Chainer flicked the weighted end at Jeska, who easily batted it aside. "He left here free and whole. I can tell you where he went. Will you tell me where he came from?"
Jeska lunged at Chainer with her baton. He ducked under it, and slashed the iron pin out of her hair with his dagger. She looked totally shocked, then angrily shook her braids loose, spun her baton, and charged again.
Chainer snarled the end of Jeska's weapon with his and tried to jerk it out of her hands, but the polished wood slipped free. Jeska spun under the chain and tried to drive the heel of her hand into Chainer's nose. Chainer dodged and then missed Jeska's knee with the weighted end on his return stroke. They traded feints and then held their positions, facing each other.
"Look, barbarian," Chainer said. "A show of faith. Your brother is competing regularly in one of the minor pits to the north. Kamahl is alive and well."
Jeska paused. "What's he doing up north?"
Chainer relaxed but didn't lower his weapon. "Chasing after treasure."
"You mean I've been halfway across Otaria looking for him, and he's not even lost?"
"Seems that way."
"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"For Fiers's sake, Jeska," Balthor yelled. He was jabbing at the dragonfly with his staff, but he seemed more concerned about preserving the staff than he was about harming the insect. "Stop babbling and finish this! Did you forget the rules of this thrice-damned farce?" Chainer saw realization crowd the anger out of Jeska's eyes. She let out an ear-splitting war cry and heaved her baton at Chainer's head. While he was distracted, Jeska stuck her gauntleted arm straight out and sighted down it like a crossbow at the black pennant. She drew a smooth red stone from her pouch and touched it to the gauntlet between the horns. She spoke one word, and the horns sparked, igniting a thin stream of fire that stretched between them like a clothesline. Jeska drew the red stone back and prepared to release it toward the flag.
"Wait," Chainer said. The gauntlet was a kind of slingshot, and if he didn't act quickly, Jeska would win the match before Chainer had gotten anything out of her. Chainer sent a collar chain slamming into Jeska's wrist and jerked her off-balance, so that she couldn't target the flag.
Pulling Jeska away from her first target was a passably sound pit strategy, but Chainer immediately realized the flaw in his execution. As close as he was to her, once he pulled her off balance the only thing Jeska could fire her slingshot at was him. Jeska barked out an incoherent warning as the red stone flew. In the eight feet of space between Chainer's eyes and the oncoming stone, the missile transformed from a shiny, glasslike bead into a glowing ball of concentrated heat. Chainer's hands proved to be faster than his brain as he jerked his arms up to protect his face.
His eyes slammed shut as a blast of heat burned his eyebrows away. He was temporarily deafened by the explosion, and the pain in his right arm was agonizing. The impact blew him back on his heels, but he didn't stagger or fall.
"Held my ground, gods damn it," he heard his own voice say. He started to sway, his eyes still squinted and unfocused. He could barely make out the old dwarf and the brass girl as they stood, side by side, staring over at him. They were curious, but they were keeping a safe distance.
Confused, Chainer looked at the flag, still untouched. He was helpless. Why weren't they finishing him off or climbing the mound?
"Do you give, Cabalist?" Chainer could see her shouting, cupping her hands around her mouth, but he could barely hear her. He recognized her tone, however, as that of someone who knows the fight is over even if nobody else does.
Chainer reached for his dagger, and a fresh wave of searing pain dropped him to his knees. His left hand seemed fine, but his right felt thick and vague and clumsy. Chainer held his arm up to get a better look at his hand.
"Or not," he said out loud. His right arm ended in a charred, smoking stump. His hand was completely gone, and his forearm now ended two inches below the elbow.
"Damn," Chainer said. He turned his dazed eyes on Balthor and Jeska. He looked back at his mangled arm. With an amiable smile, Chainer raised his arm and his stump over his head.
"I give," he said evenly. Then he collapsed face- first onto the arena floor. The last thing he heard before he passed out was the sound of the horn signaling the end of the match.
