He miserably patted his hip, where his black chain should have been, and his shoulder, which should have held a holstered knuckle dagger. The First had sent word early this morning via messenger. As his personal representative, Chainer was obliged to leave his fighting weapons in Skellum's care. The First did not wish to antagonize his guest, Kamahl the barbarian, and so Chainer was to leave his chain and his dagger behind as a gesture of hospitality. The note came with a long, ceremonial dagger for Chainer to wear on his hip. It was traditional, the note said.
Chainer pointed out to Skellum that in addition to being ceremonial, the dagger was also too heavy, had runes carved clean through its blade, and was entirely useless for anything but stirring gruel. The First had not offered any alternatives, however, and Chainer put on the dagger.
So here he was, representing the First and the Cabal without his weapons and without any coherent instructions. As far as he understood, he was supposed to linger around Kamahl and make sure that the big hunk of meat didn't get lost on his way to winning the Mirari and taking it away with him.
Chainer watched Kamahl a few moments as the barbarian took in one of the preliminary bouts. He was clearly not impressed, and Chainer couldn't blame him. The Master of the Games was either slipping, or he had been ordered to put on a dreary show. There was no other way such a clown act would be allowed to continue. As the First's representative, Chainer thought, I should step in here. I should steer the mighty muscle head away from the cheap seats and help him find the Master of the Games.
"My job reeks," Chainer said out loud, but he approached the barbarian, stepping up to him just as the larger man was shaking his head.
"Don't give up hope just yet, sir," Chainer tried to sound helpful, like one of the shills who roamed the casino floor.
The barbarian looked Chainer over, much as Chainer had gauged Kamahl moments ago. He didn't seem to like what he saw.
"The name is Chainer." He offered his hand. He motioned his head toward the awkward show in the nearby pit, "The pair are partners against Lieutenant Kirtar." Chainer wrinkled his nose. "A champion from the northern Order."
The barbarian brightened a little. Of course, Chainer thought. A wild warrior from the mountains would certainly share Chainer's dislike of the Order.
"Kamahl, here to win the tournament."
Chainer raised an eyebrow, but once more reminded himself that this was his mission. "You'll want to see the Master of the Games, then."
Chainer exhaled and began to relax. Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible after all. He led Kamahl to the Master of the Games through an admittedly confusing sprawl of practice pits, betting circles, impromptu grudge matches, and gawking yokels. He played tour guide by pointing out the Mer Ambassador Laquatus, who got an excellent barbarian grunt of disapproval, and Laquatus's bodyguard Turg. Kamahl looked at the big amphibian warily, but his face betrayed none of his thoughts.
They paused to watch the end of the embarrassment that was Kirtar's match, then Chainer brought Kamahl to the Master of the Games. The master winked at Chainer and started giving Kamahl a hard time about letting the barbarian into the tournament. Kamahl didn't seem to notice he was being slighted. He was too busy staring at the Mirari.
The Master of the Games reminded Chainer of Roup: thick, stupid, and clumsy. He didn't know if the master's wink had been a signal of the assumed camaraderie between Cabalists, or if it meant the master was hassling Kamahl on the First's order, just as Chainer was accompanying him around the games. He didn't like it in either case. Much to Chainer's delight, Kamahl didn't like the master's attitude either. In fact, he didn't like it so much that he casually tossed what appeared to be a red-hot copper coin through a nearby wall with the force of an exploding cannonball.
Chainer laughed at the master's bewildered face as the rubble smoked and the dust settled. Kamahl smiled mischievously at him.
This, Chainer said to himself, will definitely be more fun than I thought. His excitement cooled as Kamahl advanced on him.
"Look," the barbarian said, "what do you want? I appreciate your help, but I'm busy, and I don't need a sidekick."
Chainer darkened. "Then it's just as well that you don't have one. I'm here on business."
"We don't have any business. We just met."
Chainer took a breath. "My friend, I have to admit, I don't understand the point of this any more than you do. But this is Cabal City, and things happen for a reason here. I can at least explain that."
