“It was him, One-eye.”

Naru threw back his head and laughed.

“He good fellow, he out robbing women of their honor, not dogs of their offal. You Purple are the lapdogs of the Grand Master.”

With a wild cry of anger one of the Ingkarans raised his hand. A twisting cyclone suddenly appeared, the wind racing out from it as frigid as an arctic night. Inside the cloud a form took shape and stepped out from the cloud. The ice giant moved slowly toward Naru as if its joints were still locked in blocks of frost but it came forward with a deadly purposefulness, raising its steel war hammer, a howling cry like the wind on a winter night thundering from its open mouth.

Naru, laughing, dodged the strike. With a balled-up fist he struck the frost giant with such a blow that the giant’s head splintered into tinkling fragments. With that the fight was on. Cries for Purple and shouts for Brown echoed on the Plaza. Brown fighters and warriors came charging out of the House to aid their comrades. The crowd, which had been storming toward the riot around the palace, slowed, turning to watch the show. Bets were hurriedly placed. Partisans of Ingkara and Bolk shoved forward to watch the fight and within seconds were fighting with each other as well.

From the next section over could be heard the cries for Fentesk and Kestha, an explosion piercing the darkness, the crowd oohing and aahing as bolts of lightning shot overhead from the top of Fentesk’s House.

Garth stayed in the shadows, ignoring Hammen’s excited cries as the fight spilled out into the Plaza, the mob now joining in as well, the partisans of the different sides turning on each other with gleeful abandon. No warriors or fighters of the Grand Master intervened to stop the brawl since all were tied down holding back the mob around the palace.

Suddenly there was a great explosion of light around the palace and, from atop the Grand Master’s palace, bolts of fire stormed down indiscriminately into the mob, knocking over hundreds.

“I think I’ll go in and take a nap,” Garth said calmly and, turning away from the spectacle, he walked through the door, stepping over the unconscious body of a Purple fighter whom Naru had tossed more than half a dozen fathoms. The giant, bellowing with delight, continued to wade into the battle, fists rising and falling.

Garth went through the door and paused. He looked down at Hammen.

“Why don’t you go turn down my bed, Hammen.”

Hammen, staring wide-eyed at Kirlen, who stood before them, nodded and slipped past the Master of Bolk.

“Masterful, One-eye, a masterful act of cunning.”

“And what is that, my lady?”

“The riot out there. Don’t you think I know how it started? Don’t you think the Grand Master does too?”

“He has no proof. Perhaps he is just reaping the whirlwind of his misrule.”

“And you are his moral judge? Hundreds will be killed out there.”

Garth nodded.

“It would have come anyhow. No one out there is being forced to riot and murder. They’re only imitating their betters.”

Kirlen laughed coldly, leaning heavily on her staff.

“Our games match for the moment,” Kirlen finally said, and, turning, she hobbled away.

“That bastard! I know it’s him!”

Uriah looked up at Zarel.

“How do you know that, sire?”

His voice was filled with a wary caution.

“How dare you! I should take your head for your insolence.”

To Zarel’s shocked disbelief Uriah for once did not blanch.

“If you kill me now, Master, I fear a rebellion will sweep this palace. Right now our fighters are outside this very building holding back the mob. If their captain should die by your hands, what would they say?”

“Concerning you, not much,” Zarel snarled.

“But of things in general,” Uriah replied, amazed as the words poured out of him. “Eleven fighters have died in the rioting of the last several days, more than two hundred warriors as well. They are not happy, my lord, and though my death might mean nothing, then again it could mean an awful lot.”

“What has come over you?”

Uriah swallowed hard, trying to control his fear.

“You violated the rules of the arena not once but four times today. You planted Silmar in the House of Ingkara, you gave him a spell, you had the circle master declare it a death match, and then you tried to intervene.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me this morning. He took the assignment but feared it would be his death. So he told me just before going over to stand with the House of Ingkara.”

Zarel started to raise his hand.

“Go ahead. So far it’s a secret. But kill me and the entire city will know what they only suspect right now. That will end all betting, for the mob will no longer trust you at all. Go ahead. You see, my lord, I left instructions with someone detailing all and if I die, it will be revealed.”

Zarel hesitated, stunned by the sudden turn of his second.

“And I could reveal all about the role you played in the fall of Turquoise.”

“You have held that over me for twenty long years, Master, and I groveled before you. But for this moment I want to be treated as a man.”

Zarel laughed.

“You are nothing but a deformed animal.”

“Then why do you make me your captain of fighters?”

Zarel smiled coldly.

“Because I could control you.”

“You still can but the price has changed.”

“What do you want?”

“Control of the House of Bolk,” Uriah replied evenly.

“I have no control over who is selected as Master of a House.”

“Then find a way. You will have to kill Kirlen before this is over or she will kill you. Isn’t it obvious that she is behind this One-eye?”

“How can I trust you afterward?”

“You can’t. For that matter how can I trust you? Perhaps that is the beginning of the only type of relationship that can last in this world.”

Zarel nodded wearily and sat back down.

“Can you bring the mob under control?”

“Difficult, but yes, though I worry about tomorrow in the arena. A single spark will set them off.”

Uriah hesitated.

“If that spark should come, then you will have to kill the mob by the thousands and drive them into the dirt. Nothing can be held back.”

Uriah nodded in agreement.

“Master, will you bring him down tomorrow?”

“I plan to kill him during the procession to the arena. I have my assassins taking their positions even now. He will never make it out of the city.”

“Suppose he eludes that trap?”

“Not in the arena. It is too risky.” Zarel paused.

“Let the Walker have him as a servant and you’ll be done with him. He is working toward some plan, not only against you, but against the Walker as well.”

“How do you know this?”

“You asked me to find out all I could,” Uriah replied. “He is dangerous beyond measure.”

Zarel lowered his head.

“Get out.”

“Do we have our agreement?”

“Yes, damn you. Now get out.”

Uriah, head bowed low, turned and hobbled out of the room.

“And bring that damn mob under control!”

As the door slammed shut the dwarf sagged against the wall, suddenly unable to control the trembling of his limbs. He fought down the sudden urge to vomit. For years he had dreamed of standing up to Zarel, and always feared death would be the payment.

He felt as if he had been possessed by a demon. Was that it? His visit to the dealer of potions had been for the purpose of gaining powders so that he could have his way with one of the court women; it was the only way he ever could have one, by first drugging her. The offered drink had seemed innocent enough and then this sense of power and defiance had taken hold.

He was suddenly tempted to go back, find the man, and kill him.