There was something following them, he could sense that. He had felt its presence all evening, drawing closer. It felt familiar somehow and yet he could not be sure. If it boded ill, he wanted his young acolytes out of the way. They were nothing more than first- and second-rank fighters and would be slaughtered if it was a fight. But then again there were precious few fighters aboard now who were anything beyond first or second. Nearly all the rest had died in the Time of Troubles.

Slowly he walked back up the road down which he had ridden, finally reaching the crest of the hill.

And then he saw them. Two riders, moving at a casual pace, as if they had all the time in the world and there was nothing in it to fear.

The old man drew back into the shadow of the trees and watched them approach. One of the riders slowed and the old man heard the snick of steel being drawn and then there was a cool, distant laugh.

“Old man, if you mean to fight, at least come out of the shadows and stop skulking about.”

He stepped into the road and looked up at the two riders, the moon behind him drifting behind a cloud so that the land was plunged into darkness.

“Who are you?” one of the two asked, her voice cool and aloof.

“Rather should I ask who are you? You’ve been following me for several hours now.”

“It’s a free road. Now who are you?”

The old man slowly extended his hands, ready to do battle.

“Hadin gar Kan, Master of the House of Oor-tael.”

The woman laughed softly and there was the sound of a blade returning to its scabbard.

“Going to Festival?” she asked.

“That was my intention.”

“Will you win?”

Her tone was one of simple interest and Hammen relaxed slightly.

“We plan to. The game should be interesting, mostly new fighters now. Ever since the Time of Troubles, that’s about all we have.”

“I heard about that,” the woman said. “What happened?”

“You don’t know?”

“We’ve been away.”

“The old Grand Master and the four Houses were destroyed. New Houses have been formed. The fights aren’t the same anymore. They’re like the old days again. Tests of skill with loss of a single spell and no more. The mob can bet if it wants but that’s up to them. The final winner simply goes home after it is over. I am Master of Oor-tael. Another old fighter controls Bolk.”

“And who is that?”

“Some dumb ox named Naru.”

For the first time the other rider made a sound, a deep rich chuckle, and Hammen felt a cold shiver go down his spine. Even as he drew closer the woman spoke again.

“And who is Grand Master?”

“Varena, formerly of Fentesk.”

“That bitch?”

“Damn it all!” Hammen shouted. “You two bastards, where the hell have you been?”

Norreen swung down from her saddle and, laughing, she approached and embraced Hammen. Hammen, however, barely noticed her and he continued to look up at the other rider.

“Garth?”

“It’s me, old friend.”

Garth slowly dismounted and then rushed forward, eagerly embracing Hammen.

“I thought you were dead, both of you,” Hammen gasped, suddenly feeling weak and giddy.

“We thought so too,” Norreen replied.

“So what happened?”

“We struggled,” Garth finally said, his voice sounding distant, as if coming from the realms in which he had fought. “I thought it was finished but then his power was checked by an attack from other quarters. I used what mana I had left to finally seal the gate.”

He hesitated for a moment.

“Funny. It almost felt at the end as if he simply gave up, as if he no longer really cared.”

“You were Walkers then,” Hammen said. “You were on the other side and all the universe was open to you.”

Garth chuckled softly.

“One place is as good as another, and believe me, this place is better than most.

“Besides,” Garth continued, his voice distant, “it was eternal struggle out there. After all that had happened I simply wanted some peace and here was as good as any.”

“But you gave up immortality.”

“We’ll have our years. And in the face of eternity, what is immortality? I’ll leave that to the Eternal. I think the way He set things up is good enough for us. I saw what it did to the others out there and I knew if we stayed, we’d become like them in the end. There were a few I sensed who finally understood that and returned to a world of their choosing to live as mortals. It seemed a sensible choice.

“Anyhow,” he whispered, as if what he had seen and done was best left forgotten, “the gate to this realm is closed tight again. The mana here is strong, we don’t have to worry about others coming through for a long time, as long as we prevent those still here from trying to reopen it.”

Hammen shook his head.

“Damn you, I’ve mourned you for three years. At least you could have let me know you were safe.”

“We just have,” Norreen replied.

“Thanks for the quick notice,” Hammen sniffed.

“So are you coming to Festival?”

Norreen looked over sharply at Garth, who cleared his throat nervously.

“I think it best that I skip it for now.”

“So where are you heading, then?”

“There’s a garden and an old house in the Southlands,” Garth said, a wistful tone in his voice. “A good place to raise a family.”

“A family?” Hammen chuckled.

Norreen, blushing, turned away.

“And what caste will he be?” Hammen asked, looking at Norreen.

“Tarmula of Benalia if he’s born under the sign we planned for.”

Hammen stood before the two, eyes brimming with tears, unable to speak.

“I always hated long farewells. Someday you must visit, but I know how affairs of this world run,” Garth said, his voice suddenly husky and near to breaking.

He quickly embraced Hammen and then got back in his saddle. Norreen reached over and hugged him as well and laughed softly when Hammen patted her stomach.

“We’ll call him Hadin,” she said.

“Just Hammen, please.”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek and, to his surprise, swung easily back up on her horse.

“Won’t you stay with me for the night?” Hammen asked.

“A long ride ahead. We’ve been following you and your youngsters and wasted hours doing it.”

Hammen, sighing, moved to stand by Garth’s stirrup and, reaching up, he took his hand.

The moon drifted out from behind the clouds and Hammen gasped in astonishment.

“Your eye, Master, it’s healed. You have two eyes.”

Garth laughed.

“A little side benefit of being a Walker, even if it was but for a day.”

Hammen reluctantly let go and Garth looked down at his old friend.

“You know I planned it from the start. Finding you as I did on the street was all part of the plan.”

“I sort of figured that out.”

“And if I should wander into your life again, it will be part of another plan as well. Take care, my friend, and bet my money well.”

Garth spurred his mount and together the two rode off, the moon once more drifting behind the clouds so that they disappeared from view.

Hammen, shaking his head, slowly walked back to the tavern, thinking about the next Festival and the odds on wagers to come.