Arena (magic the gathering)

by William R. Forstchen

  “I can help you. I could trigger the mob to bring about the Grand Master’s death.”

  Kirlen smiled.

  “And suppose you win the tournament. You would be gone, to go as a servant to the Walker in other realms. Then what?”

  “Do I really want to win?”

  “All fighters do.”

  “Then why haven’t you done so and thus gained the path in that manner?”

  Kirlen laughed coldly.

  “I prefer to go in my own right and not as a servant,” she finally said softly.

  “If I win, I win and will take the glory. But even in the process of doing that I can manipulate the mob to your favor and perhaps trigger the results you desire. Because that is the final part of the problem. The power of the mana is strong, but when half a million of the city turn against you, even a Grand Master might be overwhelmed. To have the mob on your side is worth the power of a hundred fighters. And if I don’t win, I will still be here to serve you.”

  “Of course you will,” Kirlen said with a smile.

  ***

  “Master.”

  Garth opened his eyes with the greatest reluctance. It took several seconds to realize that the room was not actually spinning. The sight of Hammen looking down at him finished it, especially when the old man’s breath washed over him. He half crawled out of bed and staggered to the privy room, ignoring Hammen’s coarse laughter as he knelt over the hole to offer up his last meal to the god of excessive drink.

  Cursing and spitting, he came back into the room.

  “I’ve laid out a change of clothes, oh exalted Master,” Hammen announced. “I’d suggest burning what you’re wearing now.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Such gratitude.”

  Garth looked at him, bleary-eyed.

  “How come you’re not hung over?”

  “More years’ experience and, besides, I had the good sense to pass out before you. I must say old Naru is even more impressed with you now.”

  “How is he?”

  “Down in the steam room soaking it out, where I’d suggest that you head now. Festival ceremonies start at noon and you want to be ready for it.”

  Garth stripped down and followed Hammen down to the lower level steam room and went into the swirling mist, finding a wooden bench in the corner. He looked around and, in the shadows, saw Naru stretched out on a bench, snoring loudly.

  Hammen came in a minute later with a birch switch.

  “Get out of here with that,” Garth snarled.

  “Shut up and take it like a man,” Hammen replied as he set to his task with what Garth suspected was a little too much enthusiasm for his work.

  “Naru’s really not such a bad fellow,” Hammen said, nodding to the giant, who stirred, groaned, and then rolled over. “We had a long talk this morning. If you could call it talking.”

  “And?”

  “Kirlen wants you dead.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “No, but you could read between the lines, as they say. Kirlen ordered him to drink you under the table.”

  “I sort of figured that out.”

  “She also told him to challenge you then.”

  “So why didn’t he?”

  “He passed out first. I think you’re presenting old Naru with a real moral dilemma. He’s forgotten about the kick; his brain can’t hold more than one thought at a time. He just remembers the return of his satchel.”

  “So if he won’t do it, there must be someone else.”

  “Naru’s their best fighter and has been for years. I think she has it figured that you can take anyone else, and besides, she wants it done quietly and to make it look legitimate, a fair grudge match. But it won’t happen until the last day of Festival.”

  Garth grunted a reply as Hammen struck him a bit too hard across the lower back with the birch switch.

  “Once more like that and I’ll take the damn switch to you.”

  “Got to beat the poison out,” Hammen said cheerfully.

  “What’s the advantage of killing me then?”

  “When, at the end of Festival? Trigger a riot, the Grand Master loses face in front of the Walker, and she eliminates him.”

  ”You got all of that from Naru?”

  Hammen smiled.

  “It doesn’t take much to figure out. Actually, Master, I think it’s time simply to get the devil out of here. You’ve had your fun, you’ve bearded the Grand Master, now take your winnings and move on.”

  Garth turned and looked over at Hammen and smiled.

  “Not yet.”

  “Damn it, Garth, you don’t stand a chance. All four Houses and the Grand Master want you for one thing or another. Give it up.”

  Garth smiled and said nothing.

  “I found out where Norreen is hiding.”

