Arena (magic the gathering)

by William R. Forstchen

  “To even imply such a motivation is a dishonor to me and to my House.”

  “No dishonor was ever intended,” Garth replied smoothly. “I know that of course you would refuse since no House Master would ever want to be thought of as being in the pocket of Zarel.”

  Tulan paused for a moment to drain his goblet of mead and then to wipe his greasy fingers on his tunic. The clutter of half a dozen plates before him was filled with the remnants of his breakfast.

  “Though the questions posed by the captain of his fighters were, in fact, most curious.”

  “Such as who am I?”

  “Precisely,” Tulan rumbled, pausing for a moment to emit a long rumbling belch that gurgled and rattled.

  “You came to me unknown, a hanin. I took you in because you displayed remarkable skills, not only before the doorstep of my very House but in regaining the prestige of my House in defeating that Orange brawler who bested my man. Then to top it off you all but tell the Grand Master to go to the demons. I would have lost honor and prestige in turn if I had not taken you in while you stood upon the gray flagstones before my House.”

  Tulan paused and looked at him closely.

  “On the one side I could call it innocent, the fact that you fought Fentesk the way you did, all over a minor point of honor, innocent as well that as a hanin you came to my House seeking employment and that the confrontation that ensued happened as it did.”

  “But then again you could call it something else,” Garth replied calmly.

  “Yes, damn you,” Tulan snapped. “I won everything out there yesterday. I bearded the Grand Master and Fentesk; I won an edge in the games. But I’ve also won the increased enmity of the Grand Master for harboring you. So was this innocent?”

  “But of course, my lord.”

  Tulan poured himself another drink and looked up coldly at Garth, while draining it off in a single gulp.

  “Who are you?”

  “I was a hanin, my lord, from the back country of Gish near the Endless Sea and the Green Lands.”

  “Who was your yolin, your master trainer? What was his House, the origin of his mana, the contracts he held?”

  “I had none, my lord. I learned on my own that I had the power to draw on the mana. I practiced my skills alone; I acquired my spells and amulets in the challenging of other hanin. When I found myself ready I came here to join a House. The fight I picked with Orange was simply convenient to demonstrate my skills and also a touch of revenge for that past humiliation regarding the Orange Master’s wife and daughters.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” Tulan roared.

  Garth bowed low.

  “The penalty of lying to my Master is expulsion,” Garth replied smoothly. “And, given the current state of affairs, I would be a fool to lie since I suspect the agents of the Grand Master are even now waiting for me. And I daresay that if I walked out of this House without colors, they would be upon me and you would win a handsome sum in payment.”

  “How dare you even imply that I would accept such money?” Tulan snarled.

  “Come, my lord. You can present such a front to initiates of the first-rank, who are all agoggle at such trivial idealisms. Anyone who is an idealist in this world is either a madman or an idiot. You have your needs and I have mine. They happen to coincide and you are the winner as a result. You have managed to humiliate someone you hate, your House gained prestige yesterday, and I think I shall earn you a win in the Festival.”

  Tulan paused, looked at Garth, and there was a momentary flickering of power-a probing.

  “What do you have in your satchel?” Tulan asked quietly. “What artifacts, amulets, and spells do you control?”

  Garth laughed softly.

  “According to the law not even a House Master, not even a Grand Master, may ask that of a fighter.”

  He paused.

  “There is only one way to find that out,” Garth finally said, “but might I add that a House Master or, for that matter, any member of a House challenging another of the same color to a fight goes against all custom and tradition.”

  Tulan refilled his cup and looked into it sulkily.

  “And if you should do so and kill me,” Garth continued, “the other House Masters will think that you caved in to the demands of the Grand Master.”

  “So you have me,” Tulan snarled.

  “Rather the other way around,” Garth replied smoothly. “Remember, I am now of your House. I am an unknown factor for the Festival. You should win handsomely on the betting and on my commissions from the purse. I think, my lord, that the potential winnings far exceed whatever bribes that tightfisted bastard of a Grand Master is willing to pay for my betrayal.”

