The History of Krynn: Vol V

by Dragon Lance

  “That’s it, then, Lads. It’s the arena for certain now.”

  “What can we do?” asked Hecar. “Kaz goes first. You heard that robed serpent. They want him first so he’s out of the way as swiftly as possible. Why don’t they just kill us in here?”

  “Now that wouldn’t be sporting, Hecar! Must keep up illusions, our high priest. Besides, I think you, Kaz, are supposed to live. Hecar and I, we are more likely to be the object lessons. Still, I could be wrong. I’m certain that more than a few will remember my son and the last time he was out there. Maybe this is also an attempt to prove that no one can defy the emperor and the others.” Ganth shook his head. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “The emperor? No real need to defy him.” Hecar grunted. “Polik’s the high priest’s puppet. That’s obvious.”

  “Worse than that,” Kaz responded, finally stirring from his thoughts. “Jopfer’s got the Supreme Circle in the palm of his hand, too, I’d say. Which doesn’t matter for the moment, I suppose. What matters is us getting out.” He forced a smile that he hoped looked cunning. “You two be prepared to act tomorrow. Watch me. As soon as I move, you’ve got to head down a certain tunnel across the field that I’ll point out. It’s the quickest and easiest way out. They keep the animals they use in the circus in that area. There’ll be fewer sentries on duty there. In a situation of great chaos, it won’t be that hard for you to slip free.”

  “What about you, Lad?”

  “I’m the great chaos,” he said. “And I’ll be right behind you,” he added, lying.

  Hecar’s brow was furrowed. “What sort of situation could cause enough chaos to make them ignore us?”

  “You’ll be better off not knowing. Just trust me. It’ll work.” He had his doubts, but did not voice them.

  “What about Delbin, though, Kaz? He said he had something in mind. What happens if he puts whatever mad idea he has to work just as you’re about to put your own plan into play?”

  Kaz did not want to consider that particular problem. Hopefully, Delbin would follow his wishes and leave Nethosak. If not …

  “Pray Paladine and Kiri-Jolith can use some good warriors at their side, because if they don’t, old Sargas is going to have the last laugh in the afterlife.”

  *

  Delbin returned to his hiding place with little more than two hours of darkness left.

  “Well, I found them,” he said to himself, speaking quietly but firmly in order to keep his thoughts organized the way he thought Kaz would in his position. “They’re in a place under the circus, but it’s not a very nice-looking place, and it’s got rats in some places, which seems strange, since everything aboveground is so clean. They’re locked up, and I would’ve gotten them out except some minotaurs in funny black-and-red robes who I heard worship Sargas, who is a peculiar god to worship since he’s not very nice, came in and started looking for me. I had a good talk with Kaz and told him I’d be back because while I was there I got a great idea for a really big diversion that’ll keep everyone there busy while they escape.” He smiled in the dark, pleased with his personal rundown of events. Kaz would have been proud of him, Delbin was certain, even if the minotaur had declared he ought to leave the kingdom.

  The kender set to work on his master plan. Everything was falling into place.

  *

  The high priest did not sleep as others slept. Sometimes he thought and plotted; other times he simply paced. Soon he could reveal the glorious truth to his children. Until then, however …

  This dark morning, dark because there was at least an hour before sunrise, he had to visit his guest. She had grown unsettled of late, something which in turn unsettled the high priest. In the short time since she had become his guest, a decision not of her making, she had been, for the most part, quiet and frightened. The high priest preferred that. He encouraged those emotions, while at the same time being careful that she did not come to harm. Her good health was vital to everything. She had to be kept secured, but otherwise he made certain she did not hunger much or grow unduly ill.

  Deep below the main part of the temple, in the special cells in which declared heretics were once placed, she awaited. The cleric walked unescorted past empty cells, turning corner after corner until at last he found the only one presently occupied.

  Something scurried away from the door of the cell, a short, dumpy little figure whose presence disgusted him. “What are you doing there? Get away from that door!”

  “Sorry, Great One! Sorry! Galump mean nothing!”

  “Get away from here! Go back to your garbage! If I see you here again …” He let the threat trail off as the gully dwarf scurried away. If the little creature had not been trained to perform certain acts of spying for the priesthood, the high priest would have dealt with him there and then.

  A slight clink from within the cell informed him that his guest was awake. Had she been talking to the foul little creature? The only other ones she saw were the guards that watched the corridors. But they were strictly forbidden to speak to her. No one was allowed to speak to her but him.

  Moving to the door, he peered into darkness. “You are awake, my little one, so do not pretend otherwise.”

  From the darkness of the cell there came the sound of chains clanking. A moment later, the prisoner appeared out of the darkness.

  In Solamnia, Ergoth, or any of the human lands, she would have seemed perfectly in place. Here in the empire, she was a striking contrast. Humans were not often seen or well-liked here, especially after years of domination by the warlords. Crynus had left a legacy of hatred.

  “What do you want of me? Why can’t I go home?”

  She appeared young, perhaps fifteen, sixteen summers if he was a judge of human looks, but the cleric knew appearances could be very deceiving, and the girl was perhaps the greatest deceiver of all. Her innocent face, draped by long, silver hair that might have seemed more appropriate to an elf, belied what he and he alone knew to be the truth: there was power within her.