  Garth stirred and looked back at him.

  “Ah, that got your interest, didn’t it?”

  “Where is she?”

  “I sneaked out this morning and talked to a couple of lodge brothers. If you want to know anything in a city, make friends with the thieves. They’re up in arms anyhow since the Grand Master broke the code and murdered my friends. The ones who escaped with us yesterday are really spreading trouble. Anyhow, they found her hiding out at the edge of town and are keeping an eye on her. I could get you to her and we could be on our way.”

  Garth shook his head and stood up, grabbing hold of Hammen’s hand before the old man could start lashing his chest.

  “Enough. Let’s get dressed.”

  “Anyhow, if you’re so stupid as to stay, I also found a hiding place for you. It’s right on the Great Plaza.” Hammen paused and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Where the House of Turquoise used to be. It’s the building to the left of the Drunken Dwarfs tavern. It’s a knocking shop.”

  “A what?”

  “A brothel. One of my innumerable cousins runs the place. He knows you on sight. Just get in there and he’ll take you up to the top floor, which is ours to use.”

  “Alone, I trust.”

  “If you want it that way.” Hammen sighed.

  “Thanks. And make sure your friends keep an eye on Norreen.”

  “You’re really taken with her, aren’t you?”

  Garth smiled.

  “Sort of.”

  Hammen cackled and then pointed toward the back door of the steam room. Garth started toward it, smiling as he passed Naru, who was snoring away.

  “This heat could kill him,” Garth said and he leaned over to shake the giant awake, but Hammen pushed him on.

  As they opened the door Garth stopped at the sight of the pool room.

  “This isn’t the way out.” And he started to turn back.

  Hammen shouldered into him and Garth, losing his balance, tumbled into the water.

  “You’ve yet to get your ice water bath,” Hammen announced calmly as the room echoed with Garth’s roaring curses.

  ***

  Still cursing under his breath, Garth One-eye formed up with the other fighters of his newly adopted order. Rank on rank they stood, the eighty-seven fighters of the House of Bolk, present for this, the Nine Hundredth and Ninety-Eighth Festival of the Western Realms.

  The tension in the audience room was electric as the fighters, resplendent in their brown doeskin tunics, trousers, and leather capes stood in formal ranks of order, their tunic fronts glistening with battle honors won in Festivals past. Garth came into the room quietly, moving toward the back of the four-man-wide column.

  “One-eye.”

  Garth turned and saw Naru at the front of the line, looking back at him and motioning for him to come up to his side.

  “You good fighter, march as Naru’s escort.”

  Garth looked over at the ranks and saw that this gesture on the part of the House’s highest fighter had won him more than one additional enemy.

  Naru looked back at the other fighters and chuckled.

  “He is Naru’s friend, isn’t h
e?”

  Several of the others laughed coldly as Garth moved past their ranks and came to the front of the column to stand to the left of Naru and directly behind the brown-and-gold-striped pennant of the House. Trumpets echoed in the audience room and Garth followed the lead of the others, bowing low as the doors into the private quarters of the Master of the House were flung open to the accompaniment of rolling drums, crashing cymbals, and shrieking pipes.

  Garth looked up and could not conceal his amazement.

  Fifty warriors, dressed in brown leather armor and helmets, were bearing a massive dais nearly two fathoms across. The platform was ringed with skulls cast from the finest crystal, and set into each of them were eyes of rubies and circlet crowns of spun gold. Atop the dais stood six more warriors and upon their shoulders rested a second, smaller golden platform and throne of silver. Kirlen, however, did not sit on the throne, but rather was hovering above it as if she was sitting upon an invisible cushion, legs crossed, spindly arms folded across her brown and golden surcoat, while above her floated a Kurdasian carpet to act as a sunshade. Resting at the foot of the throne was a golden lockbox that actually seemed to be radiating power. Within it was the yearly tribute of mana bundles from the House of Brown, which would go to the Walker.

