Grand Central Arena

by Ryk E. Spoor

  The leader of the Blessed jumped slightly at her shout and spun to face her. She was even more furious as he did so; not only could she see a smear of red on his hand, the way he stood was familiarly arrogant, the usual posture of the Blessed. ‘‘Your crewperson deliberately impeded us, causing us to lose much of our valuable purchases, and then had the arrogance to accuse us of having run into her.’’

  ‘‘And for that you’re beating the hell out of her?’’ Ariane demanded incredulously. ‘‘You know, I’d half-decided you weren’t all that bad, Sethrik, but now I know you’re a complete asshole, a bastard, and a coward!’’

  The crowd around them grew suddenly silent. This barely registered with Ariane.

  Sethrik took a careful, measured step forward. ‘‘What did you say?’’ he hissed. The stinger-tipped tail began to rise.

  ‘‘What, are you deaf, too, as well as a bully?’’ she snarled. A glance back showed that Gabrielle was still not standing, sitting up while Simon checked her eyes. ‘‘I happen to know that Gabrielle was trying to stay out of everyone’s way the last few minutes, so you’re also a liar.’’

  ‘‘She was quite ready to fight me a moment ago, Captain Austin, and I simply instructed her. Or are you going to argue with the evidence of your eyes.’’

  Her eyes were just about ready to see nothing but red haze. She’d never felt this angry before, but she knew she had to stay in control. ‘‘Sure, I saw her . . . after you knocked her down. Really impressive, taking on a doctor

  who weighs about a third your mass. Why not try taking on someone who can fight back, you son of a bitch?’’

  The eyes that met hers were strangely unreadable. Over his shoulder, she saw Orphan shoving his way through the crowd, trying to reach them. Something else was happening behind her, some kind of commotion, but she was focused on Sethrik, who finally sneered back, ‘‘If someone were to dare issue a Challenge on that score, I might even indulge them. If they dared.’’

  ‘‘The last Challenge you were in, you lost.’’ She smiled, a humorless grin, as she drove that home.

  ‘‘There are fewer tricks in other challenges to allow simple fortune to rule your day, Human,’’ Sethrik said.

  ‘‘Fine,’’ she said, not dropping her gaze. Vaguely she heard someone behind her, shouting something. ‘‘You want a Challenge? You’ve got one. I Challenge you, Sethrik.’’

  As the words left her mouth, she felt some of the fury starting to ebb, and saw the Blessed’s shoulders and wings droop slightly, the tail sag back to the ground, as he said, ‘‘And by the laws of the Arena I hear your Challenge, and accept your Challenge.’’

  DuQuesne was at her side. ‘‘Captain, you haven’t . . . ’’

  A cold chill worked its way down her spine, as Sethrik turned to the side, still speaking.

  ‘‘And by those laws I give to you my designated representative, whom you shall meet in the Challenge.’’

  I should have realized. I should have felt it. Should have seen by the very fact that Gabrielle was hurt and nothing intervened. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  Coalescing from the thousand thousand shadows beneath the crowd, flowing in and forming darkness into solidity, Amas-Garao materialized before her.

  Chapter 61

  DuQuesne stared grimly at the dark figure confronting Ariane. Simon had called him as he and Ariane had been looking for Gabrielle, and DuQuesne had come immediately, a sinking feeling in his gut that something was badly wrong.

  And it couldn’t be worse. The Captain hadn’t heard him telling her to stop as he came through the crowd, and he’d gotten there just in time to hear her issue the Challenge. Bastard did it again. Worked her emotions somehow. Couldn’t do it to me, so he had to target someone else, especially the Captain, so there’d be no doubt about our Faction being committed to the Challenge.

  He could see that Ariane had already reached the same conclusion—she probably had first-hand evidence in her own thought processes. The tall, blue-haired Captain of Holy Grail turned slowly on the Shadeweaver, hands balling into fists. ‘‘You incredible son of a bitch. You made me walk straight into that!’’

  Amas-Garao’s deep voice echoed with amusement. ‘‘I forced you to do nothing, Captain Austin. Can you tell me truly that it is impossible that you would be angry enough to accept such a Challenge?’’

  No, she can’t. It’s blasted unlikely that she’d lose her head that badly, but it’s not totally impossible. And she’s too blasted honest to try to lie about it.

