Naru looked down at him, confused. He tentatively reached out and took the bundle, opening it up. Hammen watched him, surprised by the almost-childlike look of joy that appeared in the giant’s eyes.

Naru put the satchel on and Hammen waited, ready for the fight to begin. Naru, however, suddenly started to dance about, as if possessed.

“My spells, my spells!”

Garth stood in silence, watching him. Around him the crowd had been watching the exchange and recognition suddenly dawned.

“One-eye, he’s here, he’s here!”

A company of warriors not ten fathoms away was wading through the crowd. Hearing the cry, some of them started to turn but their commander, swearing at the mob, angrily pointed them in the opposite direction and they continued on.

Naru looked back at Garth and there was a look of genuine confusion in his eyes.

Garth smiled and extended his hands palms downward in a gesture of peace.

“May I join this House and fight at your side, Naru?”

Naru stood silent for a moment, obviously confused by the complexity of what he had to deal with. He looked back up toward the palace and then, finally, back at Garth.

“You play good joke, yes.”

And reaching out, he pulled Garth onto the brown stones.

Stunned, Hammen watched as Naru slapped Garth heavily on the shoulders and beamed with pride as if he had somehow rescued him. The mob, seeing the display and moved by the sentimentality of the moment, howled with delight. Hammen looked over at Norreen.

“I guess I better go with him, the damn fool.”

“Take care of him, Hammen.”

“Come with us. Damn it, woman. They’re always hiring warriors. It’s too dangerous out there right now.”

Norreen shook her head.

“Take care of him.”

She turned and started to disappear into the mob.

“Norreen. He wants you, you know that.”

“Tell that to Varena. She’s easier,” Norreen said with a sad smile, and, turning, she disappeared.

TREMBLING WITH FEAR, URIAH LAY UPON THE floor of the audience chamber, cursing the fates that had made him such a creature of contempt. He well understood the role he was doomed to play. Though born with the ability of controlling the mana, he was born stunted as well. He had thought that as he learned to master the mana he could thus somehow gain respect, but it never came. There had been a time, an all-so-brief time, when it had been different. But the lure of power offered by Zarel had been too tempting to resist. To be captain of fighters rather than a lowly fighter whom the others never understood.

Others called him crafty, a sneak, a lickspittle of the Grand Master. He saw it simply as survival. He was captain of the fighters, to be sure, though there were some in his command who had more powers than he. Zarel had elevated him thus for one reason only-he could be controlled, and he cursed himself for knowing that cruelest of facts-he would tolerate any abuse that others would have long ago rebelled against… simply because his life had been one of abuse since the day he was born.

The room was deadly silent, the guard of warriors, secretaries, and court hangers-on frozen in place while Zarel struck Uriah yet again.

“You should have anticipated this, damn you! Didn’t any of you think that they might try a rescue through the sewers?”

“My lord, the sewer gate had been barred shut years ago and set with traps. It was thought to be impossible.”

“Well, it wasn’t, damn it!”

The dwarf said nothing, emitting only a low grunt of pain when Zarel kicked him before turning back to his messenger, whom he had dispatched to the House of Bolk.

“Has Kirlen sent a reply?”

The armored warrior lowered her head and said nothing.

“Damn it all, what is it?”

Zarel looked as if he would raise his hand but the messenger looked up at him coldly. He stood, hesitant for a moment, and then savagely kicked Uriah once again.

“Did she say anything at all?”

“My lord, she told you to perform an action upon yourself which is physically impossible,” the warrior replied slowly.

Zarel looked at the warrior, sensing that there was a certain defiance in the woman’s tone.

“Go on.”

“She declared that the one-eye is now officially a Bolk and that as such he is granted the right of the brotherhood to immunity from prosecution for crimes committed prior to his acceptance.”

“Get out.”

The warrior came to her feet, bowed low, and then strode out of the room. Zarel watched her go, realizing that he had suffered a tremendous loss of face. First off, the mob was now firmly on One-eye’s side, they had a hero to worship who they felt was one of them. Worse, though, his own people were now suspect. The lock had been oiled and there was the chance that one of his own people had done it. He had killed the prison guards out of hand for their failure and now his warriors were upset over his fit of temper. His magic fighters were growing restless, angered at the humiliations hurled upon them by the mob. Even though several hundred of the crowd had been killed to quiet them down, he could sense that his own fighters were now upset, the lower ranks even fearful, for several of them had been killed during the day of rioting which had ensued.

And tomorrow Festival would start and half a million of them would be brought together in one place. If something triggered them, the results could be disastrous. Some offering would have to be made to quell the mob and win them back. Though he hated to consider it, he knew he would have to dig into his treasures to buy them off.

“Send in the captain of my catapulters when you and I are done. I’ve thought of something that might be amusing for the Festival.”

“Your catapult captain?”

“Just do as you are ordered.”

Zarel turned away and for a moment Uriah thought he had been dismissed.

“Uriah, is there any chance we can get at One-eye between now and Festival.”

The dwarf looked up and came to his knees.

“I don’t think so, great lord.”

“Why not?”

“Jimak, Varnel, and Tulan are all bribeable. Kirlen is not. There is only one thing she wants and that is your power and the path to being a Walker. Nothing you can offer her other than your own power would be sufficient and she sees in One-eye a means of causing embarrassment, perhaps even of throwing the mob against you.”

Zarel looked down at Uriah.

“Sometimes, Uriah, I think you are too smart.”

“Only in service to you, my lord.”

“Why?”

Uriah hesitated.

“You are my lord.”

“Not sufficient.”

Uriah lowered his head.

“Because the others would never take me in.”

Zarel laughed coldly.

“The traitor of Turquoise, the one who fed me all the information while wearing their colors and unbarred the gate for the Night of Fire.”

Zarel smiled and looked down at Uriah, who squirmed uncomfortably.

“Who is this One-eye?” Zarel asked as if directing the question at himself.

Uriah looked up at him, saying nothing.

“You wore their colors for years, do you remember him?”

“No, Master,” Uriah said quietly.

“Get out of here.”

Uriah scurried away, barely avoiding a kick that was aimed in his direction.

As he closed the door he looked back at Zarel.

Who is he? the Grand Master had asked. Uriah smiled and limped away to nurse his bruises of the body and of the heart.

“You played good joke.”

Garth smiled, forcing himself to stay awake as Naru poured another round of drinks. The giant looked over the side of the table at Hammen, who lay passed out on the floor of the feasting hall, and laughed.