  Her bearers turned toward the main door and, with the trumpeters lining the corridor blowing a fanfare, the door was flung open. A roaring like an ocean torn by a hurricane thundered into the hallway as Kirlen was carried out into the Great Plaza. Behind her marched a company of Brown warriors, heavily armored, cocked and loaded crossbows at the ready. Next came the servants of the House, bearing flowers, pots of smoking incense, and urns of copper coins to throw to the crowd. Garth watched as Hammen moved in the middle of the procession, a look of disgust on his face as he lugged along a pot of money.

  Naru growled out a command and the pennant bearer stepped out from the audience room and into the main corridor. The fighters of Bolk moved forward, already strutting in their pride and arrogance.

  Garth marched behind Naru, struggling to hide his disdain for the whole rigmarole. They turned into the main corridor, which was now filled with the sweet smell of incense, and finally stepped out into the blazing light of the noonday sun. As they emerged from the House a thunderous tumult erupted and Garth felt his heart quicken.

  The Plaza was packed from end to end with a flood of humanity. The entire city and the hundreds of thousands of visitors, who had traveled from the far corners of the Western Realms and even from beyond the Flowing Seas to witness the fight, were all jammed together. During the night, after the rioting of the day before had been quelled, thousands of laborers had constructed viewing stands lining the procession paths leading to the center of the Plaza and ringing the palace of the Grand Master.

  Most of the places were rented to the nobles and well-heeled merchants, so that they could be above the shoving, roiling, stinking crowds. Even as Garth looked around in amazement, one of the viewing stands collapsed and the crowd let out a hearty roar of approval at the downfall of those who thought themselves to be the betters of the mob.

  The screaming multitude of Brown supporters pressed in on all sides as the procession made its way into the Great Plaza. The mob around Garth was waving brown pennants or strips of dirty brown cloth, chanting, cursing, hollering, lost in a mad frenzy of joy. As the servants ahead of the fighters made their way through the narrow path held open by ranks of warriors of the Grand Master, the struggling masses pushed and shoved for the copper coins and free admission tickets to the Festival that were being tossed out by the servants. Garth saw an entire urn go tumbling through the air and laughed at Hammen’s effort to be rid of the burden, most likely after filling his own pockets to overflowing first.

  “One-eye!”

  It was a lone voice but within seconds the cry was picked up and raced through the mob, the chanting rising, swelling, echoing above the hysterical roaring of the cheering mobs who were gathered about the processional paths being taken by the three other Houses.

  “One-eye, One-eye, One-eye!”

  Garth looked over at Naru, who turned and gazed back at him, and he could sense the fighter’s sudden confusion. The mob had a new hero. The giant looked around and glowered, angered at the fickleness of the mob. Garth moved to stand directly behind Naru and, reaching out, he took hold of the ends of the giant’s cloak, lifting it off the ground in a show of obeisance by playing the role of a servant. Naru, looking back over his shoulder, grinned and returned to strutting. Those closest to the procession, who could see Garth’s actions, fell silent in confusion, but half a dozen ranks back his gesture was invisible and the crowd continued to roar for Garth.

  The procession, moving slowly, made its way toward the palace and, as they passed, the mob fell in behind them, waving their pennants and cheering. At the edges of Bolk’s procession crowds following the House of Fentesk to the left and the House of Kestha to the right brushed against the supporters of Bolk. Fights started to break out between the rival groups, the brawls adding to the general aura of celebration and excitement.

  Each of the four processions came into the central part of the Plaza and now the Masters of each House started into their shows. Sparkles of light appeared above the processions, clouds formed fifty fathoms overhead and lightning bolts flashed across the Plaza. Dragons of light soared through the air and for a moment an Ingkara dragon wrestled with Fentesk’s, the crowd screaming with delight when Fentesk’s dragon exploded. This nearly triggered another brawl between the supporters of the two Houses until Ingkara, following the rules of the procession not to engage in any displays of conflict, caused its own dragon to disappear in a puff of smoke, thus ending any direct challenge of power.