  Tulan downed his cup and belched again, this time more softly.

  “You give me a headache, One-eye. Either you are a master conniver or an innocent fool.”

  “Whatever you wish it to be, sire, but you will profit as you deserve.”

  Tulan finally nodded.

  “Get out.”

  Garth bowed low and started for the door.

  “If you should decide to go outside, I’d suggest you watch your back.”

  “I always do, sire.”

  ____________________

  CHAPTER 4

  AS THE SECOND BELL OF MORNING SOUNDED Garth looked around expectantly. The Plaza was still something of a shambles from the previous night’s festivities, littered with broken glass, shattered wine amphorae, torn clothing, and a scattering of bodies, some of which would have to be swept up and borne off to the paupers field for interment at city expense. The first of the morning crowd was already starting to wander about, most of them beggars looking for coins that might have been dropped during the night, some of them pawing over the bodies, which had already been picked clean before dawn had even begun to brighten the eastern sky.

  Hammen yawned wearily.

  “This is foolishness, Garth. I told you Benalish women are nothing but a royal pain.”

  “I’m curious, that’s all.” He paused. “And besides, it might fit my purpose.”

  “What purpose is that?” Hammen asked quietly.

  “You’ll see and, besides, here she comes.”

  Garth nodded to a lone figure coming across the Great Plaza, her cloak pulled in tightly to ward off the morning chill. She walked with a purposeful stride, the growing crowd in the Plaza backing out of her way as she passed. A small knot was already following her, for where a Benalish woman went, there was, more often than not, an interesting event about to unfold.

  She walked straight toward the House of Bolk, and her ragtag followers stopped at the edge of the dark paving stones that marked the territory of the House.

  “Come on,” Garth said quietly, and he moved out of the shadows of an alleyway to follow.

  “All this skulking about over a woman,” Hammen sniffed. “First you leave the warmth of your bed before dawn, then you drag me out through a secret entrance to throw off the Grand Master’s watchers, and now you step out in public like this when obviously there’s a fight brewing.”

  As Norreen approached the Bolk House guards appeared from the doorway, motioning for her to stop. She came to a halt and placed her fists on her hips in a defiant manner.

  “I seek audience with the Master of Bolk House,” she announced in a clear voice that carried across the Plaza.

  “You are not a magic wielder, just a warrior,” one of the guards sniffed. “Be off.”

  “I fought one of your men oquorak and he reneged on his wager. I’m here to seek satisfaction, either in payment or blood.”

  “Must have been Gilrash,” one of the guards said, looking over at his companion and shaking his head. “He looked pretty cut up last night.”

  “Then get Gilrash out here.”

  The first guard who spoke looked back at Norreen and realized he’d been more than a bit foolish.

  “Go away. Come back after Festival. We have things to worry about other than your
so-called claim.”

  “I witnessed the fight,” Garth announced, and he stepped forward onto the brown paving stones.

  “Damn it, Master,” Hammen sighed, and he stepped out behind him as Garth approached the trio.

  “I witnessed the fight and searched your man after this woman had won. It’s as she said-he was penniless. He violated the honor of an oquorak on three counts. First, the fighting without money to back the wager. Next, he attempted to stab when the fight went against him, and, finally, one of his accomplices tried to step into the circle to stab this woman from behind.”

  As Garth spoke he raised his voice so that the gathering crowd could hear. Immediately there was a rumbling chorus of comments, for the ritual of oquorak was held in high esteem, and to violate it on not just one, but three different points was, to the crowd’s way of thinking, a despicable act lower than attempting to relieve oneself in the public fountains. Oquorak was supposed to be nothing more than a friendly little game, with at worst an occasional eye slashed out.

  The two guards looked around uneasily and Norreen spared a quick glance back at Garth.

  “I don’t need your help,” she hissed coldly.

  “You heard her; let’s beat it,” Hammen urged.

  “Gilrash is lower than a night soil collector and without honor,” Garth pressed. “Bring your Master out here to make restitution and to punish your cur the way he deserves.”

  One of the guards spit on the ground.

