After breaking a few bones and knocking a few invaders down, Chainer simply joined the headlong rush toward the arena. Cabal City's citizens were rushing there for sanctuary, or to escape via the docks, and the crusat was rushing there to bum it, or loot it, or whatever it was that righteous armies did. Chainer was headed straight for the Mirari, to defend it as he had once before. Only now, he was a full-fledged dementist instead of a pupil.
There was another crush outside of the arena as soldiers tried to get in and the door guards tried to keep them out. A few armed Cabalists grappled with sword-bearing soldiers. Chainer planted his feet, positioned his hands, and reached deep into dementia space. His hands flashed, and a carriage-sized wad of smoke and indiscriminate flesh arced high up on the arena's exterior wall, where it burst open like a balloon packed with splintered glass.
The wolf-monkeys that came out were even larger than their Krosan counterparts, and each had a small poisonous snake in place of its tongue. There were an even dozen in all, and twelve individual chains arced from the collars around their necks to Chainer's open hands. At first, the nightmare mandrills tried to attack anything that moved, but Chainer punished them with searing agony every time they snapped at a Cabalist. They quickly realized which part of the crowd was fair game, and the screams of monkeys mingled with the screams of the dismembered soldiers. Chainer even released two or three of them from theit collars, and they redoubled their efforts to rip the invaders to pieces.
Chainer darted through the momentarily unblocked entrance. A hook-handed door guard touched his weapon to his forehead in acknowledgment as Chainer rushed past. Before he turned the comer, Chainer physically and mentally pulled all of his wolf- monkeys in and rechained them all to the stone doorway. Now anyone who wanted to get in would have to get past the howling troop. Anyone who made it past them would either be Cabal or be disemboweled. Chainer sprinted toward the vault hallway.
He turned a corner and came face-to-face with a trio of troopers fighting a pitched battle against a huge, black hellhound and a four-armed cyclops, the hulking result of another dementia caster's efforts. The dog had clamped on to the end of one trooper's sword, while the other two jabbed at the cyclops with their spears.
"Chainer!" Fulla cried, stepping out from behind the cyclops. One of the Order soldiers struck at her, and she angrily turned and cast a snarling red-eyed rat into the man's face. He fell back screaming.
"Fulla." Chainer cracked a chain across the sword-bearing trooper's face. As the trooper recoiled, the hellhound tore out her throat. The big dog turned and barked once at Chainer, exasperated.
"Hello, Azza," he said. Chainer, Azza, Fulla, and the cyclops all closed in on the remaining trooper.
"I give," the man said instantly. He dropped his spear and held up his hands. "In the name of-"
Fulla's ugly little sword split the trooper's skull before he could utter another word. For a moment she looked annoyed, and she held the bloody sword out to Chainer.
" 'I give.' Can you believe these maggots?" She wiped the sword on the dead man's uniform.
Azza barked, and Fulla waved the cyclops away. She stepped forward and hugged Chainer, rifling his hair like an indulgent aunt. "Azza was worried. And I've been so bored. You're not going to become one of those snotty dementists now, are you?" Then she stood and asked him brightly, "So, tell me everything. How was the forest?"
Chainer smiled. "Crowded. The shikar, however, was a spectacular success."
Azza sniffed the air and growled to let her fellow Cabalists know there was something coming.
"Well, little brother," Fulla said. "Can you show me what you learned in the forest, or do I have to clear this building of toy soldiers by myself?"
"Oh, let me show you," Chainer said. He felt his feet rise off the floor, and without seeing his reflection, he knew his eyes had gone black. Fulla's smile grew wider and crueler as Chainer drew on the power he had earned.
"This had better be good," Fulla said.
Azza whined softly, but held her ground.
Chainer crossed his arms as he floated and dropped his chin down to his chest. Fulla's cry of delight overlapped Chainer's cry of release as he snapped his arms down and his head back.