  The cold, black glare Ariane focused on Amas-Garao would have worried just about anyone else; DuQuesne didn’t see that it affected the Shadeweaver at all. ‘‘Fine, then. I suppose you already have the basic terms of the Challenge worked out?’’

  ‘‘But of course, Captain Austin. We of the Shadeweavers’ Guild are a traditional people, following the ancient ways. Thus do I say to you that we shall resolve this Challenge—as you implied to my good friend Sethrik—in the most ancient manner of personal combat.’’

  DuQuesne noticed Sethrik didn’t look particularly pleased by the outcome. The Blessed have been in a kind of tight spot lately; used all their credit with the Faith in securing our own Sphere, and the Faith never liked them much. The Shadeweavers must’ve made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. He noticed Orphan at the edge of the crowd, immobile, wings half-covering his arms, head down. And there’s the last piece of the puzzle. But first things first.

  ‘‘Personal combat,’’ repeated Ariane. ‘‘And I suppose you have an idea what you want from us, if you win?’’

  ‘‘It is even so, Captain Austin,’’ Amas-Garao replied calmly. ‘‘We want Dr. Marc C. DuQuesne.’’

  ‘‘Don’t you people ever give up?’’ DuQuesne said. ‘‘I am not joining you. That’s the end of statement.’’

  A hint of a sharp smile flickered inside the darkness. ‘‘I do not believe you quite understand, Doctor. Such a price is well within the stakes for a Challenge. It, of course, implies a far greater price if we were to lose,’’ his tone became ironic, ‘‘but I do not fear that turn of events.’’

  ‘‘Will you accept nothing else?’’

  The Shadeweaver seemed to consider. ‘‘Let it never be said that the Shadeweavers are unwilling to bargain. There is one other price we would accept, although Dr. DuQuesne is our preference.’’ He gestured. ‘‘You, Captain, would be an acceptable substitute.’’

  In any other circumstance, the dumbfounded astonishment on Ariane’s face might have been comical. ‘‘Me?’’

  ‘‘You, Captain. Our auguries and visions, our research and questions, have shown that you have done much to bind your little Faction together; you have confronted and won a Challenge yourself. While the one named DuQuesne is in his way even more unique, there is much valuable in you and . . . your soul, if you will.’’

  She glanced over at DuQuesne. ‘‘I’m . . . sorry, Marc. Sorry to all of you. I’ve screwed this one up bad.’’

  DuQuesne shook his head. ‘‘Worry about it later. Can’t we just drop the Challenge?’’

  ‘‘Alas,’’ Orphan said quietly, finally having made his way to them. ‘‘It is not so easy.’’

  ‘‘You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve showing your face anywhere near me right now, Orphan,’’ Ariane said evenly. ‘‘After that stunt—’’

  ‘‘I was honest with you, Captain Austin.’’ Despite his words, Orphan looked neither proud nor particularly defensive. He just looked . . . tired, a little sad. ‘‘I had not quite finished my final obligation to the Shadeweavers. One service remained, which at the time I could not tell you.’’

  DuQuesne glanced at Sethrik. ‘‘I get you.’’

  ‘‘Yes . . . Yes, I suspected you would, Dr. DuQuesne,’’ Orphan said. ‘‘The requirement was simple; that at some time I would have to cooperate, on a single task, with the Blessed, and the Shadeweavers would tell me that time.’’

  ‘‘So you left and tipped them off as to where G
abrielle was.’’ Ariane was not asking a question, but making a statement.

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘And you are completely free of any obligation to the Shadeweavers now?’’

  Orphan gave a bob-bow. ‘‘Completely, Captain Austin.’’

  ‘‘Fine.’’ DuQuesne could see that she was now totally under control; anger might still be inside, but the exterior was calm, cold, rational. ‘‘Obligations and so on are the foundation of the Arena. You did what you have to, I guess. I won’t cut off my nose to spite my face.’’

  Orphan blinked. ‘‘That last . . . metaphor came through in a particularly disgusting fashion, and I am not quite clear on the meaning.’’

  Ariane managed a tiny smile, barely visible to DuQuesne. ‘‘It means I’m not going to just lose a potentially huge resource because I’m pissed off at you, Orphan. I’m not happy with you but I’ll get over it. So tell me why I can’t just drop the Challenge.’’

