“And it should have been you, is that it?”

Jimak smiled coldly.

“No one of you four House Masters would have tolerated such a rise for a rival. As for the power of my post, Tulan is too cowardly, Varnel too consumed with fleshly pleasures, and Kirlen, she simply desired it too much.”

“And I am too hated by the others, is that it?” Jimak snapped.

“Something like that,” Zarel said smoothly.

“So you won the honor instead. The toady gets the reward.”

Zarel bristled.

“I did my job in his service and he rewarded it.”

“And you call the way you run things now as being better. At least under Kuthuman he was so preoccupied with his quest that he did not rule us too heavily as long as we cooperated. But you, you’ve corrupted the Festival for the sake of the mob, which wants more blood and yet more. I lost four good fighters in the arena last year and two more crippled beyond repair so that all they’re good for is keeping watch by some merchant’s door. How many death matches will you have this year to increase the betting?”

“I need money. It is that simple, and the mob bets more when there is blood at stake. Besides, your fighters desire it such as well for revenge against a rival and the hope of winning an entire satchel in a fight rather than a single spell. With such a fight they can gain in a moment what would take years upon years of labor and study.”

“And for what do you need this money? The buying of mana on the black market? The bribing of princes for the mana of my fighters who ever increasingly die of mysterious causes while out on contract with a claim that their satchels were lost? You wish to be a Walker yourself, isn’t that it?”

Zarel smiled.

“If that should ever happen, who would succeed me? Uriah, a hunchbacked dwarf? No one would follow him. Who would succeed?”

“So you imply that it could be me then.”

“Why not?”

“And you have undoubtedly offered it to the others.”

“I’m not so much of a fool as to encourage them to think thus.”

Jimak snorted disdainfully.

“Of course you’d offer the same to them. Don’t take me for an idiot. You’ll play us off against each other.”

Zarel laughed coldly.

“I might offer it to the others but would I be telling the truth to them? I already told you my reasons why the others aren’t worth of consideration, but you are.”

He paused.

“If you cooperate.”

Jimak laughed, shaking his head, but Zarel could see that his words had hit the mark. Jimak viewed the other three Masters with contempt and he would find it inconceivable that they might rise above him if Zarel should ever manage to pierce the veil. That is, if he could do it without the Walker finding out first.

Jimak nodded as if he had been granted information that was to be believed. But suppose, he thought, suppose I could betray this man to the Walker just before he did try his move or somehow bring him down? Then it would be I who was the new Grand Master, for he was right in that Uriah was not even to be considered for the post. Then I, in turn, could make my final move.

Zarel smiled as he watched Jimak’s features, sensing all that he was now thinking.

“You came here for other reasons as well,” Jimak finally said.

“Because there is something wrong here. This One-eye.”

Jimak snorted and smiled.

“He’s created problems for you, hasn’t he?”

“It is more than that.”

“I heard a rumor that three of your fighters now look like burned toast,” Jimak chuckled. “Is that why you are here?”

The Grand Master bristled.

“You know the law. Your killing of each other on my streets outside of the arena is crime enough. The killing of my own fighters is a capital offense.”

“And it happens every year anyhow. Our fighters are high-spirited. You really can’t expect us to contain over three hundred fighters in the days before Festival. Killings are bound to happen. Old rivalries, old grudges can’t be contained.”

“This is different. Think of it. Wherever this man has walked chaos follows in his wake.”

Jimak chuckled.

“And Brown and Gray are bleeding from it.”

“And you were next.”

Jimak paused, saying nothing.

“His trail led straight back here. At first I was tempted to storm this House to get him out, especially when you lied and said he was not here.”

“It was not a lie,” Jimak said coldly. “I searched for him after your summons, though admittedly to reward him. But he’s gone.”

The Grand Master nodded.

“That is what I finally realized. That is why this place is not engulfed in flames. Don’t you see he is setting us against each other and playing our mutual hatreds to some advantage? What he did was the perfect setup for you and me to be each other’s throats, me thinking that you were lying about his whereabouts, and you defending your honor.”

Jimak said nothing.

“He is not here then?” the Grand Master asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Jimak nodded as if he were barely paying attention, his thoughts someplace else.

“Fine then.”

The Grand Master stood up again.

Jimak suddenly looked up at him.

“Why?”

“Why? I’m not sure. I have my suspicions but I’m not sure and I don’t want to voice them till I know. According to the laws of the guilds if he is wearing a color, I cannot take him. Though I know he murdered three of my fighters tonight, I have no witnesses and thus no proof. Any of you Masters can resist me in taking him. But I want him and, I should add, the Walker wants him.”

Jimak shifted uncomfortably.

“And what is the offer?”

“Five thousand gold and no one will ever know that you gave him to us.”

“Are you that afraid of him?” Jimak asked, his voice edged with sarcasm.

The Grand Master paused and then finally nodded his head.

Jimak lowered his head and thought of the ruby that even now was in his lockbox, balancing the two against each other.

“Ten thousand,” he finally whispered.

The Grand Master smiled.

“I must assume the topic of their conversation is me,” Garth said quietly.

Varnel Buckara, Master of Fentesk, stretched languidly and nodded in agreement as he dismissed the messenger who had observed the Grand Master’s nocturnal visit.

“I suspect that another messenger will come here with an offer,” Varnel finally said.

“And?”

“It depends on the offer.”

“It might be good enough for the moment-but for the future?” Garth replied.

“Explain, One-eye.”

“The offer to Jimak is easy enough and that is why I left his service. Too consumed with his lust for gold. Such men are easily bribed. Perhaps even Tulan of Kestha can be bribed with an endless supply of some rare delicacy or wine. I’ve heard that for you it is women.”

Varnel chuckled.

“According to some sources, you have fifty right here in this House.”

“More, far more.”

Garth smiled.

“So what can he offer you? Another woman.”

“There’s always the exotic. Each is different.”

“And each is the same. Beyond that gold does not talk, nor does food. But a woman, especially one coming from the hands of the Grand Master…”

“Put that in the plural. It would take far more than one.”

“All right then. How could you trust them?”

“I’m not interested in trust,” Varnel laughed coldly. “I’ve never been that foolish and any man who is should be drowned as a mercy killing.”

“Trust or not, you would have someone whom the Grand Master had first laid hands upon and I daresay to take his leavings would be rather distasteful.”

“Virgins, my good man, virgins.”

“And they can still be handled,” Garth replied. “Beyond that, you would never know what enchantment they had been placed under. A hairpin into the base of your skull while you are lost in your ecstasy, a spy in your House to send information back to the Grand Master, perhaps even a gossip planted with the rest of your women to make them turn against you. More than fifty women are difficult enough to manage in the best of times.”