Ribbons of smoke and black light radiated out from Chainer's body in every direction. Most ran straight through the arena's stone walls without resistance, but some ricocheted back and forth inside the hallway. Chainer floated there for a few long seconds then gently settled onto the floor.
"That should do it," he said. His voice and his eyes were returning to normal. He gallantly offered his arm to Fulla.
"Do what?" Fulla took his arm but stared at him in confusion.
"I've just retaken the entire arena," Chainer said proudly. He stumbled, but Fulla caught him and propped him up against the wall. She whispered something to Azza, and the huge dog ambled over to Chainer and bent low, so that he could climb on.
"Thank you." Chainer eased himself onto Azza's strong back. "Skellum always said, 'It takes more out of you than you realize.' " The sadness and anger over his mentor's death was still there, but it didn't sting quite like it did before. Completing the shikar had gone a long way toward putting Skellum to rest. Using what he'd learned during the ritual to drive the Order out felt even better.
"To the vault, please," he said to Azza. The three walked through the suddenly silent building, but only Azza and Fulla were amazed by what they saw.
There were still small squads of troopers throughout the arena, but each and every Order soldier was covered in squirming serpents. Huge, venomous, in a wide array of unnatural shapes and sizes, the snakes covered each invader like a shroud. Those that could walk or run were being cornered and killed by the Cabal's guards. As each Order soldier fell, the body and any lingering serpents disappeared into the gloom.
Fulla made a game of counting the dead, but she had to give up when they came close to the vault and there was no one left. Outside, the battle raged on, but inside the arena, it had already been won. "How did you do that all over the building?" Fulla asked. Chainer was interrupted by a thud and a clatter as a live crusat trooper stumbled out of a door further up the hallway. The terrified man held his sword out in front of him with both hands, and he still couldn't keep its point off the floor. He had a sergeant's insignia on his shoulder.
"Hello, Bunkus," Chainer's voice was low but firm. "S-stand where you are," Sgt. Baankis said feebly. His skin was pale, and his eyes were unfocused. "In the name of the Order, I-"
"I'd stop citing things in the name of the Order, if I were you." Azza growled and tried to shrug Chainer off, but he patted her neck soothingly. "No, big sister. Leave him to me."
Baankis managed to get his sword pointed in Chainer's general direction.
"In the name of the Order," the sergeant repeated, "and in the name of Major Teroh, I-"
The chain shot across the room and wrapped itself around Baankis's throat before he could utter another word. The sergeant's jaw opened and closed, but no sound came out as the chain dug deep into his windpipe.
"In the name of the Order," Chainer maintained his low, even tone, "you have broken into our home, attacked our family, and tried to steal our property. Again. I can't think of a single reason to keep listening to you. Can you?" Baankis dropped his sword with a clatter and clawed at his throat.
"Fulla?" Chainer asked. "Azza? No? Then we're all in agreement." Chainer held his position until Sgt. Baankis silently expired. As the body fell forward, it collapsed into the length of chain and disappeared up Chainer's arm. Azza growled approvingly, and Fulla rocked from one foot to the other.
"Do it again!" she cried.
Chainer didn't hear them as he stared at his hand. Before today, he had never taken a human being the way he had taken the denizens of Krosan forest. He was surprised that it didn't feel any different.
*****
After Chainer stopped them at the arena, the Order troops aborted their mission and began a cost
ly retreat. The First ordered every able-bodied Cabalist to harry the invaders until they were a mile outside the city walls, and the righteous crusat raid on Cabal City ended in disaster. The outnumbered Order troops desperately tried to break out of the city they had just successfully stormed, fighting the city guards at the gates and the Cabal's killers on their rear flank. If the First had ordered the main gates closed, the entire raiding force would have been slaughtered. As it was, almost half of their number never left Cabal City again. Of those who stayed, only a handful remained dead.
Chainer had watched the retreat from Azza's back near the steps of the arena. He knew that there were huge, gargadon-sized monstrosities hidden in the caverns below the manor, but the First was content to keep them in reserve. It seemed he wanted the Cabalists to beat back the raiders themselves, and he wanted some of the enemy to escape. Chainer reminded himself that the First had global concerns which he would never be privy to, and took faith in the First's wisdom.
