Varena, staggering with exhaustion, stood in the center of the circle while the circle master took a spell from her opponent’s satchel and presented it to her. To the surprise of many she then made the gesture of laying hands on her opponent to revive him, an action that struck a chord with the mob, which cheered appreciatively as she turned and walked away. As she walked past Zarel’s throne Garth could sense that somehow Zarel knew of Varena’s part in his rescue as the Grand Master leaned forward and watched her closely.

“Doubled our money,” Hammen hissed with delight as he settled back into his chair by Garth’s side.

“You give your friend the message?”

“I don’t know why, but I did,” Hammen replied sulkily.

Garth settled back in his chair, ignoring the performers, who again flooded into the arena. The stands were nearly empty as the mob swarmed out of the arena, heading to the food stands and privy pits, except for the crowds that tried to maneuver to where the clay pots were going to rain down.

“This is your match,” Hammen announced, and he looked over excitedly at Garth.

Garth, saying nothing, watched the tote board as the matches started to be listed.

“I bet that’s us,” Hammen said, pointing to the board as a boy scurried out on a catwalk and hung out a symbol before the first letter of the name had even been hung, the symbol a stylized rendering of an eye patch.

At the sight of Garth’s symbol the crowd started to cheer. Garth sat back, watching, as his name, which on the board was simply “One-eye,” was spelled out. His opponent, from Ingkara, was now listed, and confusion erupted among the crowd.

“Who is this bastard?” a Brown fighter asked, looking over at Garth as if he had the answer.

Garth turned and looked at Hammen, who sat in silence.

“He wasn’t on the lists two days ago,” Hammen announced. “Just a minute.”

He got out of his seat and raced back toward the grandstands, whereupon several spectators broke out of the crowd and came down to meet him. They conferred quickly and Hammen came back.

“It’s a setup,” Hammen said angrily. “One of Zarel’s men, at least eight-rank or better. He was seen in the march down to the arena. Jimak must have taken a bribe to let him into Purple’s ranks.”

“So I’ll fight him.”

“He’s an unknown, one of Zarel’s lieutenants. It also means the choosing was fixed. One of the monks must have palmed the name disks to set it up.”

“So it’s fixed. What the hell did you expect?” Garth said quietly.

Garth, sensing that he was being watched, looked up and saw that Kirlen was gazing down at him.

She smiled and nodded her head.

The odds on the board went up, three to one against Garth. The confused murmuring in the crowd increased.

Hammen turned back to the grandstands and cupped his hands.

“It’s a fix!”

Instantly his cry was picked up and echoed, a loud turmoil breaking out.

Hammen settled back in his seat, waited for a moment, and then stood up to head back to the wall.

“How are you betting?”

Hammen looked back at him with a hurt expression.

“Three to one against, we’ll clean up. Besides, if you lose, I’m dead anyhow, so what the hell.”

“Thanks for the confidence.”

Chuckling, Hammen went up to the wall and returned a moment later as the first of the warning trumpets sounded.

“Naru bet on Garth.”

Garth looked over at the grinning giant.

“I win either way,” Naru announced as if he had figured out a monumental task of logic. “Make money or don’t have to fight and kill you later.” Naru roared at his own joke.

The third trumpet finally sounded and Garth stood up, Hammen by his side, and stepped out from under the awning into the late-afternoon sun. The arena erupted with wild cheering that spread from Brown to the other three-quarters of the stadium.

Garth, ignoring the cheers, walked toward his assigned circle and stepped into the neutral box, which was stained with blood from an earlier death match. Hammen took his cloak and watched warily as Garth’s opponent came forward.

“I know that bastard,” Hammen whispered. “He was captain of the guard down in Tantium. A killer. This doesn’t look good.”

Zarel Ewine leaned back in his throne and chuckled softly. The captain knew his job and what was expected. Later it would be a simple task to eliminate him rather than have to worry about the fact that the man might talk about the violations of age-old traditions, the fixing of the match, the bribing of the monk, who would have to have an accident as well, and, finally, the fact that the captain carried a spell given to him by the Grand Master for use in the arena.

Zarel took up his cup of wine and sipped at it contentedly, waiting for the fighters to get ready.

The captain from Tantium walked calmly over to his neutral box alone, without a servant, unclipped his cloak, and let it fall to the ground. Ignoring Garth, he bent over and stretched lazily, his bare arms rippling with muscles.

“He might try to take you physically,” Hammen whispered. “Watch out for his blade. Look at his left boot; there’s another dagger tucked in there for throwing. Poisoned most likely.”

The final trumpet sounded and the circle master for Garth’s fight stepped into the center and then looked over at Garth.

“How do you declare this fight?”

“Spell match,” Garth said quietly.

The circle master looked back over at the captain.

“How do you declare this fight?”

“To the death.”

The circle master turned and went over to the pole at the edge of the circle.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Hammen shouted.

The circle master, ignoring Hammen, hoisted the red flag of a death match.

“This is a fix!” Hammen shouted, turning to look back at the arena stands, his words drowned out by the eruption of screaming from half a million throats.

Hammen looked back at Garth.

“If I lose, get out of here quick,” Garth said quietly, and then he lowered his head and closed his eyes.

“Fight!”

Garth opened his eyes and stepped into the circle. Concentrating, he started to pull upon the power of his mana, upon which would be built the power of his spells. Instantly he felt a block. The captain had already drawn upon his own mana and cast a blocking spell, draining Garth’s power away. Garth felt a momentary flicker of fear. The man was powerful, extremely powerful, and skillful in his tactics.

Smoke swirled up in the center of the circle and half a dozen decaying corpses stepped out of the cloud, the stench of their corruption washing over Garth. He stepped back, still struggling to bring forth his mana as the first corpse staggered up, pale bone showing through the rotting phosphorescence of its face. Garth struggled to suppress a gag, his concentration broken as he had to dodge out of the dead man’s grasp. Another one caught him on the shoulder, icy fingers digging into flesh and wrestling to draw away the spirit of life. Garth tore free and quickly moved away, feeling his strength draining away. In the center of the circle more forms appeared, plague rats, their green eyes glinting evilly. The rats charged. Garth danced about, crushing several under his boot but two managed to leap upon his legs, sinking their teeth in, their poison seeping into his blood. Staggering, he kicked them off.

At last Garth was able to raise his hand, the mana of the forest drawn into his control at last. A dark green fog swirled around him, blinding the undead. For a brief moment the attack was thrown off and he raised his hands, a cool stream of water cascading down from above, washing over his body, drawing out the poison.