CHAPTER 14
Llawan's personal transport was a ninety-foot- long leviathan that had been specially bred, engineered, and enchanted to serve as a combination warship and yacht. Its insides were vast and hollow, with compartments that could accommodate air breathers as well as sea creatures. Its hide was thick and durable, and its head was hard and bony enough to ram through the sides of any wooden vessel. Specially trained handlers sat in the fore of the creature's skull and steered the ship based on orders from the captain and the view from a huge scrying screen.
The creature had clear crystalline chambers grafted onto its sides and back where passengers could dine, chat, and enjoy the view. These cabins could be removed or, in times of emergency, broken off to protect the empress and her armed guards inside. Though it had no offensive capabilities other than its ramming skull, the creature was fast enough to escape even the swiftest pursuers.
Veza eyed the clear wall that separated her cabin from the frigid depths of the ocean. She couldn't drown, and they weren't deep enough for the pressure to be a danger, but she was still uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because she knew that the passengers in the external compartments were considered expendable in case of attack.
The closer the craft got to Aboshan's territory, the more somber the mood became. Nobles who had ignored Veza since coming on board suddenly felt the need to chat with her, to hear what she knew, to clutch at any straws she might offer. When they found she knew even less than they did, they moved on without another word. Veza was the only legged creature on board, at Llawan's continued request.
Excuse me, honored guests. The voice was painfully loud, and echoed in Veza's head. Everyone on board seemed to have received the same amplified thought message.
The Empress Llawan requests your immediate presence in the forward viewing pod. She will make a short address there. Please hurry.
The gentle sense of forward motion eased, then stopped. The ship was no longer swimming toward Aboshan. There were murmurs and a few anguished questions, but no one knew what was in store for them. Were they turning around? Had they been met at the border by Aboshan's navy?
The tubes that connected the external cabins were only wide enough for one humanoid at a time, so Veza and the other guests waited patiently to join the single-file line to the front of the craft. Veza was one of the last ones into the forward cabin. She stepped up to the doorway, which shimmered like the surface of a pool. She cleared her lungs and walked into the flooded chamber. Magic kept the water from running out into the hallway and flooding the next compartments. Llawan floated at the front of the chamber in complete regalia of scepter, skull-cap, and imperial robes. If everyone on board seemed anxious, it was because Llawan had commandeered all the confidence. Floating beside her was a small cephalid male with a hood pulled up over his head. His face was impassive, his eyes were closed. Llawan raised her forelimb for silence, and the room fell quiet.
"Noble guests and loyal friends," she said. "We are mere moments away from a most impressive sight. We had hoped to address you before the event began, but we fear we shall have to wait. Please remain silent. And… watch." Llawan swam back a stroke, and presented the forward view with a grandiose wave of her tentacle.
The guests watched in hushed awe. The ocean stretched out before them, a vast and uniform curtain illuminated only by the leviathan's lights. A full minute ticked by, and nothing happened.
Then across the vast expanse ahead of them came a deep, booming crack. Veza felt it all over her body as the water around her vibrated. Some of the more sensitive cephalids keened in pain as their delicate skin reacted to the trembling sound. A pinpoint of light flashed in the di
stance and grew, taking up more and more of the view as it came closer and closer. It was a frothy light, blue in color, and it boiled like a cloud of steam.
"The shock wave approaches, Empress." The hooded cephalid did not open his eyes, but he bowed his head when he spoke. The phrase "shock wave" set off a few startled cries, but Llawan's voice rang out loud and clear.
"Stay where you are," she said. "We have brought you here to witness, and we will keep you safe. Olsham," she clicked to the hooded cephalid, and he nodded. Olsham began to croon a low, haunting tune that Veza found eerily soothing.
"The Emperor Aboshan has just used the Mirari," Llawan said. "Our mind-rider Olsham has been closely monitoring the situation.
His phenomenon is almost identical to the one which occurred ai Captain Pianna's headquarters mere weeks ago. Judging by the size of that-" Llawan pointed at the shock wave, which now filled the viewing window- "we would say that Aboshan's custody of the Mirari was no more successful than Pianna's."
