More pots rained down, bursting open, the terrified spectators writhing about, screaming in panic and rage, the vipers coiling around whoever was nearest, swarms of hornets stinging whatever flesh they came in contact with.

In the section of the stand closest to Zarel’s throne a Benalish woman leaped up onto the containing wall of the arena.

“Zarel! Zarel is killing us! Kill him!”

With drawn sword she leaped down from the wall. Like a damn bursting open, the mob started to flood down the stadium rows, gaining the wall and piling over it, the flood spreading out across the entire length of the arena.

The dwarf crews, still not comprehending what they were doing, continued to fire the pots into the audience. As the mob swirled around them they threw the rest out of their wagons, thinking the crowd was simply after loot. Their actions infuriated the mob even more and the wagons were swarmed under.

The warriors surrounding Zarel turned to face outward and stem the mad onrush. Panicked, they lowered their weapons and fired. Zarel turned back to face Garth, at last realizing what had happened and knowing that somehow One-eye was behind it.

He was greeted by a green cloud of smoke.

Ducking low, Garth darted around the throne, followed by Hammen, and was almost instantly lost in the crush of warriors struggling to form ranks and face the enraged mob that, by the hundreds of thousands, was now storming out onto the arena floor.

“Behind you!”

Garth turned even as Varena dropped a warrior who was about to bring his sword down on Garth’s back. Garth leaped aside as the flame-scorched body tumbled over. The three pushed their way through the warriors, who were staggering backward as the onrushing wall of the mob slammed into them.

Garth raised his hands and the warriors to either side recoiled from him, a dark terror gripping their hearts. He pushed his way through the ranks, using terror to clear a path, Varena by his side. They broke through into the struggling mob and at the sight of him the mob parted, cheering wildly, and then pushed on again, shouting with rage.

Garth gained the edge of the arena and climbed over the wall. The stands were still half-full, except for the wide circles of empty spaces now controlled by the creatures that had burst out of the pots. Garth ascended the steps, reaching the top of the arena.

The betting stands were in shambles, the mob looting them. Beneath each stand was a chute down which was dropped the money taken in betting to arrive in carts far underground by which, through hidden tunnels, the winnings would be taken back to the palace. Some of the mob were tearing at the holes with their bare hands, shouting curses down the holes. Still others vented their rage on the booths, tearing them apart board by board.

The arena floor was chaos. A dark knot of warriors held in the center. The Master’s fighters were now in the fray, casting out walls of fire to drive the mob back.

“I’m going back to my House,” Varena said.

Garth turned and looked at her, taking her by the arm.

“Maybe you should leave.”

She pulled her arm free.

“I’ve studied all my life for the chance to be the servant of the Walker. I’ll not stop now.”

Hammen sniffed and said nothing.

“That means we’ll have to fight tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And if it comes to killing, then what? You know that bastard will require it tomorrow.”

She looked at him, saying nothing.

“Leave, Varena, for the sake of the Eternal, leave.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said quietly and, turning, she disappeared into the swirling mob.

“Same advice I’ve been giving to you,” Hammen said.

“And I’m just as pigheaded. Now come on, we’ve got work to do.”

THE DOOR INTO THE ATTIC SWUNG OPEN AND Garth turned expectantly.

“Were you able to find her?”

Hammen shook his head.

“Damn.”

“Some people say she was killed at the start of the riot, others that the Grand Master’s warriors took her prisoner. There’s not a word of that Benalish woman at the moment.”

Garth said nothing, turning back to peek through the narrow window. Out in the Plaza all was finally still. Carts moved back and forth through the shadows, hooded monks picking up the hundreds of dead who littered the area around the palace. Fires still flickered across the city and in the distance could be heard the roar of the mobs. From out of the main street that led down to the harbor, a solid column of warriors was marching, their shields and spears glinting in the glowing light. Down below even the normal flow of business had quieted down, something for which Garth was extremely grateful.

“Zarel’s called in troops from Tantium. The ships are arriving even now. He’s stripping the countryside bare,” Hammen announced. “They say maybe a thousand or more people and several hundred warriors were killed down in the arena. The mob was still holding it when I left but I guess the troops are finally clearing it.”

Garth nodded.

“And the package I hid outside the city gate?”

Hammen held up the oilskin bundle and dropped it on the floor.

Garth nodded his thanks and, bending down, picked it up as if it was a treasured and fragile object.

“Master?”

Garth looked back at Hammen.

“I think I’m quitting your service.”

“Why?”

Hammen shook his head.

“Go on, out with it.”

“In the beginning it was different. I thought you were out on a lark, have a little fun, tweak the nose of Zarel, and make a profit. Though you’ve never said anything, I always suspected who you were as well.”

“But that’s changed, hasn’t it.”

Hammen nodded sadly.

“I passed along the front of the harbor tonight. They’re taking the carts down and dumping the dead in, letting the tide take them out. The sharks and empreys are having a feast; the water’s churning with the feeding.”

He fell silent for a moment.

“Don’t you have any remorse, any feelings over this?”

Garth turned away from Hammen to look back out the window as a company of warriors raced past and then disappeared into the night.

“Yes.”

“Then why? Thousands have died.”

“You have sympathy with the mob, is that it?”

“I was the mob,” Hammen replied.

“And what were you then? If you had not been with me, you would have been up in the stands howling for blood, trembling with ecstasy as a fighter hacked the guts out of an opponent. That was your life, wasn’t it? What are the permutations of tomorrow’s bet, can I get the right combination and win a thousand over the blood of someone else?”

Hammen lowered his head.

“I had to survive.”

“You call that surviving. That bastard in the palace has perverted everything the mana was intended for. He’s turned it into sport and money contracts and the Walker allowed it. That’s all the mob now lives for.”

“And Garth the liberator has come to change that? What right do you have anyhow? You’ve killed more in the last four days than Zarel does in a year. Are you any better than him now? Or is this all only for your own revenge?”

Garth shook his head and looked away.

“Damn you, don’t look away from me!” Hammen snapped.

Startled, Garth looked back at the old man.

“Don’t you feel anything about this?”

“I’m sick to death of it,” Garth said quietly. “But there’s no other way. I tried to think of another path but I couldn’t find it. Yes, I want to bring the bastard down, bring him down and all the corruption he has created. He has given the people of this realm an opiate, the circuses, the Festival, and corrupted the guilds of fighters and everything around them. They’ve all been seduced by it and this is the only way I know to bring an end to it, to lance the corruption and let the pus run out of it until it’s healed. It was better than hiding in the gutter like you.”