She struck again, but this time he was prepared, reversing the spell, which struck back at her so that she fell to her knees.

Garth moved closer, ringing her in with a wall of twisted brambles. She struck them down with fire but behind the brambles he had tree-creatures waiting, which moved toward her with ponderous steps. She dodged back and forth, trying to avoid their blows, until one of them snagged her by the leg and lifted her into the air.

A giant appeared by her side and, with raised axe, hewed down the tree that held her. Then it turned to struggle with the others, the tree-creatures sending out shoots and roots, wrapping them around the giant’s legs and arms. The giant howled with a berserk fury, cutting and slashing with its man-size axe, felling trees which Garth replaced with yet more.

The mob, taken by this amusing spectacle, roared with delight, cheering on the giant and then the trees as they battled amidst a growing mountain of broken limbs, wood chips, and splinters.

Varena, recovering slowly, moved back from the struggle, calling down bolts of lightning to ignite the trees, which hooted with a wild fury as their branches burned, the arena filling with smoke from the conflagration.

Garth called down a swirling storm of ice and rain to extinguish the fires and then brought forth a giant of his own, so that the two struggled and cut at each other in the steam and smoke.

Garth suddenly felt a stinging blow at the back of his neck and, turning, he saw a great swarm of wasps, each one as big as his thumb, swirling around him. The insects went for his eye, stinging him on the cheeks, the nose, the forehead, the pain of the stings causing him to curse wildly, his face instantly swelling up from the venom.

Caught off guard, he lost his concentration for a moment, the venom coursing into his blood, causing him to feel light-headed and weak. He went down on his knees, covering his face, the stings so savage that his hands filled with blood. At last concentrating his waning strength, he conjured up the smallest of sprites who, with lances drawn, did battle with the wasps. He rolled out from under the cloud and came back up to his knees and uncovered his face.

He was blind, his eyelid swollen to the point that he could not see. He could sense that Varena was rushing toward him with dagger raised for the kill. Drawing in his remaining power, he erected a wall of stone, which he knew would block her for the moment. Staggering, he got to his feet and then drew upon the one spell he had been holding in reserve.

Instantly, all the powers she controlled came into his hands and she was drained of all that she could control at that moment. The shock of this blow staggered her so that he could hear her scream of frustration.

It was time to finish it and he called upon the power he had taken from Naru the day before. A dark cloud swirled before Garth and a towering form emerged. It rode upon great wheels that towered to twice the height of a man, the wheels rimmed with black iron as thick as a man’s hand. The juggernaut rolled forward slowly, crashing through the wall he had erected and then through another wall she struggled to erect with what little power remained to her. She focused that power upon the juggernaut, draining herself of all she had to stop it in its course. The great structure tottered and then exploded with a thunderclap roar of fire and red smoke.

And it was at that moment that he threw all that he had against her, staggering her with repeated psionic blasts which, though they weakened him, did damage to her that was far more devastating. The third blow lifted Varena up off her feet, slamming her to the ground, where she lay still.

Garth slowly walked up to her, stepping aside as the juggernaut came crashing down with an explosive roar which all but drowned out the howling of the mob.

He looked down at her, her features pale, drawn, and drained of all but the slimmest flicker of life.

“Finish her!”

He looked up at the Walker.

“Finish her or die!”

Garth raised his hand and pointed at Varena. A psionic blast slammed into her body, a convulsive shudder ran through her, driving the last of her soul from her mortal remains.

Garth lowered his head, turned away, and then looked up at the Walker with a cold defiance.

“I am your chosen servant, my lord.”

THE WALKER LOOKED DOWN AT GARTH, GRINNED, then turned his attention back to Zarel.

“I am leaving now,” his voice whispered.

Surprised, and barely able to conceal his relief, Zarel looked up at the Walker, who stood upon the throne.

“My lord, will you not come back to the throne and continue your enjoyments?”

“I might come back later, after I take care of him,” he said, and nodded toward Garth. “I will also come back to see that you have regained control here, and when I do, all had better be in order.”

The Walker looked back over at the woman, who reclined naked upon the silk divan. He could see the terror in her eyes. He raised his hand and, though she tried to look up at him seductively, her features paled. He snapped his fingers and a cut diamond, the size of a small walnut, appeared between his thumb and forefinger. He tossed it between her breasts and, laughing, turned away. Scooping up a decanter of wine, he strode down the steps of the throne platform and approached Garth. Draining off the decanter, he tossed it aside.

“So, One-eye, you’ve won.”

Garth said nothing, staring straight at the Walker.

“So now you are my chosen servant of the year. Come and I will show you all that you desire and deserve to know.”

The Walker turned away and looked out across the arena.

“I proclaim Garth, whom you call One-eye, the winner of this Festival.”

There was a ripple of a cheer, but most stood silent, and the Walker frowned, looking back at Garth.

“I think they are not happy with the victory.”

“It might be other things, my lord,” Garth said quietly.

The Walker looked over at Varena, who was slowly being dragged away by her servant and Hammen.

“You should claim her satchel, as is your right.”

“Where I am going, I suspect there is no need of it.”

The Walker, chuckling softly, nodded.

He looked down at two monks who knelt at the edge of the circle, holding a great silken bag which contained the mana tribute, the bag pulsing with a radiant light. Kuthuman greedily reached over, took the bag, and looked back at Zarel.

“I suspect there is not as much in here as I expected.”

Zarel lowered his head, saying nothing.

“If that is true, you know I’ll be back sooner rather than later.”

“Why not check now?” Garth said quietly.

Kuthuman looked over at Garth, his features troubled.

“Later.” And he said the words coldly, looking back at Zarel, who gazed at Garth with unconcealed hatred.

“It is time to go,” the Walker announced, and he fixed Garth with an icy stare.

“This will be amusing.”

He raised his hands high.

Garth felt as if an opaque screen had been drawn around him, the world beyond drifting off into a hazy, fog-covered shadow. Sound distorted as if the mob were shouting from down the end of a long underground cavern. The world darkened. He looked up and the sun, which had been blazing with such hot intensity, was now a dull red, darkening into night.

And then he began to fall. His stomach tightened and he suppressed the urge to cry out with fear, wondering for an instant if he were already dead. The ground was no longer beneath his feet, yet he felt no rushing of wind, no sense of flying. The opaque shadow drew in tighter, all going dark. Again he looked up at the sun. It was gone. Overhead there was a narrow cone of light, of brilliant purple, and out of it streaks of light snapped past. Yet it was almost as if he did not see the light, but merely sensed it. He wanted to reach out and touch the lights yet knew that somehow they were impossibly far away. He looked down at his feet. A small disk of dark red was drawing in upon itself, shrinking into a pinpoint, becoming nothing, the lights streaking past him shifting in an instant from purple to red, then disappearing.