The crowd which had been watching the show pushed and shoved as if a force had struck it from behind. It finally parted as yet more Orange fighters came pouring into the open semicircle around Gray's House. Within seconds half a dozen of them were fighting with an equal number of Grays, several of them conjuring up spells while the others simply pulled daggers and set at each other.

"Master, isn't it a healthy time to leave?"

Garth looked down at Hammen, who was busily stuffing several cut purses into his tunic.

The crowd was roaring with delight, pointing, shouting, screaming with hysterical abandon when blood was finally spilled and a Gray fighter went down clutching his throat, which had been cut from ear to ear. A fireball struck his assailant, even as the man reached down to grab his victim's satchel, sending him sprawling, writhing in flames until one of his companions cast a spell of protection, dousing the flame. Two Gray fighters rushed to help their hemorrhaging lodge brother, applying hands and incantations to stem the bleeding.

Garth ducked low, when from atop the Kesthan palace sheets of lightning snapped down, striking into the plaza, bowling Fentesk fighters over like ninepins. Garth scrambled up against the building and sat down under the shadow of one of the great stone pillar fighters. He reached into his tunic, pulled out another pomegranate, and calmly started to eat.

"Master, please!" Hammen whined, sneaking up to Garth's side and squatting down beside him. "Let's just get out of here."

"Not yet. Why don't you go and arrange some bets for me on Gray."

More trumpets brayed and Hammen looked around furtively.

"The Grand Master of the Arena is coming. It's time to get out of here now."

"In a minute."

From the edge of the swirling mob, which was laughing and dancing about while watching the show, a heavy phalanx appeared. There were at least twenty magic wielders in the middle of the column, the fighters flanked by several hundred crossbow men. At the front of the column rode the Grand Master of the Arena himself, his multihued cape reflecting all the colors of the rainbow.

The crossbow men, with weapons cocked, fanned out around the edge of the gray semicircle, some facing toward the mob, which reluctantly gave back, while the others faced inward, raising their weapons and taking aim on the combatants.

More trumpets sounded and drums rolled. The fight started to break apart.

"Tulan of Kestha, come out!" a herald, standing next to the stirrup of the Grand Master, roared, his voice apparently magnified by some magical power so that it thundered even above the tumult of the crowd, several of whom were now screaming after being shot by crossbow quarrels at close range.

"I'm here!"

Garth slowly turned and looked up. Atop the head of one of the great stone fighters stood a man who he assumed was the Grand Master of the House of Kestha. Garth finished his pomegranate and tossed the ends of it aside.

"This fight must cease or you shall be placed under injunction," the herald shouted.

"Then tell those Orange bastards to stop soiling our pavement with their filth."

The Grand Master turned his mount and looked at the knot of Fentesk fighters, who stood in a circle around their wounded.

"You are engaged in trespass; you must pay damages for violation of the law and leave this place at once."

The leader, who had first fought with Garth and had regained some of his wits, was helped to his feet.

"We were here to seek arrest against a man who murdered one of our brothers."

"Who?"

The leader looked around the plaza.

"Master, please, nowwww!" Hammen whined.

Garth stood up and casually started to walk toward the Grand Master.

"I think he wants me," Garth announced loudly.

"That's him!" Orange shouted. "He's the one who killed one of our men yesterday."

The Grand Master wheeled his horse around, the herald motioning for several crossbow men to train their weapons on Garth.

Garth, ignoring them, turned his back to the Grand Master and looked up to the top of the statue where Tulan stood.

"I came to join the House of Kestha. I stand on land not owned by the Grand Master of this city but rather by the House of Kestha. Will you allow one who fought for you to be taken thus from your very doorstep?"

Tulan looked down over the edge of the statue and then nervously turned to look at a ring of fighters of the highest rank who stood around him.

"Surely you would not bear such an insult to your reputation and honor," Garth shouted, the slightest edge of sarcasm in his voice.

"He's my man and he is on my property!" Tulan finally shouted, though the nervousness in his voice was evident.

The Grand Master reined in his mount just behind Garth.

"This is my city and I am the Grand Master of the Arena."

"Without the four Houses to fight in your arena," Garth replied, looking straight back at the Grand Master, "you will be penniless."

Garth turned and looked back up at Tulan.

"Isn't that so, my lord Master of Kestha."

"That's so, that's so!" Tulan shouted. "Touch him and we'll go on strike for the first day of Festival and so will the other Houses. You have no right to arrest one of us on our own property."

At the mere mention of a possible strike the mob watching the drama started to howl in protest. Garth turned and looked back at the crowd, bowing low to them with a dramatic flourish, and wild applause broke out. He looked over at the Fentesk fighters and saw that even they were backing away from wanting him, out of a higher solidarity to protect their precious rights.

"That man is a Kestha fighter," Tulan roared. "He is on Kestha property and under my protection. There's nothing more to be said."

Garth turned and looked back at the Grand Master, who was gazing down at him coldly.

"I'm sorry to have caused you trouble, sire."

The Grand Master looked down at him with a curious expression, as if using his powers to somehow probe. Garth felt the power swirling around him like a cold breeze. The power pulled away.

"You won't survive Festival," the Grand Master hissed, his words barely audible and, yanking the reins of his mount, he turned and spurred his mount into a gallop, the mob parting before him.

Garth bowed low to the departing Grand Master and then, turning, strode toward the doorway into the House of Kestha. As he passed beneath the shadows of the great statues he looked closely and finally saw Hammen, crouched down low, peering out from behind the colossal feet of the statue nearest the door.

“Stand up like a man, Hammen,” Garth said quietly. “The servant of a fighter of Kestha should show more dignity.”

“Servant, is it?” Hammen said. “The demons take you. You’re a plague. Anyone who comes near you will turn up dead.”

Garth laughed softly.

“I need a servant now. The job is yours for a silver a week.”

“I can make that in a morning in my regular profession.”

“You’ll find the change amusing. I just need you for Festival.”

“The busy season for my profession.”

“If you don’t come, I think you’ll always wonder what you missed out on.”

Hammen lowered his head and mumbled to himself.

“Oh, the devil with it, damn you. All right. But I get sole gaming rights to you outside the arena.”

“Fighting outside the arena is illegal.”

Hammen threw back his head and laughed.

“Like yesterday and just now.”

“Sole gaming rights then.”

Grinning, Hammen swaggered out from his hiding place and fell in behind Garth.

Gray fighters were returning to their House, helping their wounded. They looked over at Garth with open curiosity but none approached him. The doors into the palace were wide open and Garth followed them in and then, out of the shadows, a heavy rotund form appeared. The man stood as tall as he did, at just over a fathom, but Garth estimated that he easily weighed twice as much. Grand Masters were no longer expected to fight in the arena and it was evident that this one had taken that security to heart, and to his stomach as well.