Arena

CHAPTER 4

AS THE SECOND BELL OF MORNING SOUNDED Garth looked around expectantly. The Plaza was still something of a shambles from the previous night’s festivities, littered with broken glass, shattered wine amphorae, torn clothing, and a scattering of bodies, some of which would have to be swept up and borne off to the paupers field for interment at city expense. The first of the morning crowd was already starting to wander about, most of them beggars looking for coins that might have been dropped during the night, some of them pawing over the bodies, which had already been picked clean before dawn had even begun to brighten the eastern sky.

Hammen yawned wearily.

“This is foolishness, Garth. I told you Benalish women are nothing but a royal pain.”

“I’m curious, that’s all.” He paused. “And besides, it might fit my purpose.”

“What purpose is that?” Hammen asked quietly.

“You’ll see and, besides, here she comes.”

Garth nodded to a lone figure coming across the Great Plaza, her cloak pulled in tightly to ward off the morning chill. She walked with a purposeful stride, the growing crowd in the Plaza backing out of her way as she passed. A small knot was already following her, for where a Benalish woman went, there was, more often than not, an interesting event about to unfold.

She walked straight toward the House of Bolk, and her ragtag followers stopped at the edge of the dark paving stones that marked the territory of the House.

“Come on,” Garth said quietly, and he moved out of the shadows of an alleyway to follow.

“All this skulking about over a woman,” Hammen sniffed. “First you leave the warmth of your bed before dawn, then you drag me out through a secret entrance to throw off the Grand Master’s watchers, and now you step out in public like this when obviously there’s a fight brewing.”

As Norreen approached the Bolk House guards appeared from the doorway, motioning for her to stop. She came to a halt and placed her fists on her hips in a defiant manner.

“I seek audience with the Master of Bolk House,” she announced in a clear voice that carried across the Plaza.

“You are not a magic wielder, just a warrior,” one of the guards sniffed. “Be off.”

“I fought one of your men oquorak and he reneged on his wager. I’m here to seek satisfaction, either in payment or blood.”

“Must have been Gilrash,” one of the guards said, looking over at his companion and shaking his head. “He looked pretty cut up last night.”

“Then get Gilrash out here.”

The first guard who spoke looked back at Norreen and realized he’d been more than a bit foolish.

“Go away. Come back after Festival. We have things to worry about other than your so-called claim.”

“I witnessed the fight,” Garth announced, and he stepped forward onto the brown paving stones.

“Damn it, Master,” Hammen sighed, and he stepped out behind him as Garth approached the trio.

“I witnessed the fight and searched your man after this woman had won. It’s as she said-he was penniless. He violated the honor of an oquorak on three counts. First, the fighting without money to back the wager. Next, he attempted to stab when the fight went against him, and, finally, one of his accomplices tried to step into the circle to stab this woman from behind.”

As Garth spoke he raised his voice so that the gathering crowd could hear. Immediately there was a rumbling chorus of comments, for the ritual of oquorak was held in high esteem, and to violate it on not just one, but three different points was, to the crowd’s way of thinking, a despicable act lower than attempting to relieve oneself in the public fountains. Oquorak was supposed to be nothing more than a friendly little game, with at worst an occasional eye slashed out.

The two guards looked around uneasily and Norreen spared a quick glance back at Garth.

“I don’t need your help,” she hissed coldly.

“You heard her; let’s beat it,” Hammen urged.

“Gilrash is lower than a night soil collector and without honor,” Garth pressed. “Bring your Master out here to make restitution and to punish your cur the way he deserves.”

One of the guards spit on the ground.

“You’re trespassing, Gray One-eye. Withdraw now before I teach you a lesson.”

At the mention of his nickname a gasp went through the crowd as recognition finally dawned as to who was participating in the confrontation, since his back was turned to the crowd. Cries of bookmakers could now be heard, singing out the odds. Garth looked quickly over his shoulder and saw that Hammen was already backing up, reaching into his purse, and Garth nodded a quick approval. He looked back at the Brown guard.

“Anytime you’re ready,” he said easily, extending his hands out to either side.

“Stay out of this,” Norreen snarled.

Garth, with a quick wave of his hand, motioned for her to step back and out of the way.