"Okay, Cabalist. Explain."
"Do you have tribal elders up in Pardic?"
"Elders? Sure."
"And do you obey them?"
Kamahl laughed harshly. "Only when it suits us, and only when they're right." He shrugged. "Sometimes not even then."
"We revere our elders here. We've all sworn oaths to obey our superior Cabalists. And the First himself, the lord and master of the entire Cabal, wishes me to learn from you. I intend to respect his wishes."
"I don't want a student."
"And I've already got a mentor. I was hoping we could teach each other something. As if we'd been randomly assigned as pit partners." Chainer locked eyes with Kamahl. "I can help you."
Kamahl crossed his arms. "Go ahead then."
"How much are you paying for your lodgings?"
"Fifteen silver a night, but I'm only here for two nights, for the games."
"You're being robbed. There are warrior's quarters right outside the arena that only charge five. I can take you there."
Kamahl considered. "All right," he said finally. "You saved me twenty silver. Now what-"
"Eighteen," Chainer corrected. "Finder's fee is two percent."
"I knew it," Kamahl growled. "There's always an angle with you Cabalists." He turned to go.
"Do you know how to bet on yourself?" Chainer said quickly. Kamahl stopped. "Do you know who to ask politely, and who to threaten? Do you understand that the Master of the Games has put you on the slow track because of your stunt with the coin back there?"
Kamahl grunted angrily. "I don't understand half of what you just said."
Chainer smiled. "Then I've made my point."
"All that stuff," Kamahl shook his head, "betting, bragging, working the pairings. It's dreck. A warrior's skill determines victory."
"In the pits," Chainer said. "But you're in the City now. The pits are the least of your worries."
Kamahl glared at Chainer, then back at the Master of the Games' station. Slowly, he said. "All right, Chainer. What is a 'slow track?' "
"Always remind yourself that this is a business. The Master of the Games is responsible for getting the most out of the contestants. Did you bribe him at all?"
"I paid a lump of gold to get in the gates."
"That goes to the gatekeepers. Did you pay the Master of the Games anything?"
Kamahl chuckled. "Just that coin."
"Then he's got to make his money off you some other way. Most likely he'll put you in as many preliminary bouts as he can, against opponents that are no real challenge. He's got to display you, keep you working in front of the crowds, just to break even on your entrance fee. He's going to work you like an animal."
"And how," Kamahl's voice was low and menacing, "do I get on the fast track?"
"You need to pay proper respect to the master. Twenty-five silver should do it. How much tender have you got?"
"Ten gold," Kamahl said immediately.
"Sshhh!" Chainer hissed. He looked around nervously. "That was a joke. Never answer that question around here."
"What? No one is going to take my money from me without a fight. No one would dare."
"Sure they would. I know pickpockets who could steal the blade off your sword while it was still in the scabbard. If I can't teach you anything else, I can at least teach you one thing. Never announce how much you're carrying in this city." Chainer worked his fingers as he calculated. "Ten gold is about fifty silver. Twenty-five to the Master, ten for your lodgings… You w
on't have much left for food and frolic."
"Food, I need. Frolic, not so much."
"Okay. The first thing we do after bribing the Master," Chainer said, "is bet. We'll get the best odds on your first fight, because you're an unknown. If we get you on the fast track, the odds get even better. Have you spoken to a fixer?"
"No."
"We'll do that next. Fixers set odds, take bets, and schedule matches. They make all the arrangements for civilians like you who want to do business with the Cabal."
"I'm not a civilian, I'm a warrior."
"In this town, you're either Cabal, Order, or a civilian. Come on. I did a little checking, and there's a match that you can help me handicap. And I can help you make some money."
Kamahl finally looked interested. "What kind of match?"
"Vampire against lavamancer. You know about lavamancers?" "Yes."
"And I know about vampires. Between the two of us, we've got all the angles covered."
