"Nearly all you say."
"Some supposedly escaped," Hammen replied.
The raggedy man paused and looked up at Garth.
"You were most likely too young then even to care," Hammen snapped, an edge of anger to his voice.
Garth said nothing, looking at the corner of the Plaza, which looked so out of place with the grandeur of the other four sides.
"And the last Grand Master," Garth said, his tone more of a statement than a question.
"Kuthuman? That bastard," and he whispered the imprecation. "Who the hell do you think the Walker is? Where do you think he stole the mana that opened the portals to other worlds. Turquoise was the most powerful of the five and refused to help him in his quest."
Hammen nodded back over to where the House once stood.
"So they killed the Master of Oor-tael, his entire family, damn near everyone, and took their mana."
"What about Zarel?"
"Why are you interested?"
"He's interested in me, isn't he?"
Hammen shook his head.
"Some say that it was Zarel's hatred of the Master of Oor-tael that triggered it all and Zarel who suggested the idea and the Walker finally went along with it, even though Cullinarn, the Master of Oor-tael, was an old friend who had once saved Kuthuman's life."
"So why did he do it?"
"I said before I wasn't sure if you were damn good or simply a fool," Hammen replied. "Sometimes I think it's the latter of the two. When it comes to power, friendship is usually the first thing to die. Kuthuman wanted the power of a Walker; Zarel knew that if he helped him, he would then ascend to being the new Grand Master once Kuthuman left. So Zarel organized and led the assault, the mana of Turquoise was used to pierce the veil between worlds, Kuthuman left, and Zarel came to power. With him all things changed. The Masters of the other Houses had either helped or stood aside while their own was murdered and the bribes afterward flowed like crap out of a force-fed goose.
"The lost treasury of Turquoise paid for that monstrosity of a palace," and Hammen nodded toward the pyramid, and the new Houses. "Everyone profited from the deal."
Garth stood in silence for a moment and then turned away, pressing through the throng that now flooded the Plaza. Approaching the House of Kestha, he finally started to slow when the flagstones beneath his feet changed color from the limestone that paved most of the Plaza to a dark gray slate. Garth paused and looked up at the six towering statues of fighters that dominated the front entryway into the House.
Garth shook his head with disdain and started forward. A hand reached out and grabbed him.
"Just what is it that you want here?" Hammen pressed.
"If you don't have the stomach for it, go home, old man," Garth hissed, shaking Hammen's grip loose.
The crowds were no longer by his side, as if an invisible barrier marked the line in which they could press no closer to the Houses of fighters.
Garth strode across the semicircle of gray stone that denoted the boundaries of the Gray House, moving with a casual ease. He heard hurried footsteps behind him and looked back over his shoulder to see that Hammen was struggling to catch up, his staff clattering on the pavement.
From out of the shadows of the great statues half a dozen fighters emerged. They were dressed in gray tunics and trousers, their capes made of the finest leather and decorated with mystical signs and runes. Dangling from ornate sashes that went from their left shoulder to their right hip were golden satchels for their amulets, spells, and tiny silken packages of earth that contained the mana they controlled from distant lands. The bundles of earth aided the fighter in creating this psychic link back to the power of the land from which his magic grew. They moved toward Garth, walking with a casual, haughty ease and stepped in front of him to block his path.
"Go away, beggar. You walk on our property here," one of them hissed and, placing his hand on Garth's chest, gave him a shove.
Garth stepped back a foot and did not turn away.
"I said go away!"
"I've come to join this House," Garth said calmly.
The six looked back and forth at each other with exaggerated expressions of surprise.
"A one-eyed scarecrow followed by a beggar," the man who shoved him roared. "You insult our House by tracking your filth on our walkway. You'll scrub it with your tongue for your arrogance. But first I want to see your teeth on the ground."
The man stepped forward to punch Garth. Even as he moved in to hit him Garth stepped quickly to one side, grabbing the man by the wrist and flipping him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. As if sensing another blow coming from behind, Garth rolled on the ground, kicking out, catching his second assailant on the side of his knee. There was the sound of snapping bone as the man fell over, howling with pain. Coming back up to his feet, Garth heard a cracking sound and saw from the corner of his eye a dagger skidding across the pavement, a third fighter staggering away, holding a broken wrist while, with a flourish, Hammen caught the man across the small of the back, knocking him over.
The other three started to back up, the one in the middle fumbling with his satchel, pulling something out and then extending his arms out wide. As if from a great distance Garth could hear the roar of the crowd, screaming that a fight was on.
Garth strode forward toward the fighter, preparing to cast, pointing at him.
"Don't! Don't try it. We have someone else to fight now."
The man looked at him, wide-eyed, his concentration obviously broken by the power of Garth's words. He suddenly let out a yelp of pain, for he had made the mistake of drawing upon his mana without immediately focusing it into a spell. Suffering now from mana-burn, he staggered around, clutching both hands to his brow, while Garth watched him with an expression of pity for one so amateurish.
"That man is ours!"
Garth looked back at the Gray fighter.
"Don't do it. I think we have other fish to fry." And he turned away from him as if he was no longer of concern.
