The next few months went very well for Chainer. He thought him-self happy when the First praised him for delivering the Mirari and ordered Skellum to step up his train-ing. He was even happier, however, when he had been allowed back in the pits.

After spending years in the dementist academy, Chainer was oddly comforted to be back among people who lived and died by their skills rather than their ability to lie. There was also a strange camaraderie among the contestants that Chainer never got tired of. You could be standing in a group waiting for your next bout, and when the starting horn sounded, the people around you could be your allies as easily as your enemies. Unless you had been assigned or had petitioned for a grudge match, you really had no idea who or what you'd be facing, or what the stakes were. Chainer had not seen war, but he imagined the silent, grudging respect pit fighters had for one another was like the bond that formed between soldiers during combat. Only in the pits, there were no uniforms to distinguish friend from foe, and the person who watched your back today would probably stick a rusty spike in it tomorrow.

The Cabal's house pit fighters weren't even sure if they were allowed to win. The Master of the Games plotted and paired the results every match with the fixers, on instructions from the First himself. The most important thing was to put on a good show, to make people come back either as contestants or as spectators. If the Order were out in force and a string of humiliating Cabal defeats would lure them in, then the home team was instructed to embarrass themselves. When the First specified what kind of reaction he wanted from the crowd, the Master of the Games prepared it, and the Cabal fighters produced it.

Chainer had never competed in the main pits before he met Skellum, so his matches were less structured, and he was free to fight as best as he could. His youth and his skill with the chain made him something of a novelty act, however, so he was often just outside the entrance in one of the show pits. At the time, Chainer had felt like he was fighting for his life, but he later realized he was only there to impress passing foot traffic. The Cabal had taken him in, trained him, housed him, and fed him, however, so he did his oath-bound duty and put on a show for the passersby. He took that time to master his technique, and before long he had amassed enough wins to impress the pit bosses, the Master of the Games, and, eventually, Skellum.

His current return to the pits had been gradual but steady. In his first bout, an afternoon show that few spectators attended, he tore through a team of slow-moving zombie wildcats with just his chains and dagger. When the pit bosses released a maddened coal- bellied razorback at an evening exhibition two days later, Chainer kept away from it and spun his censer until he produced the snake-thing he had mastered earlier. It tore the smoking, red-hot boar into little bits and then swallowed the pieces whole. The snake-thing turned on Chainer with murder in its eyes, but Chainer quickly collared it once more and brought it to heel.

With each match he was making a name for himself. People were starting to notice his eclectic style, and more and more people filed in to watch him fight. Most dementia casters in the pits were armed only to keep their creations in line. Even the ones who knew how to fight were casters first and warriors second. Chainer could engage his opponents directly from the outset and then surprise them with an unexpected monster, or he could send something nasty at them to test their abilities and then exploit any weaknesses with his chain and dagger. Word started to spread that the young dementia caster was undefeated since returning to the pits. The quality of Chainer's competition increased, and Chainer's control and winning streak increased tight along with them.

When he wasn't in the pits he was with Skellum, meditating and breathing and mastering his own dementia space. Each creature he faced in the pits left an impression on his eyes, his ears, his memory. At night, those impressions churned and bubbled in Chainer's sleeping head, and when he awoke, there were more nightmare denizens of the world with the black sand and the hole in the sky. Some nights he would retire after dinner and lie in a deathlike state until midday, and others he spent in a fitful, restless state of agitation. No matter how long he slept or how deeply, he always dreamed of monsters. The largest of his pets was still only slightly larger than human, but Skellum was pleased with his creature's durability, detail, and speed. His mentor was also pleased that Chainer was following his instructions to the letter. Skellum worked him hard to keep him grounded in the day-today events in Cabal City, and he seemed satisfied with Chainer's progress. The old man had not mentioned the mental strain of dementia casting in weeks. The only objection

Skellum had to Chainer's success was that his pupil was obliged to abandon the designation "apprentice" in favor of "dementia caster."

"I didn't train a mere caster. Casters work in the mud and the blood of the pits," he huffed. "I train dementists. Dementists do important, detailed work for the First. And we know all the best people."

Chainer laughed at the old snob and tried to smear some of the dirt from the pits on his hat.

"Let me be a caster for a few more months," he said. "I like it."

Skellum blocked Chainer's grimy hand with his cape. "Don't touch me, you clod. I have a dinner engagement at the manor tonight."

"With some of the best people, no doubt."

"Indeed. And you'd do well to wipe that smirk off along with the dirt. You're invited, too."

"Is it the First?" Chainer said, suddenly interested. "Is there news of the Mirari?"

Skellum scowled. "No, then yes." When Chainer looked confused, he went on. "The Master of the Games wants a sit-down with you and me to plan for this weekend's event. Apparently, there's a couple of tough nuts coming in from the mountains, and he wants you to attend to them personally." Chainer wrinkled his nose. "Does that mean I have to baby-sit another barbarian?" His eyes brightened. "Or has Kamahl returned? I'd like to place a few bets on him, make some extra silver." He tugged absently at his ragged clothing. "I could use a new suit."

"That's my boy," Skellum said happily. "I'll take you along to my tailor. Never forget worldly delights, my boy. They should be the reason you fight so hard."

"Master," Chainer said dramatically. "You mean that serving the Cabal isn't reward enough?"

Skellum narrowed his eyes. "You have always had a smart mouth," he said. "And no, service is not its own reward. Neither the First nor Kuberr himself have ever said otherwise. We serve the

Cabal, but the Cabal also serves you. That's how it works. That's why it works. Remember it."

Chainer nodded. "Right now, I'm feeling pretty well served. And after I clean up and join you for dinner, I'll feel even better."

"Agreed," Skellum said. "Meet me in the master's parlor in an hour. He'll meet us there."

Chainer sat in stunned silence as the Master of the Games prattled on. She was different from the master who had directed the games that had been interrupted by the dragon attack. No one spoke of him or his absence, and Chainer decided not to ask.

He shot an aggravated look over at Skellum. His mentor seemed calm and collected, but Chainer could tell he was not happy, either. Chainer waited for the new master to take a breath. When she did, he broke in.

"So you're saying I have to lose." He had never been asked to throw a match before. He was finding that he didn't like it.