Once the furor at the gate had died down and the fighting moved beyond the city walls, Chainer and Azza went looking for Kamahl.
The big barbarian might have joined the running battle, but Chainer expected to find him close by. Kamahl had been more interested in defending the city than the Cabal. Chainer made no such distinction, but he was glad that something had sparked his friend's fighting spirit after the shikar.
The dead, the wounded, and the unconscious were scattered around the main gates like leaves in autumn. Scavengers from the squatters' huts were already poking around, looking for valuables. Azza growled angrily, and the scavengers wisely withdrew.
Chainer saw a few white-robed Samites milling around as well, looking for survivors to care for. There were also two or three black-robed Cabal healers, who were known in the pits as "leeches." The two groups took pains to avoid each other and communicated only through cold stares. Azza sniffed and whined. She bounded forward, almost tossing Chainer off.
Kamahl was lying face-down in the center of a charred and smoking circle. His sword was missing, and he had taken a heavy blow to the right side of his face. His right hand clutched at a stab wound in his stomach that was filling his tunic with blood. His hands, feet, arms, and face were horribly burned.
Chainer paused only long enough to stare at the Samite healer approaching them. She was tall and willowy with a concerned air, and she offered her hand out to Chainer. "I am Nibahn. I am a Samite. I can help him, brother. I can help all who suffer." She started to kneel next to Kamahl, but Azza stopped her with a growl.
"The Cabal is here," Chainer called, and one of the black-robed healers answered. Nibahn shook her head sadly, eyes pleading, but Chainer drew his dagger and began idly cleaning his fingernails. Azza growled again, and the Samite withdrew.
The Cabal healer bowed to Chainer and Azza. He had a wide black stripe tattooed over his left eye from his hairline to his jawline and a wispy black mustache. The healer was an oily little rat-faced toad, but Chainer trusted him because he knew how to motivate him.
With a wave, Chainer whipped a collar around the healer's ankles. He yanked the healer's feet out from under him, and Azza stalked forward, so that her huge head was directly over the healer's, and her great, snorting breaths puffed into his face.
"Take this barbarian inside," Chainer said, "and keep him alive. Do nothing apart from keep him alive and comfortable until I come for him." He leaned over the healer himself, almost overbalancing, and his eyes went black. "Nothing. Do you understand?"
The healer sniveled, his eyes darting between Azza and Chainer. "I do, big brother."
Azza turned and carried Chainer away. He saw the healer rise and motion for his assistants. He clearly heard the healer say, "Gently, very gently."
CHAPTER 20
Laquatus stood in the First's private chamber at the head of a small group of Cabalists and dignitaries. They had all been summoned in the wake of the raid, ostensibly to testify about their whereabouts and report what they had seen. The Mer ambassador recognized a simple call for scapegoats, however.
He was unconcerned for himself. His contact with Major Teroh had been completely innocent, or at least, absolutely secret. Even if the First knew he had been in contact with the Order, Laquatus felt secure. There was nothing in the content of his exchanges with Teroh that was incriminating. If Teroh read a hidden meaning into the ambassador's words, Laquatus could easily feign shock and could well afford to make restitution. Besides, he was certain the First understood the political necessity of keeping in touch with one's enemies as well as one's allies, especially in these troubled times.
The captain of the city watch standing next to him was not so confident. The man had the common, earthy stink of fear all over him, and with good reason. The city's defenses were virtually nonexistent during the opening minutes of the raid, and so far no one had come up with an explanation of how the Order was able to penetrate so far into the city so quickly. There were even rumors that the captain had betrayed the Cabal and given the Order free access to the heart of the city, but Laquatus knew for a fact they were false. He surreptitiously stepped further away from the captain, however, for his was the most likely head to fall.