The Brown guard looked at Garth nervously and then made a quick gesture to his companion, who turned and ran back toward the House. Garth waited, concentrating his mana carefully, choosing his spell, and as he did so the guard he was confronting started to back up. A loud hooting roar came up from the crowd, which grew to a thunderous tumult when the Brown guard lowered his hands, acknowledging defeat without even having crossed spells. Garth turned his back on him in contempt and faced the crowd, bowing toward them as if they were the Grand Master and a duel had just been completed. The winners of the betting broke into a loud ovation. And then the mob went silent.

“Naru,” someone hissed.

Garth turned and looked back. And even as he started to turn, the crowd broke into another frenzy of betting. He made a subtle hand gesture to Hammen and then moved to face what was approaching. The cry of his new opponent’s name echoed behind him and he could hear the stampeding of the mob from the far ends of the Great Plaza, drawn by the prospect of seeing a champion fight.

He could feel the power of the man’s mana wash over him even before he was visible in the doorway. The fighter was a giant, standing nearly a fathom and a half in height, powerfully built, his shoulders so wide that it appeared as if he would have to turn sideways to get through the door. He emerged through the doorway dressed in nothing more than a loincloth, his satchel dangling from a gold-encrusted strap. Steam from the sweat of his morning exercise wafted up from his body as he strode barefoot into the Plaza.

His shaven bullet-shaped head turned slowly back and forth, surveying the mob, some of whom broke into an ovation for their favorite. Behind him came a score of Bolk fighters, who fanned out behind him. Naru walked up to Garth, moving with a cold, steady purposefulness as if Garth was nothing more than an insect who would have to be stamped on.

“Get out of here, One-eye.”

His voice was a low, rasping rumble that grated.

“This woman is owed a debt from an oquorak which one of your cowards skipped out on. Pay her and then we’ll leave.”

Naru looked over toward Norreen and snorted, his breath coming like a bellows.

His hand shot out like a falling tree, swinging to catch Garth with a crushing blow on his blind side, the fighter not even bothering to waste time conjuring a spell. And yet somehow Garth sensed it coming and ducked low. Even as he ducked he slashed out, his foot catching Naru in the groin.

The giant grunted like a bull, his eyes bulging out of his head so that he looked like a dying codfish. He went down on his knees.

Garth caught him again, kicking him under the chin, knocking Naru over backward. Blood and several teeth sprayed out as the giant toppled to the pavement and was still.

A hoarse gasp arose from the crowd, the few betting on Garth whooping with joy, for even though it had not been a fight of magics, Naru was now flat out on the pavement and the battle was an official win.

With an angry cry, one of the Brown fighters leaped forward, raising his hand at Garth.

A thundering howl seemed to emanate from the Brown’s hand, a loud shrieking roar that struck with such intensity that Garth staggered backward even as he raised a protective shield about himself. The sound was blocked within his circle of protection but behind him he could hear the screaming of the mob as the demon howl bowled them over. With a wave of his hand Garth extended the wall of protection to the crowd, many of whom were writhing in agony, blood pouring from ruptured eardrums, so shattering was the scream summoned from the demon realms.

Garth nodded his head and the Brown fighter started to wave his hands around in agony as his mana was drained away. The demon howl subsided, Brown still shaking his hand, which now started to glow as if on fire.

Another Brown fighter raised his hands, and then another and behind Garth the crowd started to scatter in every direction.

“To Gray!”

Garth spared a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that Hammen was shouting at the top of his lungs, hobbling back toward Kestha House, from which some fighters were already coming on the run, drawn at first by the excitement of the crowd and now by Hammen’s rally cry.

Garth clapped his hands together and then extended them, holding them aloft as if they were claws. Seconds later, even as skeletal forms started to appear around him, conjured by Brown, his own spell took form. Coils of light swirled around him and out of each coil a lumbering bear appeared, snuffling and snarling. Garth shouted a word of command and the four bears charged toward the line of Brown, pausing only briefly to bowl the skeletons over. Several of the Brown broke and ran while another diverted his spell, which he had been aiming toward Garth, and threw it toward a bear, which simply exploded and disappeared. Another bear died from a bolt of lightning from above but short seconds later two of the bears crossed the killing zone, both of them throwing themselves on the Brown fighter who had first attacked Garth and was still distracted by his burning hand.

