And I will leave this place with the Mirari in my fist, or I will not leave it at all.

Chainer moved into his lavish new quarters in the First's manor and threw himself into his new duties. The Order's crusat blossomed into a full-blown war in the wake of Chainer's visit to the camp, and the First charged Chainer with bringing the hostilities to a speedy conclusion. While the First dealt with angry communiques from the Order's highest ranking officers, Chainer would respond to the marked increase in crusat raids around the region. The raiders were not yet numerous enough to mount another attack on Cabal City. Instead, small bands of troopers and officers were terrorizing the lesser Cabal strongholds in northern Otaria, especially those with pit facilities. So Chainer had very little time to dwell on Kamahl's betrayal. Mere days after mutilating himself, the barbarian packed up his kit and left the leech's chambers on legs that could barely support him. Chainer realized how completely Kamahl had turned his back on Cabal hospitality. He wondered what kind of madness led a man to spit on his hosts and make enemies of his closest friends. The last thing Chainer heard about his former partner was that he was renting a room in a public house near the docks, where the rents were low and interaction between landlord and tenant was minimal. None of that mattered in the larger scheme of things, of course. Kamahl insisted on being treated like any another contestant in the pits, and the Cabal would happily accommodate him. When he came for the Mirari he would fall to Chainer just like every other nameless challenger.

Chainer's new quarters were large and sumptuous, but he had no furniture apart from a chair and a sleeping cot scavenged from his room at Skellum's academy. He brought the cot because it reminded him of his mentor, not because he needed it. Sleep came to him in short, sudden bursts, and sometimes it never came at all.

Just as well, he mused. He had very little time to sleep, anyway. The First had sent scrolls and tomes for him to review, and the Master of the Games regularly added stacks of dates and pairings for upcoming games. Chainer himself had requested some additional reading material on his own, but all of the scrolls and heavy books and loose sheets of paper lay in a confused pile in the corner of the smallest room. Chainer had read them all and retained quite a bit of it, but he preferred to spend his time preparing for battle. He made snakes or weighted chains and aggressively hurled them at imaginary enemies as he sprinted and rolled from room to empty room.

They were all coming for the Mirari, he knew, all of them. The First had been so delighted with Chainer's use of the sphere on Kamahl that he had made Chainer its official keeper. It stayed hidden in a warded vault that would only open if Chainer and the First spoke the right charm at the exact same moment while standing side-by-side outside the door, but no one was ever permitted to touch the Mirari but Chainer, not even the First himself. Even better, when the Mirari games were staged, Chainer would represent the Cabal, and if he won the tournament, he would win the right to bear the Mirari permanently, as he now bore his dagger and censer. A victory for the Cabal meant a victory for Chainer, and vice-versa.

Chainer impulsively created two huge saber- toothed anacondas and set them on one another. He wanted to see what happened when they tried to squeeze each other to death. While the snakes wrapped around each other like a braided garrote, Chainer let his mind wander back to the sensation of holding the Mirari in his hands, of having unimaginable power literally at his fingertips.

Chainer had stood over Kamahl's sleeping body with the Mirari clenched between his palms. In his mind, he saw a bipedal snake man with copper scales standing alongside Kamahl. The two images slid together until they were two overlapping phantoms occupying the exact same space. The snake man's body faded away except for those areas that corresponded to Kamahl's wounds. Chainer felt the first giant wave from an endless ocean of power flow out of the Mirari and into his head. Something shifted deep in his brain, and when he opened his eyes the First was beaming, and Kamahl had live, healthy flesh ready for the leech's grafting spells.

Tapping into the Mirari was different than being in dementia space, different even from communing with Kuberr. The Mirari was its own power, and it didn't mingle or share with the person who held it. The sphere was more like an infinite battery in search of a will through which it could focus and release its energy. The Mirari could change the world, Chainer knew, but it couldn't decide how on its own. Making the decision and unleashing the power had proved fatal to everyone but him, and Chainer took enormous pride in that. Not only was he the only being alive who had used it, he alone was the only one who could. It was his to employ, his to use on behalf of the Cabal. It had told him so the first time he saw it, and everything it had shown him had come true. As soon as he had annihilated the Order and won the Mirari for himself in the games, his destiny would be complete.

A soft knock and a call of "Master?" interrupted his training.

Master Chainer had earned the rank by successfully completing the shikar, and the First had formally conferred it upon him in the wake of the redoubled crusat. He dismissed the two anacondas, touched the polished marble wall to ground himself, and replied.

"The Cabal is here." He was learning to control the physical changes his powers caused. If he concentrated, he could cancel the musical reverberation of his voice. He was less successful at controlling the appearance of his eyes. A young blonde girl came hesitantly in. She held an onyx scroll case. "The First and Ambassador Laquatus await your presence," she said. She never looked up at Chainer. He guessed his eyes were currently hollow. Had he been that timid at her age? That frightened? "Thank you, little sister," he said. She smiled to acknowledge his kindness, but she still seemed cowed, terrified. Perhaps she had only smiled to avoid antagonizing him. Chainer felt the urge to send a rattlesnake slithering across her sandaled feet, a glowing-eyed venom-spitting nightmare that would strike but never bite, that would follow her everywhere and burrow under her pillow while she slept, rattling all the while.

He put the temptation aside. He had business with the First, and besides, he was sure the messenger would crack in less than two days. Hardly worth the effort of creating the snake in the first place. "If you are ready, Master, I will take you to them." "I'm ready, little sister. Lead on." Chainer saw the shadow of a thick, scaled body moving across the messenger's foot, but she didn't react to its touch. He blinked hard, and the rattler was gone. "Are you all right, big brother?"

"I said lead on," Chainer snapped. He was suddenly irritable. Was it lack of sleep? He vowed that he would get some rest, as soon as he and the Mirari introduced Laquatus to his new familiar.

Chainer was taken to a small, comfortable room outside the vault that contained the Mirari. He was greeted warmly by the First and Laquatus, but the ambassador visibly fumed when he was ordered to stay behind while the Cabalists fetched the sphere. When Chainer reentered the room bearing the Mirari, Laquatus stared at it hungrily. "Ambassador," Chainer said. "On behalf of the First and the Cabal, let me apologize for the delay. Now, as agreed, I present you with Turg's replacement." Chainer used the Mirari as he had with Kamahl, held tight between his hands with his eyes closed. He had put a great deal of thought into the casting beforehand, with constant input and refinement from the First. Every detail had been meticulously planned. Unleashing the actual creature was almost an afterthought. Chainer saw the creature clearly in his mind. It was a medium-tall humanoid male with five fingers, no toes, and the well defined musculature of a competitive swimmer. Its body was hairless and featureless, an unbroken surface with no openings for eyes, nose, ears, or mouth. It was bruise-black in color, a dark and murky purple that was effective camouflage both in the shadows of the city and the sunless depths of the ocean. With an extremely bright light directly behind it, however, one could see that it was partially translucent with no recognizable bones or internal organs of any kind. In his mind's eye, Chainer saw a collar streak out and find the featureless man's neck. He noted with satisfaction that the figure did not struggle, or claw, or react in any way to the collar. It seemed as comfortable with it as it did without it.