*****
The stadium was divided into numerous circles, with the largest and innermost set aside for main events. It was surrounded by rows and rows of seats, and a dozen circular platforms floated silently above the arena floor, giving the important and the wealthy the best possible view. Chainer led Kamahl to the center pit and pointed out a fixer who was busily taking bets.
"He'll do. What I don't understand," Chainer said to Kamahl, "is how anyone who bets on the lavamancer thinks they're going to get their money back. The odds are good, but this is a vampire. And not just any vampire, it's a Sengir vampire." Chainer pointed to the huge, bald, manlike creature standing in the center of the pit. Its eyes were black and lifeless, and its teeth jutted out from between its lips. All of the teeth, not just the canines, were twisted and pointed like thorns, and the Sengir's filthy nails hung past its fingertips like talons. It sniffed the air like a wild dog, head darting as it oriented on each new scent, and it hissed at the crowd. Across the pit stood a dark- skinned human in tanned animal hides. His hair was loose and wild, and he carried a short sword.
Kamahl regarded the toothy brute and then continued to scan the entire arena, drinking it all in. "What's a Sengir?"
"Ancient vampire lord," Chainer said. "Possibly a myth. Some vampires prey on villages, some on cities. They say Sengir preyed on entire continents."
"And you've got an ancient vampire in the pit for the opening bout?"
"Not Sengir himself. One of his minions."
"Bet on the lavamancer," Kamahl said. "Bet it all."
"You that sure?"
"I am. Vampires burn, don't they?"
"Some do. If you can hold them still long enough to set them on fire." Chainer pointed at the vampire's opponent. "So, lavamancers. Work with lava, do they? Flames and smoke and all that?"
"Yeah. But lavamancer is a title, like champion or wizard. I say bet on him."
"It's your money." Chainer held out his hand, and Kamahl stared at it. "You're learning," Chainer laughed. He led Kamahl over to the fixer, showed him how to place a bet, and then the two settled on the rail to watch the bout.
A horn sounded, and Chainer said, "That's the prep horn. It means the match is about to start, and the fighters have fifteen seconds to prepare."
The lavamancer knelt and touched the arena floor, mouthing a silent incantation. The Sengir vampire continued to look around the arena and hiss at the audience. When the starting horn sounded, the vampire suddenly became much more focused on his opponent. Its eyes narrowed as it crouched and began stalking the lavamancer. Its pointed tongue lapped hungrily around his lips. The lavamancer stood his ground, still mouthing words that no one could hear.
The vampire suddenly charged, and the lavamancer pointed his sword and released a red-hot ball of magma and ash from its tip. The vampire caught the missile full in the chest, and for a moment its entire body was engulfed in flames and smoke.
The crowd's cheer became a collective gasp as the flaming vampire leaped into the air, soaring high over the arena floor. It swooped and dove, moving fast enough to extinguish the flames that were consuming its ragged robes.
Chainer leaned over to Kamahl and said, "Did you know they could fly?"
"No," Kamahl was impassive. "I assume they still drink blood?"
Before Chainer could answer, the blackened vampire screeched and dropped down on the lavamancer. The Sengir was so much bigger and broader than its wild-haired opponent that he seemed to swallow the lavamancer up whole. They grappled and rolled across the arena floor until the vampire pinned the lavamancer's arms and sank its sharp, twisted teeth into the man's neck.
"One less lavamancer, one more Sengir," Chainer said. "Sorry, Kamahl, but this match is all but over."
"Agreed." Kamahl said. But in the pit, it was the Sengir who shuddered and thrashed, not the human in its grip. With a roar, the vampire cast its intended victim aside and fell back, clutching at its face in agony. Flames poured from between its lips, and its lower jaw seemed to be melting.
"Earth is the body, and lava is the blood," Kamahl said. "Lava-mancers believe that utterly. In mastering their craft, they embody that belief."
The lavamancer's blood, red hot and steaming, continued to jet from the wound in his neck. While the vampire flailed, the lavamancer clapped a glowing hand over his wound and seared it shut. He drove the tip of his sword into the floor, raised his arms, and completed his incantation.