The Brown fighters turned to help their comrade, throwing spells, but it was already too late as one bear grabbed the fighter by the legs, while the other closed his mouth over the man’s head and shoulders, drowning out his shrieks. The two pulled in opposite directions and then ran off with the still-twitching halves of the dead fighter, shaking their heads back and forth so that blood and entrails were scattered across the Plaza.

A wild frenzy now seized the Brown fighters, who all turned their attention back to Garth. His circle of protection was stunned by volley after volley of spells so that he was forced to stagger backward. He saw through the haze of explosions that Norreen, moving as if she was nothing but a blur, had thrown herself into the fray with sword drawn, leaping upon a Brown fighter and dispatching him with a quick slice to the throat. Brown staggered off, both hands clasped to his throat, while the arterial blood sprayed out from between his fingers. With a single fluid motion she was past her first victim, still running, closing in on the next one, stabbing low, catching him in the stomach so that he howled and fell backward. He fumbled to raise an artifact and again her blade slashed out, severing his hand, the glowing artifact tumbling to the pavement. And then the others finally caught her, a black cloud swirling around her. Her eyes went wide with terror and she recoiled backward, flaying with her sword to strike at the invisible terror that engulfed her.

Garth moved to black the spell against her but the volleys from a dozen fighters, some of whom were obviously fifth-rank or better, were too much. Finally he broke his own protection for an instant to strike the terror down that held her and she scrambled away on hands and knees. But the move cost him and he was hit by a terror spell in turn that, for an instant, nearly blinded him with a heart-tearing fear. The Brown fighters, sensing they had the advantage, started to move closer, eager for the kill, several of them conjuring demons to render Garth into pieces.

A flash of light snapped across the square. Seconds later, more were launched, followed an instant later by what looked like an icy storm that extinguished the power of the demons closing in on Garth.

Garth reestablished his own circle of protection, using a healing spell on himself to wash away the fear, and looked to his left. A swarm of Gray fighters were closing in, hands raised, engaging the Bolk fighters, who now turned to face the new assault. From out of the door of the Bolk House more fighters were emerging. Behind him he could hear the familiar high clarion trumpet calls of the Grand Master, his own fighters racing across the Plaza to break up the melee.

Blood started to spill as fighters traded attacks at close range, several of them falling, the victors administering deathblows and then cutting off satchels to claim their prizes, all rules of the fight now lost in the confusion. Garth closed his eyes and raised both hands upward, the spell momentarily draining the power from him.

He opened his eyes again and smiled when atop the Bolk House a giant spider, its bloated body at least four fathoms across, appeared. The spider looked down at the mad melee and saw its opportunity for a feast. Leaning over from the top of the building, its hairy forelegs touched down to the ground and, even as it crawled down the side of the building, it turned its head back and forth, spraying out acidic poison. Fighters, both Brown and Gray, caught unaware, writhed on the paving stones, shrieking in agony, especially when the poison struck their eyes. Garth looked around and saw Norreen, stilling moving backward from the melee. He raced over to her side.

“Let’s go!”

He reached under her shoulder to pull her up. Garth snapped his fingers and a cloud of green smoke concealed them.

He started to run and she struggled to keep up as they joined the edge of the mob, which was now running in every direction, shrieking in terror as dozens of uncontrolled spells swept across the square, the brawl now completely out of control, with fighters simply conjuring and tossing out their denizens to strike at whatever was nearest. Undead moved with shambling steps, several of them holding shrieking citizens of the town aloft in their gray-green hands as trophies. Great serpents, half a dozen fathoms in length and as thick as a man’s waist, darted about, looking for someone to bite, several of them wrestling with their victims, one of them already swallowing a still-kicking form. The usual skeletons walked with clattering motions, looking for human flesh to sink their white bony fingers into. Off to one side the two bears were finished with their repast and started to run across the square, looking for another meal. Garth waved his hand, causing them to fall in by his side.

Cursing and shoving, fighters belonging to the Grand Master hit the edge of the fight, some of them turning to take care of the various creatures pursuing the fleeing crowd. One of the fighters turned toward Garth and he released the bears and continued on. Seconds later he heard the shrieks of the fighter who had tried to stop him.

“Master!”

Garth looked over his shoulder and stopped as Hammen shuffled toward him.