Llawan's guests digested this among themselves. Someone from the rear chirped, "So we're safe?"
Llawan smiled. "From Aboshan? Yes. From that?" She pointed again. "Time will tell." She turned and clicked at Olsham, who bowed. The water around the empress swirled, and her shield defenders formed a rock-hard bubble with Llawan at its center.
The cephalid mystic Olsham held one final syllable in his chanted song, folded all of his limbs into a complicated symbol-ges-ture, and slammed his beak shut with a clack.
Just as the first edges of the shock wave started jostling the empress's craft, the hooded mystic released a flashing wave of energy that spread out in all directions. The blue-white light suffused the ship and its passengers just as the full force of the rampaging turbulence slammed through their location. Veza and the other guests stood amazed as water, debris, and the bodies of hapless creatures passed through their ghostly forms without meeting any resistance. It was if the leviathan had ceased to exist, but was looking on from the same vantage point. Even the water in the viewing chamber remained still as the storm raged around them.
Many long minutes later, when the tumult had died down and it was safe for the ship to move again, the ghostly light retracted back into Olsham. He unfolded his arms, adjusted his hood, and sank down to the chamber floor.
Llawan clicked at him. He clicked back, though his voice was low and ragged. Llawan clicked, offered him her tentacle, and he kissed it.
"Aboshan is dead," she said. A nervous cheer went up, then faded into uncertainty. Llawan smiled. "And the Mirari is gone from Mer.
We are not yet certain who has it, but we are certain of two things. Aboshan does not have it, and neither does Laquatus."
A heartier cheer went up among the members of Llawan's party. When the empress held up a halfhearted tentacle for silence, the cheer redoubled.
"The emperor is dead," someone shouted, "long live the empress!"
Veza watched the other guests take up the chant.
"Long live the empress! Long live the empress!"
Veza herself was relieved, but she didn't feel like cheering. She wondered if Llawan meant the things she'd said back in Breaker Bay about removing all the oafs and knaves. Some of each were currently onboard.
As she looked at the room full of ambitious nobles and greedy oligarchs, Veza hoped she'd have a chance to find out. She quietly edged out of the room, away from the celebration and back toward her room.
*****
Chainer stood in the courtyard of Skellum's academy, carefully twirling a censer around his head with his new arm.
"Say that again," he said.
"You asked me for an update about the Mirari. I told you. It destroyed Pianna, destroyed Aboshan, and flooded half the continent."
Chainer whistled. "Which half?"
"Okay, a third," Skellum admitted. "Everything between the upper border of the Krosan and the southern edge of Cape Paradise is now underwater."
"And the Mirari?" he said, as casually as he could.
"At this precise moment in time-" Skellum made a show of looking at the sun's position in the sky- "Caster Fulla is bringing it back here to Cabal City."
Chainer kept spinning the censer, trying to get used to the pseudo-sensations his prosthetic arm was reporting to his brain. He had heard of Fulla. She was merely a caster, as Skellum would say, but one of the best. Chainer had never seen her compete, but he had spoken to a few who had fought against her. They were all glad to have survived the experience. Fulla brought out some frightful beasts, they said, but Fulla herself was scarier still.
"So the First was right," Chainer said. "All who seek the Mirari are destroyed by it." He slowed the censer and brought it to rest by his feet. It continued to pump smoke into the air around Chainer. "Except me."
"And don't think he's pleased by it," Skellum said. "The First liked dealing with Pianna. She was a rarity among Order officers. She kept her word, even when she gave it to hedonistic infidel criminals like ourselves."
"Is the Order broken?" Chainer could not keep the hopeful joy out of his voice. He nodded to Skellum, and his mentor tossed a copper coin into the air. Chainer snapped the artificial arm forward and created a lashing chain that struck the coin cleanly and bent it in double.
"Not really," Skellum said. "Bretath is still the highest-ranking officer on Otaria. Pianna's absence creates a power vacuum in this region, however, and there are a number of lesser officers looking to fill her shoes."