  “This is your home, female. This will always be your home. Understand that now, and all other things will become much easier for you to accept.” He indicated the cell. “You have a comfortable chamber. I have seen to that. The chains are required since you have yet to acknowledge that I am your master. My will is your will. When you truly accept that, then they may be removed.”

  “I want to go home!”

  “What home is that? What life do you recall other than wandering by yourself, surviving by yourself, in the mountains and forests? Running from others who understand less than you yourself do. Surviving on what you were able to scrounge.” Despite himself, the high priest grew angry. “Is that what you think your life was meant to be? Do you realize the danger you face, not having been trained in your abilities? You could be killed, either intentionally or accidentally. Do you know what that would mean?”

  Her frightened yet still perplexed expression infuriated him. There was much he wanted to tell her, information he needed her to know in order to better understand. But to tell her this soon was to increase the potential of a deadly threat.

  “I don’t understand you at all,” she insisted. “You keep talking as if I’m so very important to you. Of what importance can I be to you? I don’t even know you.”

  “You are very intelligent, female, despite a lack of training. You have always known more, learned easier, than those around you. Look into yourself, then look into my eyes and see how closely we are linked. Look closely …”

  She raised her hands, palms toward him. “No!”

  Her hands glowed white.

  The chains shimmered blue.

  With a gasp, the young girl slipped to her knees, barely able to keep from falling to the floor. As her hands ceased glowing, the chains did the same.

  “That is an object lesson. You must cease attempting to defy me. I do not like having to hurt you, but I will be obeyed. There is too much at stake here. I have worked too long for either you or a
recalcitrant minotaur to disrupt things.”

  The girl did not answer him. The high priest frowned, deciding this was a waste of his precious time. The female had been in moods like this before. It was a sign of her childishness. Under his tutelage, such moods would soon become a thing of the past.

  “Sleep now,” he finally commanded. “Tomorrow we will talk again. Tomorrow we will begin new lessons.”

  As he turned and walked away, he heard her begin to cry. The sound encouraged him. She was at last beginning to break. Soon she would be his obedient servant … and her power, matched with his, would make his dream unstoppable.

  Chapter 10

  THE GREAT CIRCUS

  Molus was not as enthusiastic as Kaz would have expected him to be. He soon found out why. Word of the cleric’s command to make Kaz the first of the three prisoners to face death had reached the jailer, and the older minotaur was clearly put out by the new orders.

  “No sense of timing and drama when it comes to the arena! We should lead off with your friend, who’s been out there before and whose blood the spectators are ready to see, then schedule your father, who should make for a good warm-up. Then, and only then, should you go in, Kaziganthi! By Sargas! You should really be the last battle of the day! Word’s gotten around, and there’re plenty who recall or have heard of you. Heard some good bets as to how long you’ll last …’course it depends on who or what you face, doesn’t it?”

  “And would you happen to know?” asked Kaz. He would prefer to know whether he was going to face several gladiators or possibly a savage animal or two. His attack would be timed accordingly.

  “I do know, but it’s going to be a surprise. The emperor’s own orders. Doesn’t want you too prepared, I’d guess. He remembers you well.”

  “I remember him, too.”

  Molus studied his expression. “I’ll just bet you do.”

  “At least am I going to be allowed a weapon?”

  As they talked, guards had been busy preparing all three. Kaz was counting on the trio being taken up to the waiting area together. That had always been the habit in times past, and he was pleased to see that in typical minotaur fashion no one had bothered to fiddle with tradition. Had Hecar and Ganth been left behind, Kaz would have been hard pressed to devise an escape plan.

  “Aye, you’ll be carrying a short sword.”

  Short sword. That probably meant he was fighting another warrior. Kaz was glad to hear that. If so, he wouldn’t have to worry about the unpredictability of animals. Gladiators, on the other hand, were quite predictable.

  Bracelets replaced the wall chains. Kaz and the others were then led out of the cell and down the corridor leading to the vast field of the arena. Vaguely familiar with the path from years ago, Kaz estimated the time the others would need to escape once they made it across the field. Four minutes, maybe five, to traverse the long corridor through the menagerie. That, of course, did not include any resistance they might meet, but the menagerie was generally guarded by only a pair of sentries and one or two handlers.

  Overconfidence. No one expected anyone to attempt such a bold escape. Minotaurs fought and died; they did not flee. He only hoped that Ganth and Hecar could get away in time.

  Cheers erupted from above them. The entire corridor shook with pounding feet. There must be a good combat going on. The better the combat, the greater the crowd reaction. Pounding feet was one way in which the spectators sounded their approval, and gaining the crowd’s favor had turned many a combat.

  As they reached the holding area, a barred space from where they could watch the other duels, Kaz noted a familiar figure waiting for the prisoners: Scurn. In one hand he held an object that Kaz did not at first recognize. Only when the two stood almost face-to-face did Scurn reveal what it was he held.

  It was the medallion honoring the supreme champion, the same medallion he had taken from Kaz after the latter’s capture.