Next to the captain stood Chainer, the young dementist who was going to provide a replacement for Turg. Chainer seemed calm, almost tranquil compared to the captain, but Laquatus was having a difficult time seeing into the boy's mind. Most of the individuals he encountered in person were as defenseless as if they had peepholes installed in their foreheads that Laquatus could peer into at any time. Chainer was more like Caster Fulla, however. Instead of a peephole, his mind was guarded by a tortured maze of mirrors. Every time Laquatus looked in, all he saw were distorted images of himself.
The boy Chainer kept glancing to his right at Louche, a sallow Cabalist who had just become the new Master of the Games. Louche's mind was more open than Chainer's and calmer than the captain's, but there was no useful information in it. It was full of facts and figures and deals and deadlines, all glued together with acrid contempt for almost all sentient being.
The First swept into the room with his attendants hovering all around him. The killers on the wall stood a little straighter as he passed them, and the entire entourage took up their positions at the far end of the room. The First's mind was even more closed to Laquatus than Chainer's.
"I will be brief," the First said. "I am conducting a basic inquiry into the recent visit we received from the crusat. Captain Fleer."
"Yes, Pater." Sweat fairly poured from Fleer's forehead.
"Explain the guards' poor performance."
"It was a well-organized attack," Fleer stammered. "They hit us on three sides simultaneously."
The First nodded to one of his hand attendants, who was busily transcribing the captain's words. "West, north, and south?"
"Yes, Pater."
"But not from the east. Not from the sea." He looked at Laqua-tus meaningfully, but the ambassador kept his face and his thoughts blank.
"No, Pater. There was no attack on the port or the docks."
"That you know of."
"Uh… no, Pater. Not that I know of."
"And yet, somehow an entire squadron of crusat fanatics was able to gain access to the arena."
"Yes, Pater."
"And storm the vault in an effort to seize the Mirari."
"Yes, Pater."
"And you have no idea how they were able to get to the arena so quickly?"
"No, Pater. We killed or wounded hundreds," he added desperately. "They took heavy casualties in their retreat."
"Because they took almost none in the attack. Be silent, Captain." The First turned his withering white gaze on Laquatus. "Ambassador," he said. "I trust you were not inconvenienced by the attack?"
"Not at all, O Patriarch. If not for the noise, I doubt I would have even known there was an attack."
"Outstanding. As you know, the comfort of our visitors is something we city dwellers pride ourselves on
. We would never want to breach the sacred bond between host and guest."
"That bond is as strong as ever, my lord."
"You must understand, however, that these events will impact the plans we have already made."
"Of course, my lord." Laquatus swallowed his first taste of uncertainty. "I trust it will not impact them too… dramatically?"
"That remains to be seen." The First addressed Louche. "Master of the Games," he said, and Laquatus saw Chainer's mild surprise tinged with… disappointment? Laquatus wasn't sure, but clearly Chainer had not been aware of Louche's promotion.
"Pater."
"Your predecessor allowed the arena to be taken like some lonely mountain outpost. The pits are now in your hands. Will they be ready for the anniversary games?"
Louche's lips moved as he juggled figures in his head. "Three months from now, Pater?"
"Two months, three weeks," the First said.
Louche nodded. "No problem. The damage to the facilities was mostly cosmetic. The crowds will be down for the next few weeks because the spectators will be afraid of another raid. They'll forget, though. By the time the anniversary rolls around, everything will be back to normal."
"Outstanding. Be sure that all the shills and runners know the date. I want the arena full."
"Yes, Pater."
The First now turned his milky gaze on Chainer. He smiled warmly. "Master Chainer," he said.
"Pater." Chainer seemed completely at ease, almost disinterested.
"Once again, the Cabal owes you its thanks. It is impossible to tell how much damage the Order would have done-" he glared at Fleer- "if you hadn't arrived in time to stop them."
"I am your obedient child."
"That you are. But there should be more of a reward than my praise. Is there anything you desire? If it is within my power, it shall be yours."
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