“One-eye, One-eye, One-eye!”

Garth looked over at Naru, who turned and gazed back at him, and he could sense the fighter’s sudden confusion. The mob had a new hero. The giant looked around and glowered, angered at the fickleness of the mob. Garth moved to stand directly behind Naru and, reaching out, he took hold of the ends of the giant’s cloak, lifting it off the ground in a show of obeisance by playing the role of a servant. Naru, looking back over his shoulder, grinned and returned to strutting. Those closest to the procession, who could see Garth’s actions, fell silent in confusion, but half a dozen ranks back his gesture was invisible and the crowd continued to roar for Garth.

The procession, moving slowly, made its way toward the palace and, as they passed, the mob fell in behind them, waving their pennants and cheering. At the edges of Bolk’s procession crowds following the House of Fentesk to the left and the House of Kestha to the right brushed against the supporters of Bolk. Fights started to break out between the rival groups, the brawls adding to the general aura of celebration and excitement.

Each of the four processions came into the central part of the Plaza and now the Masters of each House started into their shows. Sparkles of light appeared above the processions, clouds formed fifty fathoms overhead and lightning bolts flashed across the Plaza. Dragons of light soared through the air and for a moment an Ingkara dragon wrestled with Fentesk’s, the crowd screaming with delight when Fentesk’s dragon exploded. This nearly triggered another brawl between the supporters of the two Houses until Ingkara, following the rules of the procession not to engage in any displays of conflict, caused its own dragon to disappear in a puff of smoke, thus ending any direct challenge of power.

Directly in front of the great pyramid-shaped palace of the Grand Master the four processions finally came together and marched before the front of the palace. Tulan of Kestha floated atop a gray cloud, flashes of lightning dancing around him, illuminating his presence with an unearthly light. Varnel of Fentesk appeared to be riding on a pillar of fire that flared around him, and Jimak of Ingkara rode astride a coiling funnel of wind, which howled and whistled, the pennants of his followers whipping over their heads, the miniature tornado catching up hats and flinging them high into the air to float back down.

Garth caught a glimpse of Varena at the head of the Orange column of fighters, moving with a cool, almost languid, ease, and for a brief instant she spared him a quick glance and then looked away. The turmoil of the hundreds of thousands jamming the Plaza was at near fever pitch, and for a moment Garth sensed that in fact all semblance of control was about to break down into a wild bacchanal of rioting.

And then, as if from high overhead, a clarion trumpet note sounded, cutting through the insane roaring. The note changed into a chorus of trumpets that echoed up and down, counterpointing each other in a wild, minor-keyed harmonic. Great drums rolled, booming with a deep, insistent rumbling, joined in by the thundering chords of an organ, the sound magnified and echoing back and forth across the Plaza. A hidden doorway, halfway up the side of the pyramid, slid open, and a golden shaft of light streamed out. The fountains about the palace, which had been stilled until this moment, leaped to life, soaring fifteen or more fathoms into the air, the geysers directly in front of the palace catching the light coming from the pyramid and breaking it into a rainbow stream of colors. Puffs of smoke burst out around the top of the pyramid and booming explosions erupted, caused by some frightful alchemy, while yet more streams of smoke soared upward, detonating into multihued bursts, followed by yet more thundering explosions that caused the mob to scream with fear and a wild ecstasy of abandon.

A cataclysmic volley of explosions wreathed the top of the pyramid and then a great flag rose up out of the smoke, unfurling to reveal the shimmering, rainbow-hued pennant of Zarel Ewine, Grand Master of the Festival and Arena, Most High and Exalted Ruler of the Western Realms, and Mortal Legate of Kuthuman, He Who Walks in Unknown Places.

The crowd, which only the day before had fought against the Grand Master, started to cheer, caught up in the abandon of the moment, as if all were forgiven. A shadow darkened the stream of light bursting out of the pyramid and then, as the trumpet, organ, and drum fanfare reached a mad crescendo, the Grand Master appeared, floating out of the opening in the pyramid as if he was riding the beam of light, which haloed and silhouetted him in a celestial fire.

As the last echo of the fanfare and thunderous explosions died away the hundreds of thousands in the Great Plaza fell silent. The Grand Master remained motionless and then, as he slowly extended his arms outward, almost as if preparing to offer ritual challenge, and even though the gesture was one of a noble greeting, an uneasy murmur raced through the crowd.

Zarel remained motionless. Below him a balcony of gold slid out from the side of the pyramid and he floated down, landing lightly on his feet. As he did so the four House Masters did the same, though Garth could detect a slight defiance in Kirlen, who stopped just short of alighting and waited until Zarel was standing like other mortals. She remained hovering for several more seconds and then came to rest upon her dais. Her gesture was not unnoticed by Bolk’s supporters and a ripple of applause raced through the crowd, counterpointed by catcalls from the rest of the mob and, surprisingly, some shouts of approval as well.

Zarel waited for a long moment, his gaze fixed upon Kirlen as if preparing to offer a rebuke. He finally turned slightly, as if to ignore her instead. Garth waited, sensing the subtle interplays, Kirlen defiant, with the slightest hint of support from the other three House Masters, which transcended, for the moment, their mutual hatreds.

Garth looked back up at Zarel and saw that the Grand Master was now staring straight at him and he could sense as well the barely suppressed rage, the man struggling with the temptation to order a massacre if need be in order to get at him.

Garth let the slightest of smiles crease his features and he bowed with a mock disdain. Again, the mob standing at the edge of the lines of fighters saw the interplay and, again, there was a smattering of applause.

Zarel remained silent, his features turning crimson. To those farther away the interchange was not visible and the long delay was becoming tiresome. A restless stirring swept the Plaza. Zarel looked away from Garth and back out across the Plaza and the crowds fell silent.

“Today is the first day of Festival!”

A numbing explosion of cheers erupted across the Plaza, so loud that Garth felt as if sound had almost taken physical form. Looking around him he saw the arrayed fighters were being swept up in the excitement, eyes wide, breath coming in short gasps, some of them raising their arms in an involuntary gesture as if already within the fighting circles.

Zarel rose up and floated off the high dais, lightning swirling around him, and again there was the trumpeting, the drums, the high minor chord shrieks of the organ. He came to a hover above a great platform sheathed in solid gold and resting on great wheels that stood as high as two men and which was drawn by half a dozen mammoths in harness. With a hundred trumpeters sounding a fanfare, the head of the procession started off while yet more explosions erupted overhead. A solid phalanx of warriors marched in formation around the Grand Master’s juggernaut-like dais and the mob pushed and shoved to let it pass, with more than one unfortunate falling beneath the feet of the mammoths or the great grinding wheels of the platform.