  “I would’ve preferred to take this from you in combat,” the scarred minotaur said.

  “You’ve got the medallion now. Just wear it.”

  A dark expression covered Scum’s mutilated features. “I would not dishonor it so. I never won it, so I can’t wear it.”

  It was odd to think that someone like Scurn could still think in terms of honor. Kaz was about to make a scathing reply when the other minotaur suddenly reached out and offered him the medallion.

  “Take it. It’s still yours, won in combat in the circus. The high priest and Polik won’t like it, but it’s still your right to wear it. Even your crimes can’t take that away from you, though your death will.” He snorted. “I should be the one fighting you. This isn’t right, to —”

  “Never mind about his combat,” the older minotaur quickly snapped. He pointed at the medallion. “Go ahead and take it,” Molus added. “It’ll make for some added excitement once they see what you’re wearing.”

  Kaz wanted to reject the medallion. He saw no purpose in accepting the honor, not when he did not believe in it. All it meant was that he had wasted a portion of his life fighting and injuring others for the sake of the handful that ruled the minotaur race.

  “You should take it, you know. It may come in handy.”

  Stiffening, Kaz glanced around. He recognized the voice. The only time he had ever heard it was in a dream.

  It was the voice of the gray man … but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Without really knowing why he did it, Kaz turned and took the medallion. Even with his wrists banded together, he managed to place it around his neck. A warmth spread through him. Scurn nodded, then stepped back. Anticipation was evident in his eyes, anticipation and perhaps a little envy. Someone else would have the honor of killing Kaz.

  There was no sign of Honor’s Face. The axe Scurn wore was one of the service axes that the guard issued to its members. Of course, Scurn would never risk an excellent weapon such as Honor’s Face for the mundane tasks of the guard. Likely he planned to use it in the circus or in battle. Unlike the medallion, he had no intention of giving it back to its original owner even for one last battle. Scum’s sense of honor went only so far.

  Another roar shook the colosseum, followed by more foot stomping and clapping. Whatever match had been going on had now ended and, from the sounds of it, Kaz suspected that one of the combatants had suffered a fatal defeat.

  We might conquer the world a little faster if we didn’t keep disposing of our warriors in the arena, he thought with disgust. That made him think of Raud, which in turn made him think of Polik, who was probably in the audience already.

  “Let’s get this going,” Kaz snarled, holding out his hands so that the jailer could remove his bracelets.

  “That’s the spirit!” chuckled Molus. He released Kaz. Ganth and Hecar were also freed from their bonds. None of the three were taken to the barred area, which was as Kaz had hoped. Again, minotaur habits worked to Kaz’s advantage. Since his father and Hecar would follow Kaz, Molus and the others saw no sense in wasting time locking them up. With half a dozen guards surrounding them, it seemed unlikely that the pair would be able to try anything while Kaz was fighting in the arena.

  Of course, with a distraction such as he planned, the guards would be too stunned to react immediately when their prisoners attempted to escape. Everything counted on the minotaur race’s penchant for routine.

  Had Kaz been of another race, say a human or elf, he would not have been as fortunate. Rarely were creatures of other races, with the exception of ogres, brought to the Great Circus. The smaller arenas dealt with the other races and usually allowed no chance of escape. The Great Circus was for the minotaurs almost exclusively. The few outsiders who fought in it were watched closely, since it was known that only members of the chosen of Sargas were truly honorable.

  “They’ve cleared the field,” Molus announced. “Move on, Kaziganthi. It’s your time.”

  With two guards flanking him, Kaz walked out onto the field. In the stands, a sea of black, brown, an
d white forms, with a few other colors sprinkled here and there, watched and waited.

  At first there was silence. Generally it was so when criminals were brought out, for a minotaur who had dishonored himself was only half a minotaur in the eyes of his fellows. Then, perhaps because of the medallion hanging from his neck or the fact that at least some in the crowd had recognized him despite the many years, a murmuring arose. It grew in intensity and by the time Kaz and the guards reached the bloodstained center of the arena, it had risen almost to a cheer. In fact, there were more than a few who were indeed cheering … for him.

  From another entrance, more than a dozen warriors armed with a combination of swords, axes, spears, and nets appeared. They marched toward Kaz, each of them sleek gladiators in their prime. They were not champions of high rank, but definitely seasoned warriors. There were at least five females, but Kaz did not discount them. Helati was a prime example of what a female warrior was capable.

  So it was to be combat against overwhelming numbers. Kaz estimated sixteen warriors. That meant eight would do battle while the other eight surrounded the circle where Kaz would fight. If one of the first eight died or was unable to continue the combat, another, designated earlier by lottery, would enter the fray. Warriors would continue to join the struggle until the criminal was out-lasted – and dead. There were variations on this, but for the Great Circus, this was the accepted system. Hecar had been given a lesser risk only because they had wanted him alive as bait.

  As the warriors began to surround Kaz and his escort, one of the guards handed him a much abused short sword. Kaz grunted, but did not otherwise protest. His weapon should have been better, but he knew not to expect otherwise. Polik and the high priest wanted to take no chances.