A squad of fighters from the Orange House were advancing across the Plaza with purposeful strides. One of them, wearing a cloak heavily embroidered with gold and silver and obviously of higher rank, led the way.
Garth slowly extended his arms in preparation for a fight and the man slowed.
"A witness in the crowd says you were the one who murdered Okmark yesterday. You're ours."
"Then take me," Garth said quietly.
The fighter started to move forward as if deciding not even to bother with a spell.
Garth smiled and pointed at the man. His walk slowed as if he had stepped into an invisible barrier. Cursing, he stumbled backward.
Next Garth raised his hand, pointing to the heavens. A dark swirling cloud took form, buzzing, humming, and dived down. Hornets, as big as a man's thumb, swarmed over the Orange fighters, stinging with such viciousness that blood ran in rivulets down the faces of Garth's foes.
A roaring crowd now ringed the edge of the Kesthan pavement, howling with delight, laughing even louder when some of the hornets diverted away from the half dozen they were tormenting and slashed into the crowd, their victims screaming, waving their arms to ward off the stings. The antics of the peasants and common folk getting stung caused the crowd to roar even louder with delight.
The leader of the Fentesk, bellowing with rage, struggled to his feet and extended his arms, pointing them heavenward. The hornets plummeted to the ground, their wings trailing smoke and flame. But even as they writhed on the ground they still managed to cling to the ankles of their targets, stinging even through boots so that the leader's companions hopped about madly.
Garth waved his hand again and the hornets burst into flames, the fire spreading to the boots of the fighters and tormented peasants in the crowd. The peasants ran off screaming, heading to the fountains to douse their burning shoes, followed by the Orange fighters; only the leader remained.
The leader pulled his arms in tight around himself, hi
s cloak fluttering, and a mist started to form around him. Garth reached into his satchel and then pointed even as the deadly mist started to move toward him. The Fentesk leader staggered, and for a moment it appeared as if a whirlpool was pulsing around him, sucking his powers away into a void. Garth moved his hands back and forth as if stirring the whirlpool, while the fighter twisted and writhed inside the power sink that was drawing his strength away.
He collapsed on the pavement.
Hammen scurried forward to the prostrate fighter and reached for his satchel.
"Only one," Garth commanded. "It is the rule; this was no death fight."
Hammen reached greedily into the man's satchel, pulled out a ringed amulet. "His bind against flying creatures, the one he used against your hornets."
Garth nodded and then looked back at the Gray fighters, who stood gape mouthed.
A loud trumpeting echoed across the Great Plaza and seconds later it seemed to be repeated from inside House Kestha. Already there was a knot of Grays standing around the doorway and seconds later dozens more poured out.
The crowd which had been watching the show pushed and shoved as if a force had struck it from behind. It finally parted as yet more Orange fighters came pouring into the open semicircle around Gray's House. Within seconds half a dozen of them were fighting with an equal number of Grays, several of them conjuring up spells while the others simply pulled daggers and set at each other.
"Master, isn't it a healthy time to leave?"
Garth looked down at Hammen, who was busily stuffing several cut purses into his tunic.
The crowd was roaring with delight, pointing, shouting, screaming with hysterical abandon when blood was finally spilled and a Gray fighter went down clutching his throat, which had been cut from ear to ear. A fireball struck his assailant, even as the man reached down to grab his victim's satchel, sending him sprawling, writhing in flames until one of his companions cast a spell of protection, dousing the flame. Two Gray fighters rushed to help their hemorrhaging lodge brother, applying hands and incantations to stem the bleeding.
Garth ducked low, when from atop the Kesthan palace sheets of lightning snapped down, striking into the plaza, bowling Fentesk fighters over like ninepins. Garth scrambled up against the building and sat down under the shadow of one of the great stone pillar fighters. He reached into his tunic, pulled out another pomegranate, and calmly started to eat.
"Master, please!" Hammen whined, sneaking up to Garth's side and squatting down beside him. "Let's just get out of here."
"Not yet. Why don't you go and arrange some bets for me on Gray."
More trumpets brayed and Hammen looked around furtively.
"The Grand Master of the Arena is coming. It's time to get out of here now."
"In a minute."
From the edge of the swirling mob, which was laughing and dancing about while watching the show, a heavy phalanx appeared. There were at least twenty magic wielders in the middle of the column, the fighters flanked by several hundred crossbow men. At the front of the column rode the Grand Master of the Arena himself, his multihued cape reflecting all the colors of the rainbow.
The crossbow men, with weapons cocked, fanned out around the edge of the gray semicircle, some facing toward the mob, which reluctantly gave back, while the others faced inward, raising their weapons and taking aim on the combatants.
More trumpets sounded and drums rolled. The fight started to break apart.
"Tulan of Kestha, come out!" a herald, standing next to the stirrup of the Grand Master, roared, his voice apparently magnified by some magical power so that it thundered even above the tumult of the crowd, several of whom were now screaming after being shot by crossbow quarrels at close range.
"I'm here!"
Garth slowly turned and looked up. Atop the head of one of the great stone fighters stood a man who he assumed was the Grand Master of the House of Kestha. Garth finished his pomegranate and tossed the ends of it aside.
