“The penalty of lying to my Master is expulsion,” Garth replied smoothly. “And, given the current state of affairs, I would be a fool to lie since I suspect the agents of the Grand Master are even now waiting for me. And I daresay that if I walked out of this House without colors, they would be upon me and you would win a handsome sum in payment.”

“How dare you even imply that I would accept such money?” Tulan snarled.

“Come, my lord. You can present such a front to initiates of the first-rank, who are all agoggle at such trivial idealisms. Anyone who is an idealist in this world is either a madman or an idiot. You have your needs and I have mine. They happen to coincide and you are the winner as a result. You have managed to humiliate someone you hate, your House gained prestige yesterday, and I think I shall earn you a win in the Festival.”

Tulan paused, looked at Garth, and there was a momentary flickering of power-a probing.

“What do you have in your satchel?” Tulan asked quietly. “What artifacts, amulets, and spells do you control?”

Garth laughed softly.

“According to the law not even a House Master, not even a Grand Master, may ask that of a fighter.”

He paused.

“There is only one way to find that out,” Garth finally said, “but might I add that a House Master or, for that matter, any member of a House challenging another of the same color to a fight goes against all custom and tradition.”

Tulan refilled his cup and looked into it sulkily.

“And if you should do so and kill me,” Garth continued, “the other House Masters will think that you caved in to the demands of the Grand Master.”

“So you have me,” Tulan snarled.

“Rather the other way around,” Garth replied smoothly. “Remember, I am now of your House. I am an unknown factor for the Festival. You should win handsomely on the betting and on my commissions from the purse. I think, my lord, that the potential winnings far exceed whatever bribes that tightfisted bastard of a Grand Master is willing to pay for my betrayal.”

Tulan downed his cup and belched again, this time more softly.

“You give me a headache, One-eye. Either you are a master conniver or an innocent fool.”

“Whatever you wish it to be, sire, but you will profit as you deserve.”

Tulan finally nodded.

“Get out.”

Garth bowed low and started for the door.

“If you should decide to go outside, I’d suggest you watch your back.”

“I always do, sire.”

AS THE SECOND BELL OF MORNING SOUNDED Garth looked around expectantly. The Plaza was still something of a shambles from the previous night’s festivities, littered with broken glass, shattered wine amphorae, torn clothing, and a scattering of bodies, some of which would have to be swept up and borne off to the paupers field for interment at city expense. The first of the morning crowd was already starting to wander about, most of them beggars looking for coins that might have been dropped during the night, some of them pawing over the bodies, which had already been picked clean before dawn had even begun to brighten the eastern sky.

Hammen yawned wearily.

“This is foolishness, Garth. I told you Benalish women are nothing but a royal pain.”

“I’m curious, that’s all.” He paused. “And besides, it might fit my purpose.”

“What purpose is that?” Hammen asked quietly.

“You’ll see and, besides, here she comes.”

Garth nodded to a lone figure coming across the Great Plaza, her cloak pulled in tightly to ward off the morning chill. She walked with a purposeful stride, the growing crowd in the Plaza backing out of her way as she passed. A small knot was already following her, for where a Benalish woman went, there was, more often than not, an interesting event about to unfold.

She walked straight toward the House of Bolk, and her ragtag followers stopped at the edge of the dark paving stones that marked the territory of the House.

“Come on,” Garth said quietly, and he moved out of the shadows of an alleyway to follow.

“All this skulking about over a woman,” Hammen sniffed. “First you leave the warmth of your bed before dawn, then you drag me out through a secret entrance to throw off the Grand Master’s watchers, and now you step out in public like this when obviously there’s a fight brewing.”

As Norreen approached the Bolk House guards appeared from the doorway, motioning for her to stop. She came to a halt and placed her fists on her hips in a defiant manner.

“I seek audience with the Master of Bolk House,” she announced in a clear voice that carried across the Plaza.

“You are not a magic wielder, just a warrior,” one of the guards sniffed. “Be off.”

“I fought one of your men oquorak and he reneged on his wager. I’m here to seek satisfaction, either in payment or blood.”

“Must have been Gilrash,” one of the guards said, looking over at his companion and shaking his head. “He looked pretty cut up last night.”

“Then get Gilrash out here.”

The first guard who spoke looked back at Norreen and realized he’d been more than a bit foolish.

“Go away. Come back after Festival. We have things to worry about other than your so-called claim.”

“I witnessed the fight,” Garth announced, and he stepped forward onto the brown paving stones.

“Damn it, Master,” Hammen sighed, and he stepped out behind him as Garth approached the trio.

“I witnessed the fight and searched your man after this woman had won. It’s as she said-he was penniless. He violated the honor of an oquorak on three counts. First, the fighting without money to back the wager. Next, he attempted to stab when the fight went against him, and, finally, one of his accomplices tried to step into the circle to stab this woman from behind.”

As Garth spoke he raised his voice so that the gathering crowd could hear. Immediately there was a rumbling chorus of comments, for the ritual of oquorak was held in high esteem, and to violate it on not just one, but three different points was, to the crowd’s way of thinking, a despicable act lower than attempting to relieve oneself in the public fountains. Oquorak was supposed to be nothing more than a friendly little game, with at worst an occasional eye slashed out.

The two guards looked around uneasily and Norreen spared a quick glance back at Garth.

“I don’t need your help,” she hissed coldly.

“You heard her; let’s beat it,” Hammen urged.

“Gilrash is lower than a night soil collector and without honor,” Garth pressed. “Bring your Master out here to make restitution and to punish your cur the way he deserves.”

One of the guards spit on the ground.

“You’re trespassing, Gray One-eye. Withdraw now before I teach you a lesson.”

At the mention of his nickname a gasp went through the crowd as recognition finally dawned as to who was participating in the confrontation, since his back was turned to the crowd. Cries of bookmakers could now be heard, singing out the odds. Garth looked quickly over his shoulder and saw that Hammen was already backing up, reaching into his purse, and Garth nodded a quick approval. He looked back at the Brown guard.

“Anytime you’re ready,” he said easily, extending his hands out to either side.

“Stay out of this,” Norreen snarled.

Garth, with a quick wave of his hand, motioned for her to step back and out of the way.

The Brown guard looked at Garth nervously and then made a quick gesture to his companion, who turned and ran back toward the House. Garth waited, concentrating his mana carefully, choosing his spell, and as he did so the guard he was confronting started to back up. A loud hooting roar came up from the crowd, which grew to a thunderous tumult when the Brown guard lowered his hands, acknowledging defeat without even having crossed spells. Garth turned his back on him in contempt and faced the crowd, bowing toward them as if they were the Grand Master and a duel had just been completed. The winners of the betting broke into a loud ovation. And then the mob went silent.