The Plaza was chaos, more than forty fighters from each House trading it out in front of Brown’s House, the spider, now minus several legs, scrambling about crookedly, holding a writhing Kesthan fighter in its pincer fangs, another struggling form, cocooned in silk, strapped to its back. An explosion erupted atop Bolk’s House, tearing off part of the facade, sending a shower of stones into a side street while fires licked from half a dozen buildings farther up the alleyway. The Great Plaza was a sea of confusion as thousands tried to flee while thousands more pushed eagerly forward to watch the fun.

Hammen reached Garth’s side and pulled a satchel out from his tunic.

“Where’d you get that?” Garth asked.

“Oh, it belonged to that big chap whom you taught to sing soprano.”

Garth spared a quick look inside at the amulets. It was a fabulous haul even if it wasn’t quite legal.

“I think we should move out of here,” Garth announced, watching as a phalanx of warriors came forward at the run, their crossbows raised. The first line of warriors spread out and started to lob shots at the spider, which merely seemed to enrage the creature even more, so that it turned and started to charge toward them, tossing the Gray fighter aside.

The warriors of the Grand Master who had fired hurriedly placed the front of their weapons on the ground, hooking their feet into the stirrup of the crossbow while they struggled with both hands to cock their weapons. The rest of the phalanx now fired as well, and yet the spider still staggered forward. The reloading crossbow men, to a man, abandoned their efforts and, turning, fled. The phalanx scattered in every direction, Garth, Hammen, and Norreen darting out of the enraged spider’s path.

The spider slashed out with its clawed forelegs, knocking men down, crushing them underfoot, and continued to spread its poison, which bubbled and hissed as it struck pavement, metal, leather, and flesh.

Several horsemen came galloping through the crowd, knocking fleeting citizens and crossbow men aside. Directly behind them was a wagon, the driver lashing the team. The driver pulled in hard on his reins, causing the wagon to skid around to a stop. On the back of the wagon a heavy ballista was mounted, manned by a dwarf firing crew, the weapon already cocked. The head gunner peered down the length of the shaft, shouting at his two assistants to wedge the elevation up higher. The spider, seeing the wagon, started toward it. The team of horses shrieked with fright, the driver standing up and hauling in on the reins, struggling to keep the horses from bolting.

The ballista seemed almost to leap into the air as the gunner pulled the lanyard, the heavy bolt shrieking as it rocketed across the Plaza and slammed into the spider.

The stricken beast reared up, a loud cry of pain echoing from it, greenish blood pouring out of its wound as it tumbled over, its legs twitching spasmodically. The cocooned warrior who had been strapped to its back twisted and writhed beside his captor, looking like a great maggot.

“I think the fun’s over,” Garth said with a smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

He darted into the swirling mob, still holding Norreen up. She struggled to free herself and he finally let go.

“Just what in the name of all that’s holy were you doing back there?” she snapped angrily.

“Helping,” Garth said quietly, even as he continued to push her forward. Behind them the crowd roared as an explosion rocked the Great Plaza, followed by the crystalline tinkling of glass shattering from dozens of buildings.

“You weren’t there to help me,” she snarled. “You were out after something else and you got it.”

Garth slowed and looked at her.

“I was there to help you,” he said calmly, “and things got out of hand.”

“Don’t play the game with me; you wanted that fight.”

Garth said nothing and continued on.

“I still don’t have my honor back from them,” she snapped.

Garth looked over at Hammen.

“How much did we make?”

“We’ve got thirteen gold now,” he chortled gleefully. “It was fifteen to one with Naru.”

“Let me see.”

Hammen, struggling to keep pace with Garth, reluctantly pulled out the coins and handed them up.

Garth turned and offered them to Norreen.

She slapped his hand away, the coins spilling to the pavement. With a loud cry of dismay Hammen scurried about, picking them up, pulling out his dagger and screaming when an urchin snapped one of the rolling coins up and disappeared into the crowd that was swirling about them.

“Money is meaningless; it is honor I was after.”

“You still have to eat,” Garth snapped hotly, and snatching a coin from Hammen, he forced a gold coin into her palm.

“That will keep you till after Festival. You’re now known throughout the city for having the courage to challenge Bolk. People will remember the whole thing started with a Benalish Hero. Just avoid the Grand Master’s people; they’ll be out after you.”

She looked at him coldly and started to raise her fist as if to throw the coin back.

“You have to eat,” he said quietly and then, turning, strode away.

“He’s mad,” Hammen said, shaking his head as he looked up at Norreen.

