From the other side of the arena he saw Varena approaching and, turning away from the throne, he walked up to meet her.

She looked at him and smiled.

“You know I will fight to win. I have to.”

“Do you have any idea anymore what it is that you’re really fighting for?” Garth asked, moving to walk alongside her.

“Because this is what I trained for, this moment.”

“And afterward?”

“To be the servant of the Walker in other worlds, to have the mysteries revealed, to leap by his side between worlds like a god.”

Garth shook his head sadly.

“And for that you would kill me?”

She looked over at him and smiled.

“Isn’t that your intent as well? You saw what happened to Gilganorin. There is no backing away now, Garth. Only one of us may go. I’m just sorry it is you that I have to do this to.”

“Fighter, make no friend of fighter,” Garth said calmly.

Varena smiled sadly and nodded.

Approaching the high throne they fell silent, their servants stopping at the outer edge of the golden circle.

The Walker, chewing on a leg of roasted pork, looked down at them and smiled.

“So who is it going to be?” he asked.

Neither answered.

“You know, Garth, this is all rather amusing. I think you have something for this woman and she you. And yet both of you would sacrifice that in order to serve me and learn the final mysteries.”

“Would you care to share the mystery now and spare us the trouble of a fight?” Garth said.

The Walker smiled, laughing softly.

“To the death,” he finally whispered, “and for the winner, the answer to all.”

He waved a hand of dismissal and as Garth turned he saw a cold look of satisfaction in Zarel’s eyes.

“Either way you lose,” Zarel whispered.

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Garth snapped in reply.

Garth looked back at Varena and smiled.

“I’m sorry.” Turning, he started back across the field to the neutral box.

The mob was on its feet, standing in silence as the climax of Festival drew nigh.

Reaching the neutral box, Garth looked over at Hammen.

“There won’t be much time afterward. I think he’ll leave at once. I could sense something there; he’s under some sort of pressure.”

Hammen nodded.

“Something isn’t right with him,” Hammen said. “Usually he acts more like a gross buffoon, eating, wenching, gambling. There’s something not right with him now.”

“If possible, I think you know what I want you to do.” Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a small bundle and tossed it to Hammen.

Hammen stepped into the box and, reaching out, he placed hands on Garth’s shoulders.

“Galin. All these years I thought you dead.” His voice choked. “I remember the day your father came out of the birthing room carrying you proudly. I remember the day he called us in so that we could see you take your first step. And the day we laughed when you first used mana and burned your little fingers, cried, and then tried again.”

“Stop going sentimental on me now,” Garth said.

“If I had known you were still alive in that fire, I would have come back for you.”

”You wouldn’t have found me,” Garth said softly. “Even as my father died he used the last of his power to send my mother and me far away. You would not have found me until I wanted you to and that was not until she died and I was free to do what she had forbidden.”

He paused.

“To get revenge.”

His features were set as if cast in ice. He withdrew Hammen’s hands from his shoulders.

“Take care, Hadin gar Kan.”

“The Eternal be with you, Galin.”

The trumpet sounded and Garth turned away, calming his inner self so that he felt as if he were drifting in another world.

“Fight!”

The words came like a whisper on the wind, the cries of the mob like a haunting whisper drifting across a frozen sea.

He stepped out of the neutral box, reaching into his powers, the power of the mana drifting up to him-the power of distant lands now locked in the silken bundles, the power of the mountains, the islands across the Flowing Seas, the plains, forests, swamps, and deserts.

He waited, not letting too much of the power come at once, waiting for her first move. He could sense that she, too, was building her strength, drawing on her mana in turn and then, with a wave of his hand, he cast the spell of destruction, of Armageddon, which destroyed all the mana that had been drawn by both. He could sense her startled response, the brief instant of surprise. He quickly re-formed his own powers, letting them rush upward, the strength surging through him, and he launched an attack. He struck with a disrupting scepter, which forced Varena to lose yet another point of power. He then drew on a rare artifact which granted him the ability to control even more power than a fighter could normally hold. Then he projected his power outward so that for a moment he was able to read her thoughts and know what she knew and what she planned to do.

Thus even before her first attack-a wall of flashing swords which swept across the field-he was prepared to block it, the swords falling to the ground and melting away. She countered with a rain of fire, which he extinguished with a flood of ocean which moved like a wall across the arena floor. On the tops of the waves rode great beasts of the deep, their open jaws gnashing, their rows of razor-sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight.

The ocean, in turn, cascaded down into a fissure that Varena opened across the width of the arena floor. In response Garth sent creatures flying over the fissure. From out of the depths came unearthly forms, hydras of many heads that snatched at Garth’s attackers, striking them down as fast as they appeared. Garth sent a wall of swords back to decapitate the hydra. The blades struck, and seconds later the beast had twice as many heads. It crawled out of the pit and moved toward Garth with ponderous motion.

The mob cheered at the sight of such a rarity.

Garth watched it approaching and then lowered his head and averted his eyes.

Before him there appeared the bent-over form of a woman covered from head to foot in a long cape. Bemused laughter erupted from the mob at such a strange defense. With eyes still averted Garth reached out and tore the cape away from the old woman.

The Medusa stood up with a triumphal scream, the vipers that were her hair writhing and hissing. The hydra’s long serpentine heads rose up, a chorus of bellows erupting from it as the creature turned to stone.

The Medusa, laughing coldly, turned toward Garth who, with eyes still averted, grabbed hold of her cape and tossed it over her head. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small disk of a mirror and held it up as she tore the cape off, ready to attack him. But at the sight of herself she screamed in anguish and turned to stone as well.

The mob, which had been watching this unusual counterattack outside the range of the Medusa’s awful powers, broke into appreciative applause for the artistic defense that Garth had offered and the manner in which he controlled a spell that was as dangerous to the wielder as it was to the intended target.

Controlling the hydra had drained Varena of much of her power and Garth suddenly raced forward, leaping over the fissure to land on her side of the fighting field.

Garth now drew upon defensive spells to ward off the series of weak attacks Varena cast in an attempt to slow him while he was building his own power. Then, to his surprise, she used a spell of destruction as well, shattering both her mana and his at the same time. She then struck him with a psychic blast which, though it did damage to herself, hurt him far more. He staggered backward from the blow, almost falling into the fissure. He erected a circle of protection to block her strikes and then moved quickly to heal the damage she had inflicted.