A huge gout of molten rock exploded from the ground beneath his sword. The stream arced up and onto the vampire, totally covering him in thick, clinging lava. The outer layer of the covering quickly cooled and hardened, but the vampire continued to move. Step by agonizing step, it came closer to the lavamancer. The dark skinned man calmly let the Sengir approach, and when it was close enough, he struck its head from its body with a short, straight slash of his sword.
The Sengir's stone-encrusted head and carcass both fell and melted into ash. The lavamancer raised his arms in victory, and the crowd shook the walls with its cheering.
Chainer bowed to Kamahl. "I stand corrected." He stood straight and clapped the barbarian on the shoulder. "And you stand enriched. The odds were five to one against the lavamancer. You just made enough to live like a king for at least a week."
Kamahl smiled. "One less thing to worry about, that's all. I'm more concerned with winning my own matches."
"Good point, good point. When's your first bout?"
"Just before the lunch break."
"Well, then, we'd better get you where you need to be. If you're as good a fighter as you are a handicapper, you might actually make good on that boast to win the tourney."
CHAPTER 8
"Ambassador," the human servant said, "Director Veza has arrived."
Veza caught Laquatus checking his reflection in a wall mirror as she entered the room. He was dressed in splendid robes, and he was taller than he appeared in Llawan's mirror. A huge, amphibious monstrosity sat sullenly on the floor, its feral glare fixed on Veza. The rest of the huge room was taken up by a green marble swimming pool, complete with fountain.
"Ambassador Laquatus." "Veza," he said brightly. "Long live the empire." Laquatus came across the room and warmly kissed Veza's hand. "Servants!" He clapped. "Refreshments for our guest." The dull-eyed butler shambled out of the room.
"Thank you, Ambassador." She eyed the beast on the floor and said, "May I ask…"
"That is Turg, my bodyguard and champion. I'm afraid a man in my position cannot afford to take chances. Particularly this close to Cabal City." He leaned forward and whispered, "They're all a band of cutthroats and criminals. Without Turg by my side, I'd be afraid to leave the embassy." Turg made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat to punctuate Laquatus's comment.
"I've dealt with Cabalists myself," Veza said. "I understand your caution."
Laquatus had not released her and was staring at her intently. Veza gently pried her hand away. "Forgive my manners, Ambassador, but my time is limited. You said you had someth
ing to tell me?"
Laquatus smiled. "Of course. But first…" A servant bearing a bottle of sparkling wine and two ornate crystal goblets shuffled in. He poured, left the glasses and the bottle, and exited without a word.
"To the empire," Laquatus said. "And new friends." He waited patiently with his glass extended. Veza hesitated, then gently tapped her goblet against Laquatus's. Where Veza merely sipped, Laquatus drained his goblet dry.
"An excellent vintage, if I do say so myself. I received a case of it from the Cabal First himself-"
"Excuse me, Ambassador. To business?"
Laquatus laughed. "Of course. Please forgive me. And you must call me Laquatus, my dear." He abruptly shucked his robe and dove into the pool. His legs shimmered and merged in mid air. By the time he hit the water, his tail was fully formed.
"I prefer to conduct my interviews underwater," Laquatus called. "For security reasons. Would you care to join me, Director? Or would you prefer a chair?"
Veza glanced at Turg, who was now dozing. She untied her sash, folded her robe, and stepped off the edge of the pool into the water.
"Your mastery of the change is remarkable, Laquatus."
The ambassador turned his head, as if embarrassed. "Thank you.
But surely you also share the innate ability of our people?"
"I do. But it takes considerably more time and effort for me."
"Ah, that's merely a matter of practice. The nature of our magic is change, you see. To be fluid in both mind and body. Our cephalid cousins sometimes treat it as a flaw, but I see our ability to straddle land and sea as a blessing." He motioned below the surface with his eyes, then dived down. Veza followed, and the two merfolk began streaming back and forth across the pool.
"I've called you here," Laquatus said, "because I think I've got something for you. I believe that the assassins who attacked our lady were hired by the Cabal."
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