  Look at him straighten up. That’s part of what the Shadeweaver sees, I’ll bet. Here Orphan is, three thousand years old, sole survivor of his Faction, and he was standing there worried about what this Johnny-come-lately Captain thought of him. She’s got it, in ton-lots, what my namesake’s creator called ‘look of eagles.’

  ‘‘Because,’’ Orphan was saying, ‘‘unfortunately while a person Challenged can choose to decline, the Challenger has implicitly agreed. He or she cannot just back out because they realize they have made a terrible mistake. In short, a Challenger backing out is as costly as a Challenger losing the Challenge.’’

  Ariane’s jaw dropped. ‘‘You mean that if we choose not to fight this son of a bitch—’’

  ‘‘That he gets either you or Dr. DuQuesne, yes.’’

  ‘‘And what if,’’ Ariane said dangerously, ‘‘I refuse to do either?’’

  Orphan shrugged. ‘‘These are the Laws of the Arena, Captain Austin. Do you believe that it cannot enforce them?’’

  Ariane winced at that. No, thought DuQuesne, I’m quite sure the Arena can, and will, enforce those laws.

  Ariane wasn’t giving up yet.’’What about the fact this . . . person messed with my head?’’

  ‘‘Supposition,’’ Amas-Garao said, his tone amused and patient. ‘‘No proof of that exists.’’

  ‘‘What if there was proof?’’

  Orphan sighed, his wings curving forward again, and DuQuesne shook his head. ‘‘Unfortunately,’’ Orphan said, ‘‘such a protest only carries weight if one can seriously contend that the sequence of events that led to the Challenge would be impossible without the interference. And the Shadeweavers, as you know, enjoy . . . somewhat greater latitude than the rest of us.’’

  ‘‘I noticed,’’ Gabrielle Wolfe put in. She was still looking a little unsteady, supported by Simon, but her eyes were clear, and she seemed not too badly hurt. ‘‘Sethrik hit me, but none of those Adjudicators showed up. Would’ve spoiled the setup, I guess.’’

  ‘‘It would have been inconvenient, yes,’’ agreed Amas-Garao.

  ‘‘So the only real choice we have is either meet you in the Arena—someone versus you in personal combat—or we just hand over either me or Dr. DuQuesne without a fight.’’

  ‘‘That is indeed the essence of the matter,’’ Amas-Garao said cheerfully.

  ‘‘I see.’’

  Ariane stood staring into nothingness for so long that finally DuQuesne touched her arm. ‘‘Captain . . . ?’’

  She turned and gestured for him, and the others, to follow. The crowd backed away, while the Shadeweaver stayed, unmoving and alone, even the Blessed having now moved far away.

  Once they were a distance from Amas-Garao, Ariane turned back to them. ‘‘All right, people. I’ve stepped in it big—not without help, but it’s still my problem. Any comments?’’

  ‘‘There is no point in fighting,’’ Orphan said bluntly. ‘‘You have seen him in combat, Captain, and he was not—for most of that—even trying particularly hard.’’

  ‘‘You sure of that?’’ DuQuesne asked. ‘‘He seemed pretty serious before.’’

  Orphan flicked his hands out emphatically. ‘‘Understand me well, my friends. I have seen the Shadeweavers, watched them for many years indeed, and Amas-Garao is one of their best, old and subtle, and even what appears as anger, temper, ill-judgment, is almost certainly the result of deep policy and contemplation. He studies. He observes. He tests. He does nothing without thought, and of his true capabilities reveals little.’’

  Ariane set her jaw, muscles so taut that DuQuesne could see every detail beneath her skin. ‘‘So you’re saying I just hand over myself or one of my crew?’’

  Orphan looked torn. Poor bastard doesn’t understand our attitude at all. ‘‘Captain, I’ll take this guy. Maybe we can set up some of the duel terms to favor us. He’s not indestructible.’’

  Ariane shook her head. ‘‘I don’t like the whole situation, but putting you in that ring I like even less.’’

  Orphan looked up. ‘‘I am sorry for the part I have played in this, Captain Austin, but I want to be clear that under no circumstances will I take that place in the Arena against a Shadeweaver. I have withstood them once, I will not do so again.’’

  ‘‘I don’t expect you to.’’ Ariane raised her voice. ‘‘Amas-Garao, you demand a great deal, especially if you would take our people and their knowledge and turn them against us. In a way, one might say you threaten our entire Faction.’’