"Do we at least get to bury the bird-man who stole Kamahl's victory?" Chainer practiced sending short lengths of chain out of his metal palm and drawing them back in again.
"Kirtar? Yes. Dead, dead, dead. In fact, if he were still alive, which he isn't, he would have been named Pianna's replacement by acclamation."
The air around Chainer was still thick with smoke. He concentrated, shuddered, and positioned his hands for a casting. A two-headed wolf sprang out from between his hands, its tail a spitting cobra that hissed back at Skellum. Chainer nodded, waved, and the wolf evaporated in mid-growl.
"The arm seems to be working fine now." Chainer flexed it and examined his own wiggling fingers. "I've got to get used to the new feel of things, but I can do all the things I did before."
"Let's hope you can't point projectile weapons at your own body anymore," his mentor said. "That's a skill you can do without." Skellum came forward and held out his hands. "Let me see."
Chainer presented the arm, and Skellum looked it over, poking his fingernail into what would be muscles and pressure points on a flesh and blood arm. Except for the fact that it was made of metal and the fingers came to needle-sharp points, Chainer's arm was extremely lifelike. Between the steel gray of the arm itself and the polished black chrome of the brace he wore to keep it in place, it looked like he was wearing a basic warrior's gauntlet instead of a replacement limb.
Affixing the arm had been torture. The arm, which the healer kept calling a "golem limb," had to be magically infused with part of Chainer's life force before it could be grafted on. The golem arm had then been fused to the remaining bones and flesh of his stump, and despite the pain, Chainer was obliged to sit perfectly still for three hours while the graft took root.
"You can scream if you want to," the healer had said, but Chainer denied him that particular pleasure. Cabal healers were well known for their ability to get maimed or dying people back on their feet and into the pits. They were not known for their comforting bedside manner.
Skellum released Chainer's arm and Chainer looked it over again himself. Cabal healers were also not known for their aesthetic sensibilities. Chainer had seen some hideous patch jobs in the pits. People with lobster claws instead of hands, legs fused or amputated to make room for stingers or spinnerets, heads that in no way matched the bodies they were attached to. Chainer counted himself lucky to get his new limb. It'd be just like Skellum to stick him with some dead bastard's reanimated arm. Zombie replacement limbs were far cheaper, easier to graft, and qu
icker to master than the metal one he was sporting. They tended to rot and stink, however, and had to be replaced at least twice a year.
Chainer grunted suspiciously. His mentor was not above childishly taunting him to put him back in his place. But Chainer had missed a lot while he was convalescing, and Skellum had so far been stingy with details. Chainer had felt something shift each time the Mirari changed hands, but his senses weren't refined enough to tell him as much as the Cabal's informants could.
"It looks good, Chainer. And try not to lose this one. Real arms are expensive enough, but the cost of replacing this one would be ruinous." He shook his head sadly. "You just don't have the silver."
Chainer saw him sneak another look at the sun, then suddenly say, "All right. Ask me what the surprise is."
Chainer had spent enough time with Skellum to become used to his mentor's rapid changes in subject. Politely, he said, "Master Skellum, what is the surprise?"
Skellum waited, listening. Then the warning bell from the guard tower that overlooked Cabal City's port started ringing, audible even at Skellum's academy six blocks away.
"The surprise is… Fulla and the Mirari are arriving now, right on schedule. And your barbarian friend has been in the city for the past two days, waiting for them to return." He produced a small black towel from under his cape and offered it to Chainer. "Why don't you wipe off some of that sweat you've worked up, so you can go greet them?"
Chainer snagged the towel on the end of his pointed fingers. Careful not to dig the sharp tips into his face, he wiped his brow and cheeks with the towel and dropped it lightly onto the floor. "Thank you, Master. Are you coming to the docks?" "No, I'm going to see the First. Once he receives Fulla and the
Mirari, he wants to see me and the Master of the Games. Once he's done with us, he wants to see you."
"How long have I got?"
Skellum shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe an hour, maybe less."
Chainers Torment mgc-2 Page 14