"This fight must cease or you shall be placed under injunction," the herald shouted.
"Then tell those Orange bastards to stop soiling our pavement with their filth."
The Grand Master turned his mount and looked at the knot of Fentesk fighters, who stood in a circle around their wounded.
"You are engaged in trespass; you must pay damages for violation of the law and leave this place at once."
The leader, who had first fought with Garth and had regained some of his wits, was helped to his feet.
"We were here to seek arrest against a man who murdered one of our brothers."
"Who?"
The leader looked around the plaza.
"Master, please, nowwww!" Hammen whined.
Garth stood up and casually started to walk toward the Grand Master.
"I think he wants me," Garth announced loudly.
"That's him!" Orange shouted. "He's the one who killed one of our men yesterday."
The Grand Master wheeled his horse around, the herald motioning for several crossbow men to train their weapons on Garth.
Garth, ignoring them, turned his back to the Grand Master and looked up to the top of the statue where Tulan stood.
"I came to join the House of Kestha. I stand on land not owned by the Grand Master of this city but rather by the House of Kestha. Will you allow one who fought for you to be taken thus from your very doorstep?"
Tulan looked down over the edge of the statue and then nervously turned to look at a ring of fighters of the highest rank who stood around him.
"Surely you would not bear such an insult to your reputation and honor," Garth shouted, the slightest edge of sarcasm in his voice.
"He's my man and he is on my property!" Tulan finally shouted, though the nervousness in his voice was evident.
The Grand Master reined in his mount just behind Garth.
"This is my city and I am the Grand Master of the Arena."
"Without the four Houses to fight in your arena," Garth replied, looking straight back at the Grand Master, "you will be penniless."
Garth turned and looked back up at Tulan.
"Isn't that so, my lord Master of Kestha."
"That's so, that's so!" Tulan shouted. "Touch him and we'll go on strike for the first day of Festival and so will the other Houses. You have no right to arrest one of us on our own property."
At the mere mention of a possible strike the mob watching the drama started to howl in protest. Garth turned and looked back at the crowd, bowing low to them with a dramatic flourish, and wild applause broke out. He looked over at the Fentesk fighters and saw that even they were backing away from wanting him, out of a higher solidarity to protect their precious rights.
"That man is a Kestha fighter," Tulan roared. "He is on Kestha property and under my protection. There's nothing more to be said."
Garth turned and looked back at the Grand Master, who was gazing down at him coldly.
"I'm sorry to have caused you trouble, sire."
The Grand Master looked down at him with a curious expression, as if using his powers to somehow probe. Garth felt the power swirling around him like a cold breeze. The power pulled away.
"You won't survive Festival," the Grand Master hissed, his words barely audible and, yanking the reins of his mount, he turned and spurred his mount into a gallop, the mob parting before him.
Garth bowed low to the departing Grand Master and then, turning, strode toward the doorway into the House of Kestha. As he passed beneath the shadows of the great statues he looked closely and finally saw Hammen, crouched down low, peering out from behind the colossal feet of the statue nearest the door.
“Stand up like a man, Hammen,” Garth said quietly. “The servant of a fighter of Kestha should show more dignity.”
“Servant, is it?” Hammen said. “The demons take you. You’re a plague. Anyone who comes near you will turn up dead.”
Garth laughed softly.
“I need a servant now. The job is yours for a si
lver a week.”
“I can make that in a morning in my regular profession.”
“You’ll find the change amusing. I just need you for Festival.”
“The busy season for my profession.”
“If you don’t come, I think you’ll always wonder what you missed out on.”
Hammen lowered his head and mumbled to himself.
“Oh, the devil with it, damn you. All right. But I get sole gaming rights to you outside the arena.”
“Fighting outside the arena is illegal.”
Hammen threw back his head and laughed.
“Like yesterday and just now.”
“Sole gaming rights then.”
Grinning, Hammen swaggered out from his hiding place and fell in behind Garth.
Gray fighters were returning to their House, helping their wounded. They looked over at Garth with open curiosity but none approached him. The doors into the palace were wide open and Garth followed them in and then, out of the shadows, a heavy rotund form appeared. The man stood as tall as he did, at just over a fathom, but Garth estimated that he easily weighed twice as much. Grand Masters were no longer expected to fight in the arena and it was evident that this one had taken that security to heart, and to his stomach as well.
Heavy jowls jiggled as the man drew closer, his fat, sausage-like hands glistening with jewels on every finger. He had power; Garth could sense that. And though it was gone to dissipation, he was still someone who could beat nearly anyone who stood against him.
“Well done, lad, well done,” Tulan roared, coming up to Garth, who went through the ceremony of bowing low.
Tulan grabbed him by the shoulders and raised him back up.
“You stood up to that damn Zarel, that pox-eaten Arena Master. Good show, lad, good show.”
“In service to you, my lord.”
Garth ignored the slight fit of coughing that beset Hammen.
“My servant, my lord. He was robbed of his clothes this morning, thus the rags, and he has been ill.”
Arena (magic the gathering) Page 4