Annoyed at the protest over the death of a favorite, the Walker turned away from his amusement and waved his hand. A cloud formed over the arena and the mob fell silent, not sure what he was about to do. He was, after all, the Walker, and though he might not have the power to take on half a million at once, he could certainly do damage to quite a few tens of thousands before being forced to flee. The cloud turned dark and from it a rain of silver trinkets began to fall. The mob struggled to pick them up, but even then there was no gratitude-it was simply money to be taken and nothing more.
The Walker leaned back on this throne, watching the mob.
“What is wrong with these bastards?” he asked silently, looking down at Zarel.
“You killed one of their favorites.”
“So what; he disobeyed me.”
“They might not see it that way.”
“Suppose I burn the city in reply?”
“That would damage you in return, my lord. For without the peasants and the mob, the mana, the power of the lands, forms more slowly. Next year’s tribute would not be as great.”
“Damn them,” the Walker hissed. He looked back at the woman, who waited for him and, with an angry curse, he pointed at her. In an instant her young, rounded body shriveled up, turning into limp folds of hanging leprous flesh, her face distorting into an obscene visage of running sores. She looked down at her body and started to scream hysterically. Laughing, he pushed her off the throne, so that she tumbled down the steps onto the arena floor. She continued to scream, until finally, annoyed at her whining, he pointed at her again. She melted down into a boiling mass of flesh. The mob, which had been watching the show, was silent, and the Walker looked at them, annoyed that they did not see the humor in what he had done.
He pointed to another girl and motioned for her to join him. Trembling, she ascended the stairs.
“Let’s have the final match. That ought to please them,” the Walker announced.
“It’s time for the noonday meal.”
“Fight, then eat.”
***
Garth, who had been lying under the shade of the arena wall, stirred and looked up. He sat up, squinting at the bright midday sun. There was a strange silence in the arena as the tote board announced the pairing of Garth against Varena. In the stands he could hear the spectators discussing the fact that there was a rumor that the two were lovers.
He looked over at Norreen, who was sitting against the wall, calmly sharpening her sword on a whetstone.
“Look, like I said before,” Garth sighed, “it really meant nothing.”
“Where I come from we mate until castes change and our chosen one is higher or lower than us. To wander outside of that rule is to invite vendetta by the other and the other’s family.”
“We never mated permanently, as you so calmly put it, so there’s no laws broken.”
“You desired to do so with me, didn’t you?”
“Desire and completion are two different things.”
“One leads to other.”
“And did you desire me?”
She savagely drew her blade across the stone and looked up at him.
“It’s too late now, One-eye.”
“You should have left him tied up back there,” Hammen interjected, “and had your way with him.”
“And you’d be dead now,” Garth replied.
“Maybe not. I was the master fighter of Oor-tael.”
“Twenty years ago. I think, Hammen, you’re a bit rusty now.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
A trumpet sounded and the crowd, which had been sitting in silence sullenly watching the Walker, stirred.
Hammen turned and looked toward the tote board.
“They’re placing the announcement.”
“Final match.” The Walker’s voice drifted across the arena. “Garth of Oor-tael, Varena of Fentesk. Come forward to the throne.”
Garth stood up and adjusted his satchel, which bulged with the prizes he had won. He looked down at Norreen.
“I think it best that you stay behind. Ritual allows only the fighter and his servant. If you draw his attention, it might be unpleasant for you.”
Norreen nodded slowly.
“Somehow I’d like to think you have a plan for all of this and there might be a chance we’d one day see each other again.”
Garth laughed softly.
“Finally, an admission of affection.”
She stood up, letting her sword drop, and, reaching out, grabbed him fiercely, kissing him with a mad passion. The crowd, which had been leaning over the wall watching and eavesdropping, broke into a lusty cheer.
Norreen stepped back.
“Damn you. Now look what you made me do. I’ve broken caste rules.” She struggled to keep her voice from breaking.
“Stay close to Hammen once this is over and make sure the old geezer gets out of here alive. I’m asking you to be his shield bearer.”
“Damn! That’s for royalty,” Hammen sniffed.
Garth smiled and turned away, stepping out into the arena. As he walked across the sand-packed fighting floor, Hammen by his side, the mob came to its feet and broke into applause. He waved casually, stepping around the fissure from the previous fight, where a score of mammoths were hauling great carts of earth to be dumped to close the rift.
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.
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 ta
ken 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.”
____________________
CHAPTER 14
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.”
Arena (magic the gathering) Page 28