  “You’re trespassing, Gray One-eye. Withdraw now before I teach you a lesson.”

  At the mention of his nickname a gasp went through the crowd as recognition finally dawned as to who was participating in the confrontation, since his back was turned to the crowd. Cries of bookmakers could now be heard, singing out the odds. Garth looked quickly over his shoulder and saw that Hammen was already backing up, reaching into his purse, and Garth nodded a quick approval. He looked back at the Brown guard.

  “Anytime you’re ready,” he said easily, extending his hands out to either side.

  “Stay out of this,” Norreen snarled.

  Garth, with a quick wave of his hand, motioned for her to step back and out of the way.

  The Brown guard looked at Garth nervously and then made a quick gesture to his companion, who turned and ran back toward the House. Garth waited, concentrating his mana carefully, choosing his spell, and as he did so the guard he was confronting started to back up. A loud hooting roar came up from the crowd, which grew to a thunderous tumult when the Brown guard lowered his hands, acknowledging defeat without even having crossed spells. Garth turned his back on him in contempt and faced the crowd, bowing toward them as if they were the Grand Master and a duel had just been completed. The winners of the betting broke into a loud ovation. And then the mob went silent.

  “Naru,” someone hissed.

  Garth turned and looked back. And even as he started to turn, the crowd broke into another frenzy of betting. He made a subtle hand gesture to Hammen and then moved to face what was approaching. The cry of his new opponent’s name echoed behind him and he could hear the stampeding of the mob from the far ends of the Great Plaza, drawn by the prospect of seeing a champion fight.

  He could feel the power of the man’s mana wash over him even before he was visible in the doorway. The fighter was a giant, standing nearly a fathom and a half in height, powerfully built, his shoulders so wide that it appeared as if he would have to turn sideways to get through the door. He emerged through the doorway dressed in nothing more than a loincloth, his satchel dangling from a gold-encrusted strap. Steam from the sweat of his morning exercise wafted up from his body as he strode barefoot into the Plaza.

  His shaven bullet-shaped head turned slowly back and forth, surveying the mob, some of whom broke into an ovation for their favorite. Behind him came a score of Bolk fighters, who fanned out behind him. Naru walked up to Garth, moving with a cold, steady purposefulness as if Garth was nothing more than an insect who would have to be stamped on.

  “Get out of here, One-eye.”

  His voice was a low, rasping rumble that grated.

  “This woman is owed a debt from an oquorak which one of your cowards skipped out on. Pay her and then we’ll leave.”

  Naru looked over toward Norreen and snorted, his breath coming like a bellows.

  His hand shot out like a falling tree, swinging to catch Garth with a crushing blow on his blind side, the fighter not even bothering to waste time conjuring a spell. And yet somehow Garth sensed it coming and ducked low. Even as he ducked he slashed out, his foot catching Naru in the groin.

  The giant grunted like a bull, his eyes bulging out of his head so that he looked like a dying codfish. He went down on his knees.

  Garth caught him again, kicking him under the chin, knocking Naru over backward. Blood and several teeth sprayed out as the giant toppled to the pavement and was still.

  A hoarse gasp arose from the crowd, the few betting on Garth whooping with joy, for even though it had not been a fight of magics, Naru was now flat out on the pavement and the battle was an official win.

  With an angry cry, one of the Brown fighters leaped forward, raising his hand at Garth.

  A thundering howl seemed to emanate from the Brown’s hand, a loud shrieking roar that struck with such intensity that Garth staggered backward even as he raised a protective shield about himself. The sound was blocked within his circle of protection but behind him he could hear the screaming of the mob as the demon howl bowled them over. With a wave of his hand Garth extended the wall of protection to the crowd, many of whom were writhing in agony, blood pouring from ruptured eardrums, so shattering was the scream summoned from the demon realms.

  Garth nodded his head and the Brown fighter started to wave his hands around in agony as his mana was drained away. The demon howl subsided, Brown still shaking his hand, which now started to glow as if on fire.