“He’s a bastard,” she said softly in reply, a look of confusion in her eyes and then, turning, she disappeared into the crowd.

Hammen scurried to keep up with Garth, ducking low when another explosion erupted, sending debris soaring a hundred or more feet up into the air. The Plaza echoed with explosions and the sharp call of trumpets. From out of the main gate of the Grand Master’s palace another column of warriors emerged, running full out, swords and crossbows at the ready. Behind them came a dozen more fighters, the strength of their mana evident so that they appeared to glow, spreading spells of protection over themselves and the warriors. In the middle of the column rode the Grand Master. His face was a mask of fury and for a moment he turned his attention toward Garth, who froze in his steps.

Hammen watched him, sensed that somehow Garth, for an instant, did not really appear to be present, as if he had gone shadowy and opaque, like a drawing on smoked glass. The Grand Master stared straight at him for several seconds. Another explosion rocked the far end of the Plaza and the Grand Master stirred, as if awakening from a dream. He turned away, shaking his head as if confused, and rode on toward the widening brawl. Garth was present once more, still walking purposefully.

“A neat spell,” Hammen gasped, struggling to keep up with Garth.

“It helps sometimes, especially if the searcher is not concentrating,” Garth announced matter-of-factly.

“What now, Master?”

Garth looked back at Hammen.

“Master, is it?”

“After what you pulled off back there. It was beautiful.”

“What do you mean?”

“Triggering that fight.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Garth replied.

Hammen hawked and spit in reply.

Crossing the Great Plaza, Garth moved straight toward the Ingkara House. The front of the House was packed with scores of fighters, who were watching the confusion at the other end of the plaza and roaring with appreciative delight.

Garth moved straight toward them and for a moment they barely noticed that he had crossed the line of paving stones and was now on the semicircle of purple that arced out around their House.

“Hey, a one-eyed Gray. Are you running away?”

Garth turned toward the speaker, who stood laughing.

“I want to join Ingkara,” Garth said, his voice cool and even.

Several of the fighters started to laugh and taunt him.

“A little too hot over there, isn’t it? Might get hurt. And now you can’t go back since you ran.”

Even as he turned and started to extend his hands a young Purple fighter, his tunic blackened and singed, came racing up to the crowd. He slowed and, turning, looked at Garth.

“That’s him. He’s the one that started it!” the new arrival shouted.

The fighter preparing to challenge Garth looked over at the scorched messenger with surprise.

“He started the whole thing. He took down Naru and then fought a dozen of them to a standstill,” the young Purple gasped.

Garth’s challenger looked around in confusion and Garth made the defiant and self-confident gesture of lowering his hands.

“Naru?” his challenger asked.

“He needs a new set of teeth,” the messenger announced excitedly as if he had somehow performed the feat himself, “and he’ll have to fish somewhere up under his ribs for what’s left of his manhood the way this one-eye kicked him.”

The Purple fighters looked first at the messenger and then back at Garth, several of them slowly breaking into grins of delight. The crowd started to part, the fighters lowering their heads in respect as a lean, angular form moved toward Garth, his purple robe made of the richest velvet and covered with heavy rope like coils of gold embroidery.

Garth lowered his head in a respectful manner.

“Jimak, Master of Ingkara,” Garth said.

Jimak slowly looked Garth up and down as if examining some minor work of art that he might consider buying if the price was right.

“You bested Naru like Balzark over there said?”

“It is as he said,” Garth replied.

“And fought a dozen Browns until help arrived.”

“I had some help from a Benalish woman but, in general, yes.”

Jimak nodded as if pondering a deep thought.

“Why come to us? I should send you back to Tulan for punishment for breaking the peace of Festival.”

“Because if I beat Naru I can beat others and your House will profit. Besides, I am not fully initiated into Gray yet so technically I am free to leave when I please. Those are the rules as you know and frankly I’d prefer to skip the punishment coming out of the little incident over there.” He nodded back across the Plaza, which was now wreathed in coiling smoke illuminated by bright flashes of flame.

“I daresay Ingkara now has a couple dozen less fighters to compete against come Festival thanks to my effort and I wish to profit from that. Beyond that you can profit as well, so this could be to our mutual benefit.”

Jimak looked haughtily at Garth and then the thinnest of smiles broke his skull-like features.