“It’s an obvious path to what I want done. You’ve been carrying that ruby of mine around and it’s time we put it to good use.”

“It’s a terrible risk for my friend. He could be denounced and dead before the offer is barely out.”

“It’ll be amusing,” Garth said. “And besides, the person we want to bribe is a customer of his for illegal potions. He has some leverage over him.”

“Do you know how many bribes it’ll take to arrange such a thing?”

“You already saw me take care of it.”

“The man, or should I say creature, you’re attempting to bribe will pocket your money and forget about it.”

Garth smiled and shook his head.

“You don’t know the nature of guilt and vengeance very well. Half a dozen wagonloads of pots are simply mixed in, that’s all. No one will be able to trace it, and our friend comes out the richer for it.”

Hammen looked around nervously.

“You’re talking about bribing the captain of Zarel’s fighters, Uriah the Groveler.”

Garth smiled sadly.

“Yes, Uriah.” His voice was distant and wistful.

“That was a ruby worth at least a hundred gold,” Hammen groaned.

Garth looked back as if drawn from a distant land.

“When you bribe high you have to be willing to pay,” he said quickly.

“And yet you appeared before me penniless and I actually trusted you.”

“I had to keep my reserve.”

“And is there any reserve left?”

“A little,” Garth said with a smile. “Later, tomorrow after the games, I want you to go out through the gate of the city down where we first met. Walk exactly one thousand fifty paces.”

“Your paces or mine?”

“Mine, damn it. How could I know what yours were?”

“I’ll try to manage.”

“Anyhow. Go exactly one thousand fifty paces. There is an ancient tomb on the right side of the road, about a hundred paces up the side of the hill. In the back of it the bricks are weak. Tucked in behind the bricks is an oilskin bundle. Bring it back to me and, for the sake of the Eternal, don’t open it.”

“So now I’m your errand boy too.”

“I’d go myself, damn it, but a lot might happen tomorrow.”

“Like your getting killed.”

“Then the bundle is yours as a reminder of me. I think you’d find it interesting.”

Garth continued to shoulder his way through the swirling crowds, thankful that a light rain was falling so that his drawn-up hood and drooping, wide-brimmed hat did not seem out of place.

Reaching the Great Plaza, he pushed his way into the crowds and moved forward with a purposeful stride.

“Damn it,” Hammen hissed, but he kept close to Garth anyhow as his companion approached the perimeter around the palace. A line of guards was drawn up just inside the row of fountains, warily watching the crowds which streamed past. Since the riot of the day before the tension between the Grand Master’s warriors and the city’s inhabitants was at near-breaking point.

Without slowing down, Garth pushed through the edge of the crowd and broke into a run, charging straight at the nearest warrior. Before the man even had time to react Garth caught him full in the solar plexus, the blow doubling the man over in spite of his leather armor. The warrior to the man’s right turned, startled by the sudden attack, and Garth, spinning around, slammed a balled fist into the man’s neck just behind his ear. Pulling out his dagger he sliced the man’s purse off his belt, cut it open, and then heaved it into the startled crowd. This started a mad scramble for the money, which jingled on the dark pavement. Three more warriors came running over, swords drawn. Garth stepped past the first one, knocking him over with a simple tripping of feet. The second came in warily, slicing low. Garth jumped over the blow and, as he did so, kicked the man in the face. The third slowed, came to a stop, and then, turning, started to run, blowing his whistle, sounding the alarm.

The mob, which had been stunned by the sudden onset, now swarmed forward to rob the downed warriors. Garth turned and quickly strode away into the darkness, while behind him came the trumpet call of the alarm. Within seconds a company of warriors came charging out of the palace and waded into the crowd.

The excitement started to draw spectators from across the Plaza and Garth dodged his way through the human tide which swept forward to watch. As the heaving, shouting crowd drew closer they were drawn into the spreading fight as the ill feelings between the Grand Master’s guards and the mob exploded.

Garth continued across the Plaza, moving straight at the House of Kestha. Just before reaching the outer circle of paving stones that marked Kestha’s territory he tore off his cloak, revealing an Orange uniform underneath, though his face was still concealed by his wide-brimmed hat. Garth pointed toward one of the guards standing at the entryway into the House.

“Who is it?”

Hammen squinted, peering through the gloom and mist.

“Josega. At least I think so. Fourth- or fifth-rank.”

“Good enough. You know what to do.”

Garth broke into a run, charging across the gray paving stones.

“Josega, you cowardly bastard!”

Josega, who had been lounging wearily against the wall of his House, stirred, looking up as the Orange robe raced toward him. Even as he started to raise his hands, Garth caught him with a bolt of fire from above that knocked the man head over heels, laying him out unconscious on the pavement. The other guard started forward to meet Garth, not seeing Hammen coming up from the other side. Hammen caught the other guard across the back of the head with a blow from his staff.

The two pulled out daggers and, even as the alarm was raised inside the House, they ran off, the satchels of the two fallen guards in their hands.

“Well, at least they won’t get killed now in the arena,” Hammen gasped as they disappeared back into the crowd, which had not even noticed the robbery, their attention drawn instead to the growing clamor of the riot.

“Do you always find a moral balm for your sins?” Garth asked.

“It helps.”

Garth pushed his way across the square, which was now resounding with the angry shouts of the mob. Crowds raced past him, many of them carrying clubs, pikes, carving knives, and even the occasional crossbow. Over by the palace the fighting was now in full swing, warriors pushing their way outward with overlapping shields, the mob pelting them with offal, pieces of firewood, paving stones, and whatever else they could lay their hands on.

Garth edged his way around the riot and moved toward the House of Ingkara. He stopped and tore off the Orange tunic he had been wearing, to reveal a Brown robe underneath.

“Haven’t you had enough?” Hammen asked.

“Not yet. Now the same as last time.”

A minute later the two were running away, carrying two more satchels of spells, their pursuers cut off by the mob.

Garth slowed and then, at a casual pace, crossed back over into Bolk’s territory. Half a dozen fighters were at the gate, watching the spreading riot.

“What’s going on out there?” Garth asked, coming up to stand by Naru. The giant looked down at him curiously.

“All sorts of fighting tonight,” the giant rumbled with amusement. “You not know?”

“No, I was out for a little pleasure around behind the House.”

“What kind pleasure?”

“The female kind.”

“Ah, you break training. Mistress not like that.” Naru guffawed loudly and then looked up, his eyes narrowing at the sight of a dozen Ingkaran fighters storming onto the pavement belonging to Bolk.

“Get off our territory!” Naru shouted, stepping out from the main gate to face the approaching Purples, who slowed at the sight of the giant.

“Two of our men were robbed of their spells by one of yours!” a Purple shouted.

Naru said nothing, gazing down contemptuously at the fighter. The Purple seemed to hesitate and then he set eyes on Garth.