  Another Brown fighter raised his hands, and then another and behind Garth the crowd started to scatter in every direction.

  “To Gray!”

  Garth spared a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that Hammen was shouting at the top of his lungs, hobbling back toward Kestha House, from which some fighters were already coming on the run, drawn at first by the excitement of the crowd and now by Hammen’s rally cry.

  Garth clapped his hands together and then extended them, holding them aloft as if they were claws. Seconds later, even as skeletal forms started to appear around him, conjured by Brown, his own spell took form. Coils of light swirled around him and out of each coil a lumbering bear appeared, snuffling and snarling. Garth shouted a word of command and the four bears charged toward the line of Brown, pausing only briefly to bowl the skeletons over. Several of the Brown broke and ran while another diverted his spell, which he had been aiming toward Garth, and threw it toward a bear, which simply exploded and disappeared. Another bear died from a bolt of lightning from above but short seconds later two of the bears crossed the killing zone, both of them throwing themselves on the Brown fighter who had first attacked Garth and was still distracted by his burning hand.

  The Brown fighters turned to help their comrade, throwing spells, but it was already too late as one bear grabbed the fighter by the legs, while the other closed his mouth over the man’s head and shoulders, drowning out his shrieks. The two pulled in opposite directions and then ran off with the still-twitching halves of the dead fighter, shaking their heads back and forth so that blood and entrails were scattered across the Plaza.

  A wild frenzy now seized the Brown fighters, who all turned their attention back to Garth. His circle of protection was stunned by volley after volley of spells so that he was forced to stagger backward. He saw through the haze of explosions that Norreen, moving as if she was nothing but a blur, had thrown herself into the fray with sword drawn, leaping upon a Brown fighter and dispatching him with a quick slice to the throat. Brown staggered off, both hands clasped to his throat, while the ar
terial blood sprayed out from between his fingers. With a single fluid motion she was past her first victim, still running, closing in on the next one, stabbing low, catching him in the stomach so that he howled and fell backward. He fumbled to raise an artifact and again her blade slashed out, severing his hand, the glowing artifact tumbling to the pavement. And then the others finally caught her, a black cloud swirling around her. Her eyes went wide with terror and she recoiled backward, flaying with her sword to strike at the invisible terror that engulfed her.

  Garth moved to black the spell against her but the volleys from a dozen fighters, some of whom were obviously fifth-rank or better, were too much. Finally he broke his own protection for an instant to strike the terror down that held her and she scrambled away on hands and knees. But the move cost him and he was hit by a terror spell in turn that, for an instant, nearly blinded him with a heart-tearing fear. The Brown fighters, sensing they had the advantage, started to move closer, eager for the kill, several of them conjuring demons to render Garth into pieces.

  A flash of light snapped across the square. Seconds later, more were launched, followed an instant later by what looked like an icy storm that extinguished the power of the demons closing in on Garth.

  Garth reestablished his own circle of protection, using a healing spell on himself to wash away the fear, and looked to his left. A swarm of Gray fighters were closing in, hands raised, engaging the Bolk fighters, who now turned to face the new assault. From out of the door of the Bolk House more fighters were emerging. Behind him he could hear the familiar high clarion trumpet calls of the Grand Master, his own fighters racing across the Plaza to break up the melee.

  Blood started to spill as fighters traded attacks at close range, several of them falling, the victors administering deathblows and then cutting off satchels to claim their prizes, all rules of the fight now lost in the confusion. Garth closed his eyes and raised both hands upward, the spell momentarily draining the power from him.

  He opened his eyes again and smiled when atop the Bolk House a giant spider, its bloated body at least four fathoms across, appeared. The spider looked down at the mad melee and saw its opportunity for a feast. Leaning over from the top of the building, its hairy forelegs touched down to the ground and, even as it crawled down the side of the building, it turned its head back and forth, spraying out acidic poison. Fighters, both Brown and Gray, caught unaware, writhed on the paving stones, shrieking in agony, especially when the poison struck their eyes. Garth looked around and saw Norreen, stilling moving backward from the melee. He raced over to her side.