  Amas-Garao bowed. ‘‘I hear your concern. Let me ease this worry, then. The one who comes with us shall not be turned against his former comrades, nor controlled by us to do our bidding. If he—or she—has the strength, they will be one of us. While they may not be of your people, we shall make of them no enemy of yours; indeed, we shall be generous, and account you a small ally of the Shadeweavers, forgiving the prior Anathema, and instead offering you our assistance in many things. Of such an offer, many might say we are not demanding a price, but giving you a bargain of much worth.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ Ariane said. DuQuesne saw that distant look come into her eyes again, and for minutes she stood motionless, while the silent crowd watched.

  Suddenly her eyes focused and she turned to him. ‘‘Dr. DuQuesne!’’

  This is it. ‘‘Captain.’’

  ‘‘I have a direct order for you, and the rest of you as witnesses.’’

  ‘‘Ariane, I don’t think . . . ’’ began Simon.

  ‘‘Dr. Sandrisson, I am the captain. You all agreed to that, and I am now acting in that capacity. Do all of you understand this?’’

  And she’s about ninety Brinell numbers harder than a diamond drill right now. ‘‘Yes, sir.’’

  ‘‘This is my order: under no circumstances whatsoever, Dr. DuQuesne, are you to allow the Shadeweavers access to your person again. You will not be risked, you will not risk yourself. You are far too valuable to humanity for us to take that risk, as you possess certain capabilities and talents that exist nowhere else in human space.’’

  Dammit! And I gave my word! Can’t even argue with her right now, given the conditions. ‘‘Understood, Captain.’’

  It was the hardest two words he’d ever spoken.

  Ariane turned back to Amas-Garao. ‘‘Fighting you would be incredibly stupid. I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve got abilities that I can’t even understand, and you’re as tough as anything I’ve seen. Maybe some of that comes from your Shadeweaver power, I don’t know. Whatever the source, you were able to take us all on and not even work very much at it. I’d be an idiot to try to do it by myself.’’

  Amas-Garao took a step forward. ‘‘Then I welcome y—’’

  ‘‘I was not finished!’’

  Ariane’s shout cracked across the huge Arcade like a gunshot, halting even the Shadeweaver in his tracks. ‘‘Wh . . . what?’’

  ‘‘I said it would be incredibly stupid. But to just sell one of my crew for protection from this Challenge would be
cowardly. It would be morally wrong, the action of one who would, in the words of one of our greatest men, ‘give up essential Liberty to purchase a little temporary Safety.’ It would be irresponsible of me to simply hand myself over to you; I am the captain, I am the leader, I am responsible for my Faction.’’

  She had that grin again, that grin that was half-joyous, half-shark, and DuQuesne felt a warm chill down his spine as he saw it. ‘‘You want one of us that badly, to teach us a lesson, to learn what we really are? Well, I’ll teach you what we really are! I’ll meet you in personal combat, Amas-Garao—and come ready to lose, because by God you’d better remember this: two of us kicked an entire scouting expedition of Molothos off our Sphere; I won a challenge against the leader of the Blessed by going up against odds not one of you would dare even contemplate, and the last time we met we smacked you down on the doorsteps of your own Faction House, something not even our best allies thought was possible, so I will damned well take that chance instead of give it up!’’

  She took Gabrielle’s other arm. ‘‘We’ll finish working out the details after I get her back and all of my people assembled.’’

  For the first time Amas-Garao’s voice held something other than amusement and certainty; it was confused, slightly angry, a man balked by an unreasonable child. ‘‘There is no chance, you foolish creature!’’

  ‘‘More than you think,’’ DuQuesne said, with his own hard grin. ‘‘You see, there’s one point she’s obviously thought of that you haven’t.’’

  ‘‘What is that, I ask?’’

  DuQuesne’s grin widened. It’s still a piss-poor chance, but I know what she’s thinking. ‘‘Since I’m not the prize—having been specifically forbidden to be—she is. And that means you’ll have to be awful careful not to break the prize you’re fighting for, doesn’t it?’’

  And for that, Amas-Garao had no answer, as they left through the parting crowd.

  Chapter 62

  ‘‘But of course she may bring weapons,’’ Amas-Garao said. A hint of a smile—Ariane wondered if that was a real expression, or one put on for her benefit—showed within the cowl. ‘‘Any weapon that is powered solely by the combatant, that is.’’