"How long have I got?"

Skellum shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe an hour, maybe less."

Chainer took a step toward the door, but stopped. "Am I dismissed, Master?"

"You are dismissed."

Chainer took one last second to lash a chain into the discarded towel and haul it in to his hand. With a bow and a flourish, he offered the towel to Skellum from his artificial arm.

"Thank you again, Master," he said. "For everything."

"Go on," Skellum took the towel. "Just try not to lose any limbs between here and the docks."

Just as he knew where to go to get the best view of the incoming pit fighters, Chainer also knew where to go to watch ships arrive in Cabal City harbor. He sat in a second-story warehouse window as Fulla's travel fish swam up. He felt almost smug, high above the small crowd that had gathered to gawk at the amazing creature, with the best view on the pier.

The fish was whale sized, with transparent skin and organs. The only visible internal structures were its bones. A small dark-haired woman rode just inside the thing's stomach, leaning against its gullet on her elbows as she watched the fish swim into port. Her sword arm was scarred and slightly malformed, almost clublike. She wore a thick, short gladius on her hip and carried three daggers on the outside of her vest. Her skin was pale, her hair was short and unkempt, but her boots were polished and her coat well tailored. Apart from an extremely wild glint in her eyes, she carried herself at least as elegantly as Skellum did.

Behind Fulla stood Ambassador Laquatus. He looked much the same as he did the last time Chainer saw him, only now he was not so smug or haughty. The voyage looked as if it had been a hard one for him. From the way he kept glaring at Fulla, Chainer guessed Laquatus would like nothing better than to dive straight to the bottom of the ocean with Fulla in tow and leave her there.

Fulla's fish bobbed on the water near the pier for a moment. Inside of it, Fulla stood and then backed up a few paces. She got a running start, then jumped and waved her hands simultaneously. The fish faded from view while Fulla was in midair. Her leap carried her safely onto the docks, but the unprepared ambassador was dropped unceremoniously into the sea. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, but it quickly died as Laquatus surfaced and angrily called for assistance. The dock was thick with Cabalists. A handful stepped forward to haul the ambassador out of the water, but the majority hovered close to Fulla. Her reputation and her eerie, intense stare kept anyone from touching her, however, and they cleared a path as she walked toward the First's manor. Dripping, sputtering, and largely ignored, Laquatus fell in behind her.

Chainer began to scan the rest of the crowd. It was clear that no one would dare interfere with Fulla on her way to the First, and Chainer felt confident that the Mirari was safe for as long as Fulla held onto it. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of Kamahl, but there was no sign of the big barbarian anywhere on the docks. It wasn't until he looked higher than himself that he found Kamahl.

Like a mountain goat, Kamahl had scaled the outside of a building directly across the alley from Chainer and was watching the Mirari arrive from the roof. Chainer thought he looked too humorless. He seemed to have lost some of his natural joy for battle. Upon reflection, he couldn't blame Kamahl. They had both thought of nothing but the Mirari since it left Cabal City, but Kamahl had chased it halfway up the coast and back, and he still didn't have it. I haven't moved, Chainer thought, and in a sense it's being delivered back to me. He made a mental note to be sure and point that out to Kamahl as soon as the barbarian cheered up.

With a shock, Chainer realized that Kamahl had spotted him. Chainer raised a hand in greeting, but Kamahl looked startled. Then Chainer remembered his arm.

Chainer held the arm higher and flicked it, producing a high-pitched ding. "It's a long story," he shouted.

Kamahl shrugged. He rolled his hands, indicating Chainer should elaborate.

"You ever met a barbarian girl named Jeska?" Chainer yelled. "Braided hair, carries a baton?"

Kamahl nodded.

Chainer held up his metal arm. "So did I."

Kamahl laughed and pointed to the ground. "Tell me in the tavern," he shouted back.

Chainer shook his head. "I'm on duty," he said, and Kamahl shrugged again. He pointed down at the retreating figures of Fulla and Laquatus, and then resumed his humorless stance as his eyes bored into them.

He's here for the Mirari again, Chainer realized. Jeska said he couldn't stop talking about it, and Chainer had seen his share of addicts and obsessives in the pits. Kamahl's expression was somewhere between a man who's been wronged and a man who's dying of thirst. There was something he needed, wanted, and meant to have all at the same time.

Chainer felt a disquieting churn in his stomach. He'd wanted Kamahl to have the Mirari more than Lt. Kirtar. But he wanted the First to have it more than Kamahl. He flexed his golem hand and listened to the metal bend.

Chainer took one last look at his friend, then turned and headed down the stairs. The First probably had three plans for the Mirari ready and waiting to be implemented. It was entirely possible that neither he nor Kamahl would ever see the Mirari again, much less fight over it. It was more likely that he and Kamahl would fight together in the pits as Balthor and Jeska had. In fact, Chainer was sure the Master of the Games would sanction such a pairing if he requested it.

Chainer picked up his pace, his good mood restored. Besides, he thought, by now everyone knows what happened to Pianna and Aboshan. Kamahl and everyone else would eventually have to accept that no matter who won it, the Mirari belonged to the Cabal and would always come back to those who found it first.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and other," the overhead voice boomed. "Welcome to the main event."

Chainer and Kamahl stood side by side, casually checking their weapons. Chainer loaded a charcoal disc into his censer and held it out to Kamahl. The barbarian snapped his fingers and produced a tiny, explosive blast of flame that engulfed the charcoal. Chainer let the disc drop into the censer, loaded the Dragon's Blood in after it, and waited for the smoke to begin wafting upward.

"Much obliged," he said. Kamahl grunted and nodded. He was not one for pre-match chatter.

"Tonight," the announcer continued, "they're red- hot and blackhearted. They're going for their twelfth consecutive team win, a Cabal City record. They are the Cabal's own Chainer and Kamahl from the Pardic Mountains!"

The cheers got louder with each match. Chainer waved his metal hand to acknowledge the crowd, but Kamahl ignored them. Now that he had spent some time with the big man in and outside of the pits, Chainer was getting a clear idea of the difference between barbarians and Cabalists. Kamahl only relaxed immediately after a match. Before and during, he hardly spoke a word and never so much as cracked a smile. Partnering with Kamahl had been hugely rewarding for Chainer, but it had also cured him of the notion that he should have been a barbarian. The mountain people were driven harder by their own nature than the average Cabalist was by the sternest overseer. Chainer mentally thanked Skellum for instilling a sense of discipline, but also the good sense to enjoy the time between fights.

The announcer continued to drone on. "Our champions have their work cut out for them tonight, however. The Master of the Games has sanctioned this match as a grudge match, one with no restrictions. The contest is over when all the contestants on one side either yield or are incapacitated."