Past a cemetery they went and along the road curving among temples and fanes. They trod across another bridge and through the area where the displaced farmers' market and caravan square was now located. They came to the ford across the White Foal, yet this they didn't traverse, but instead followed the eastern bank upstream for a goodly way, the land canting sharply upward on both sides of the river. Occasionally they passed the stubborn remains of former cabins swept away by flood, a chimney here, a foundation there, marking where they once had been.

The four entered into a relatively flat stretch of woodland, and Halott turned eastward away from the river and led them among the boles to come to the ruins of a square-based tower, the whole of it shielded by the lofty trees from the view of travelers along the river and its banks. With vine-covered rubble about its foundation, four storeys tall, it was, though the upper levels were but shells, for Ariko and Durel could see partial walls here and there, with stairs leading up to dead ends or gaps. The ground-level floor, though, seemed intact, perhaps even livable. Rogi scrambled ahead and opened the weatherworn, heavy-planked, iron-bound door, and Halott led them inward. They came into what was once a welcoming hall, now all but dead of neglect. Rogi set the lantern on a dust-laden table then went about lighting candles. "Welcome to my abode," said Halott, and he turned and cast back his hood.

Durel sucked in air between clenched teeth and he reflexively reached toward his shoulder for his sword, only to let his hand fall back. Ariko's own left and right grip rested on the hilts of her two blades, but she drew them not.

"Oi, they've got sixty-three entries," said Old Javan, his rheumy gaze on the posting, not that he could read it, but he could count the number remaining.

At his side Mava said, "I hear they had nigh a hundred, until Soldt threw his name in the hat."

"Ar, he scared many off," replied the oldster, nodding, "him being a dueler and all, teaching them as has got the coin. Not many'd want to go up against Soldt, "less'n they knew no better. He's who I'll put my money on."

Mava snorted. "What money, old man?"

"Well, if I had any, he's who I'd back."

Mava nodded. "He'll be the favorite, all right. But there's somewhat afoot."

Javan looked at her, an eye cocked.

Mava peered about as if seeking lurkers and, finding none, whispered, "They say that that little Rogi, Rogi, Halott's man"—again Mava looked about, Javan peering 'round as well—"they say Rogi entered a name: Tiger it was, if them that can read got it right. And if Rogi's involved, well then, I'll wager that that Halott's got somewhat up his black sleeve."

"A poisoned blade, I shouldn't wonder," said Javan.

Mava grunted her agreement and then said, "Still, if I had any money…"

In the Vulgar Unicorn the only person trusted to hold the bets was Perrez—not because anyone particularly trusted him, but because Perrez's brother was Bezul the changer and Bezul was a man worth trusting. Off in one corner and for a small fee, Perrez took the slips and coinage—padpols, soldats, and even an occasional shaboozh— along with promissory notes and small deeds and occasional heirlooms—silver chains, pearl-handled daggers, and other such trink-etry, all of which Bezul would eventually appraise for the bettors, to the not infrequent dismay of some—and placed all in the iron-bound lockbox he owned, a lockbox rumored to be trapped with poison needles or sorcerous fire or housing a deadly asp within, depending on who was telling of it.

As for the betting itself, Soldt was indeed the favorite, now that he had declared his intent. There were several who were disappointed that Arizak perArizak, better known in the Maze as the Dragon, had withdrawn, but with that bloody moon some eight nights past, nearly all of the entered Irrune had pulled out… "Superstitious savages," went the whispers. "Everyone knows that Vas-hanka and a hundred other gods are exceedingly more powerful than Irrunega, even though His is the only religion sanctified in the city, but don't say I said that." Still, one or two Irrune remained on the list, though their kindred placed no bets on them; the ill-omened moon saw to that. They mostly placed wagers on Soldt or on a handful of others, though this "Tiger," whoever he was, drew some small stakes, for, after all, the tiger was and is the totem of the god Irrunega, though His tiger is two-headed and all black. "Ha!" crowed Rogi. "Got you." Standing in the rubble at the base of the tower, he held the rat up by the tail, the creature's struggles waning rapidly.

Durel looked up from honing his great sword. "He's quite good with that blowgun." At Durel's side, Ariko oiled one of her blades, then took a soft rag to it. "Rogi told me all about it. It seems our host uses live rats and other such to facilitate some of his… pleasures."

Durel frowned at the limp rat as Rogi bore it into the tower. "They're not dead?" Ariko shook her head. "Merely asleep." Durel sighted down the blade of his weapon, pale, spring sunlight aglance along the edge. He took to his

hone once more, concentrating on a section. "The matches begin tomorrow." Ariko didn't reply as she continued to wipe down her blade. Close by the east quarter of the farmers' market, the dwellings along Shambles Cross had been co-opted

as places for the contestants to prepare. Inside one of them sat Ariko and Durel. They could hear the roar of the crowd as one swordsman or another made a nimble maneuver, a skillful riposte, a deft parry, or drew first blood. Now and again the shouts grew louder as someone was wounded more severely, and occasionally a silence befell the mob when a thrust proved to be fatal. One such deadly quiet had just come to pass, when a knock sounded. "You're next, Tiger," said the man when Durel opened the door.

Ariko and Durel harnessed their weapons, and out into the sunlight they strode. They made their way behind the stands to come to the south entryway… and there in the aisle at the edge of the open arena they waited. They could see a tall Rankan, stripped to the waist in spite of the cool, swirling breeze, a blade in each hand, standing in the opposite aisle.

In the arena itself, bearers were lading a corpse upon a litter.

In the stands along the aisle and immediately above Ariko and Durel, gawkers turned their attention from the deader being carried off and looked down upon the pair and whispered among themselves. "Oh, lor, but look a him. A giant he is." "Ar, that sword across his back, why, it's as long as a man is tall." "I thought this was supposed to be a duel, not a bloody slaughter. I mean, who can stand against such." The murmurs and whispers and declarations went on, even as a herald stepped to the center of the field

of combat and faced east, where the governor and ambassador and other notables sat on a high dais. A hush fell. "Lords and Ladies and guests," he called and gestured leftward, "to the north, Enril the Rankan!" A shout went up from the crowd, interspersed with boos and whistles and catcalls, as the tall man

stepped forth from his aisle to stand for all to see, and there he waited.

The herald held up his hands. And when quiet fell he gestured rightward and called, "And to the south, Tiger!" A great roar went up as well as gasps at the size of the man when Durel stepped onto the sand and