Veza's humor quickly cooled and vanished. "What will the empress do?"

Llawan extended a tentacle and gently took Veza's hand. "We will gather around us those who have served us well. Those who have served us loyally." She dropped Veza's hand and brought her other forelimb forward. On the end she wore a sharpened spike of whale's tooth. "And we will confront the oaf Aboshan. If we can push him, keep him furious and fearful of a renewed civil war, then he will cling tightly to his new toy and never allow Laquatus to take it. The harder the ambassador tries, the tighter Aboshan's grip will grow, and neither of them will be able to use it against us. Eventually, Aboshan will have Laquatus killed." She smiled a politician's smile. " It is never a good idea to be too ambitious when the emperor is feeling insecure. "We ask you to come with us now and stand by our side in the court of the emperor. We ask you to declare yourself as our subject, and to represent our interests. You are wasted here in Breaker Bay. Worse, you are insulted by it. Come with us now, and be our subject. We have thirty executives like yourself and another dozen cephalids of noble birth. We will present ourselves to the emperor and petition him for permission to secede from his empire."

"He will certainly refuse."

"He must. But he will observe the formalities of government. He will cite the existing treaty between us. He will bluster and threaten. He will try to have us killed by assassins, and try to have us executed publicly as traitors. And all that will buy us time."

"Time, Empress? Time for what?"

"To take control of the situation. To drum up more support among the oligarchs and nobles. To turn Laquatus and Aboshan against each other and divide their strength. To take this Mirari for ourselves and rid Mer once and for all of oafs and knaves."

Veza looked up at the surface of the pool above her head. Beyond it was her cottage, her paperwork, and her depot. Beyond that, the village and all its human inhabitants, with all their human tics and prejudices. And somewhere far beyond that was Aboshan, who cared only for the commerce and not at all for the people who conducted it in his name.

"I am yours, Empress Llawan," she said. "What would you have me do?"

Llawan smiled. "Come with us now. We are taking a water portal back to our city, where the imperial transport is being prepared for the journey north. En route, we will discuss statesmanship and strategy."

Veza nodded. "There are a few items I would like to bring along."

"Personal items, Director? This is a time for leaving things behind and starting over."

Veza bowed. "Documents, Empress. Information that may prove useful to our cause." She raised her eyes and met Llawan's. "And I am Director of Breaker Bay no longer."

Chainer caught sight of the pair from the same vantage point he had first spotted Kamahl. He recognized KamahPs sister Jeska and the dwarf Balthor from the descriptions he had and the fact that they arrived together. Now that he saw her, he thought he could have recognized Jeska as one of Kamahl's kin without forewarning.

She was of medium height and build, but she had Kamahl's blazing red hair and brass colored skin. Where Kamahl's was cropped close to his head, Jeska wore her hair long, braided dwarf style into hundreds of finger-thick strands. Each braid was interwoven with ribbons or hide or polished stones, and she had gathered them all in the middle of her back with a heavy iron clip. Chainer recognized a weighted whip when he saw it, but he was impressed with how casually she wore a weapon that most fighters wouldn't recognize.

She also wore a peculiar metal gauntlet that covered her left forearm. It was etched with runes but unpolished, with two small horns at the wrist edge. It looked like a miniature slingshot, but Chainer couldn't quite credit the whole thing as a weapon. He reasoned it was either a sword baffle or some other sort of protective armor.

Finally, she carried a wooden baton that was intricately carved and ringed with metal. It was about as long as her arm, and it looked extremely solid. Her muscles lied about it, as well, effortlessly concealing how dense the baton actually was. In addition to the decorative metal rings, Chainer guessed the baton also had a metal core to give it extra punch.

Jeska carried herself and her weapons with extreme confidence. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, her jaw was set, and her pace was so stern it seemed more like a march than a hike. She didn't even glance at the dwarf by her side, though he matched her stride for stride and never fell out of her peripheral vision.

Balthor was built like all dwarves Chainer had seen, short and broad and gnarled as a stump. His long beard was split into two equal points that fell to his waist, and he wore an ornate headdress with a large red gem at the center. Instead of a fighting axe, he carried some kind of axe-staff that was neither completely weapon nor completely walking stick.

The strange duo was met at the gate by a Cabal representative and escorted into the arena. Chainer waited until the door had shut behind them before he turned from the window and made his way down to the pits.

Several hours later, an oily-looking fixer met Chainer on the staircase.

"You Chainey?" the fixer said. "Chainer."

"Whatever. Come on, let's go. You're on."

The fixer's attitude annoyed Chainer. "What's the rush?"

"They are. The woman's insane, and the dwarf is really cranky. They say they're going to fight now, or they're going to start wrecking the place."

"So? Turn some stalkers and some hellhounds loose on 'em. The Master of the Games said-"

"The Master of the Games just said you should get your butt down to the main pit." He held out a sealed scroll. "See that? It's official. Now come on."

Chainer stood perfectly still. "What's your name, sunshine?"

The oily Cabalist sneered. "Louche," he said.

"Bet all you have on me, Louche. I can't lose."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"Thanks, kid." Louche had a sarcastic tone that never wavered. Chainer couldn't tell if the fixer knew he was being misled, or if he just didn't care. He gave up trying to argue with a person who negotiated for a living and fell into step behind him.

Louche led him down the main pit floor. The stands were full, everything seemed ready to go. His opponents waited on the far side of the circle.

"Good luck, kid," Louche said, already distracted and moving on to his next assignment.

"You mean that, Louche?"

"Sure. Why not." Louche didn't even look up as he disappeared into the crowd.

Overhead, the prep horn sounded, and Chainer lit his censer. It was to be a straightforward flag match, two against one. Jeska and Balthor would attempt to take or destroy the simple black pennant that was spiked into an eight-foot-tall mound of packed dirt behind Chainer. Chainer would defend the flag. In this case, that meant he would try to stop them but would fail as convincingly as possible.

In the distance, Chainer heard his match being announced, the usual build-up of the fighters and the standard teasers about blood and danger to whip up the crowd. Chainer scanned the rows and rows of eager faces. The smoke was getting thicker around him, and he fought back a rush of dizziness. "Game on," he whispered. He had to stay focused.

The starting horn sounded, and Chainer's opponents came straight at him. They moved well, but they were terribly out of sync with each other. Balthor strode forward with his head and his staff held high, taking strides as smooth and as grand as his stature allowed. Jeska, on the other hand, was hunched low into a battle crouch, her hands free and empty at her sides. Her baton was ready at her hip, and she kept one hand near it as she stared fixedly at the flag behind Chainer.