  Directly in front of the great pyramid-shaped palace of the Grand Master the four processions finally came together and marched before the front of the palace. Tulan of Kestha floated atop a gray cloud, flashes of lightning dancing around him, illuminating his presence with an unearthly light. Varnel of Fentesk appeared to be riding on a pillar of fire that flared around him, and Jimak of Ingkara rode astride a coiling funnel of wind, which howled and whistled, the pennants of his followers whipping over their heads, the miniature tornado catching up hats and flinging them high into the air to float back down.

  Garth caught a glimpse of Varena at the head of the Orange column of fighters, moving with a cool, almost languid, ease, and for a brief instant she spared him a quick glance and then looked away. The turmoil of the hundreds of thousands jamming the Plaza was at near fever pitch, and for a moment Garth sensed that in fact all semblance of control was about to break down into a wild bacchanal of rioting.

  And then, as if from high overhead, a clarion trumpet note sounded, cutting through the insane roaring. The note changed into a chorus of trumpets that echoed up and down, counterpointing each other in a wild, minor-keyed harmonic. Great drums rolled, booming with a deep, insistent rumbling, joined in by the thundering chords of an organ, the sound magnified and echoing back and forth across the Plaza. A hidden doorway, halfway up the side of the pyramid, slid open, and a golden shaft of light streamed out. The fountains about the palace, which had been stilled until this moment, leaped to life, soaring fifteen or more fathoms into the air, the geysers directly in front of the palace catching the light coming from the pyramid and breaking it into a rainbow stream of colors. Puffs of smoke burst out around the top of the pyramid and booming explosions erupted, caused by some frightful alchemy, while yet more streams of smoke soared upward, detonating into multihued bursts, followed by yet more thundering explosions that caused the mob to scream with fear and a wild ecstasy of abandon.

  A cataclysmic volley of explosions wreathed the top of the pyramid and then a great flag rose up out of the smoke, unfurling to reveal the shimmering, rainbow-hued pennant of Zarel Ewine, Grand Master of the Festival and Arena, Most High and Exalted Ruler of the Western Realms, and Mortal Legate of Kuthuman, He Who Walks in Unknown Places
.

  The crowd, which only the day before had fought against the Grand Master, started to cheer, caught up in the abandon of the moment, as if all were forgiven. A shadow darkened the stream of light bursting out of the pyramid and then, as the trumpet, organ, and drum fanfare reached a mad crescendo, the Grand Master appeared, floating out of the opening in the pyramid as if he was riding the beam of light, which haloed and silhouetted him in a celestial fire.

  As the last echo of the fanfare and thunderous explosions died away the hundreds of thousands in the Great Plaza fell silent. The Grand Master remained motionless and then, as he slowly extended his arms outward, almost as if preparing to offer ritual challenge, and even though the gesture was one of a noble greeting, an uneasy murmur raced through the crowd.

  Zarel remained motionless. Below him a balcony of gold slid out from the side of the pyramid and he floated down, landing lightly on his feet. As he did so the four House Masters did the same, though Garth could detect a slight defiance in Kirlen, who stopped just short of alighting and waited until Zarel was standing like other mortals. She remained hovering for several more seconds and then came to rest upon her dais. Her gesture was not unnoticed by Bolk’s supporters and a ripple of applause raced through the crowd, counterpointed by catcalls from the rest of the mob and, surprisingly, some shouts of approval as well.

  Zarel waited for a long moment, his gaze fixed upon Kirlen as if preparing to offer a rebuke. He finally turned slightly, as if to ignore her instead. Garth waited, sensing the subtle interplays, Kirlen defiant, with the slightest hint of support from the other three House Masters, which transcended, for the moment, their mutual hatreds.

  Garth looked back up at Zarel and saw that the Grand Master was now staring straight at him and he could sense as well the barely suppressed rage, the man struggling with the temptation to order a massacre if need be in order to get at him.

  Garth let the slightest of smiles crease his features and he bowed with a mock disdain. Again, the mob standing at the edge of the lines of fighters saw the interplay and, again, there was a smattering of applause.