Arena (magic the gathering)

by William R. Forstchen

  “Ah, how I love Festival days,” Hammen growled, pausing to look furtively around a corner and then turning to watch the flames engulf the home of a much-hated merchant down the street.

  “It wasn’t always this way,” Garth said, more as a statement than a question.

  Hammen spit on the ground.

  “The old days are dead as are all old days.” He paused for a moment and sighed.

  “Maybe it wasn’t as golden as some want to remember,” Hammen finally said, “but at least the games were not for the entertainment of the mob. Back then they were tests of skill and practice, a time of truce before going out again to wander and study, or to serve a contract with a prince who treated his fighters with honor. Now it is for blood, contracts, and the delight of the mob.”

  Hammen shook his head and then chuckled sadly as some looters raced past, bearing a heavy barrel between them.

  Hammen looked back up at Garth.

  “All right, Garth, the game’s over. We increased our money six times over today. Even minus my commission you’ve got enough to live like a prince for the next couple of years. Besides that, you’ve got a spell usually only a Master ever holds. Why don’t you take it and get the hell out of this madhouse?”

  Garth smiled and shook his head.

  “I’ve still got some things to do.”

  “Damn it, son, today was a fix. The captain was a fix, the spell was obviously given to him by the Grand Master, and they set you up for a death match. Do you think he’ll play any fairer tomorrow?”

  “Actually, yes,” Garth said quietly. “The mob knows, your people have passed the word around. He’ll play it straight tomorrow, at least until the Walker comes to back him up.”

  Garth paused, turning to look back as the merchant’s house collapsed, a shower of sparks soaring heavenward. A laughing, drunken crowd was gathered around outside, raising tankards of ale and wine in salute to the fire while the merchant cursed and swore, pulling out great tufts of his beard in anguish.

  Hammen slowed, still troubled by their conversation on the way back from the arena at the end of the day’s fights.

  “I think what you asked my friend to do is insane.”

  “You said he hates the Grand Master for the death of his son last year. Remember it was you who first pointed out the connection.”

  “I was just musing, that’s all. Talking about what the Grand Master has done.”

  “It’s an obvious path to what I want done. You’ve been carrying that ruby of mine around and it’s time we put it to good use.”

  “It’s a terrible risk for my friend. He could be denounced and dead before the offer is barely out.”

  “It’ll be amusing,” Garth said. “And besides, the person we want to bribe is a customer of his for illegal potions. He has some leverage over him.”

  “Do you know how many bribes it’ll take to arrange such a thing?”

  “You already saw me take care of it.”

  “The man, or should I say creature, you’re attempting to bribe will pocket your money and forget about it.”

  Garth smiled and shook his head.

  “You don’t know the nature of guilt and vengeance very well. Half a dozen wagonloads of pots are simply mixed in, that’s all. No one will be able to trace it, and our friend comes out the richer for it.”

  Hammen looked around nervously.

  “You’re talking about bribing the captain of Zarel’s fighters, Uriah the Groveler.”

  Garth smiled sadly.

  “Yes, Uriah.” His voice was distant and wistful.

  “That was a ruby worth at least a hundred gold,” Hammen groaned.

  Garth looked back as if drawn from a distant land.

  “When you bribe high you have to be willing to pay,” he said quickly.

  “And yet you appeared before me penniless and I actually trusted you.”

  “I had to keep my reserve.”

  “And is there any reserve left?”

  “A little,” Garth said with a smile. “Later, tomorrow after the games, I want you to go out through the gate of the city down where we first met. Walk exactly one thousand fifty paces.”

  “Your paces or mine?”

  “Mine, damn it. How could I know what yours were?”

  “I’ll try to manage.”

  “Anyhow. Go exactly one thousand fifty paces. There is an ancient tomb on the right side of the road, about a hundred paces up the side of the hill. In the back of it the bricks are weak. Tucked in behind the bricks is an oilskin bundle. Bring it back to me and, for the sake of the Eternal, don’t open it.”

  “So now I’m your errand boy too.”

  “I’d go myself, damn it, but a lot might happen tomorrow.”

  “Like your getting killed.”

  “Then the bundle is yours as a reminder of me. I think you’d find it interesting.”

  Garth continued to shoulder his way through the swirling crowds, thankful that a light rain was falling so that his drawn-up hood and drooping, wide-brimmed hat did not seem out of place.

  Reaching the Great Plaza, he pushed his way into the crowds and moved forward with a purposeful stride.

  “Damn it,” Hammen hissed, but he kept close to Garth anyhow as his companion approached the perimeter around the palace. A line of guards was drawn up just inside the row of fountains, warily watching the crowds which streamed past. Since the riot of the day before the tension between the Grand Master’s warriors and the city’s inhabitants was at near-breaking point.

  Without slowing down, Garth pushed through the edge of the crowd and broke into a run, charging straight at the nearest warrior. Before the man even had time to react Garth caught him full in the solar plexus, the blow doubling the man over in spite of his leather armor. The warrior to the man’s right turned, startled by the sudden attack, and Garth, spinning around, slammed a balled fist into the man’s neck just behind his ear. Pulling out his dagger he sliced the man’s purse off his belt, cut it open, and then heaved it into the startled crowd. This started a mad scramble for the money, which jingled on the dark pavement. Three more warriors came running over, swords drawn. Garth stepped past the first one, knocking him over with a simple tripping of feet. The second came in warily, slicing low. Garth jumped over the blow and, as he did so, kicked the man in the face. The third slowed, came to a stop, and then, turning, started to run, blowing his whistle, sounding the alarm.

  The mob, which had been stunned by the sudden onset, now swarmed forward to rob the downed warriors. Garth turned and quickly strode away into the darkness, while behind him came the trumpet call of the alarm. Within seconds a company of warriors came charging out of the palace and waded into the crowd.

  The excitement started to draw spectators from across the Plaza and Garth dodged his way through the human tide which swept forward to watch. As the heaving, shouting crowd drew closer they were drawn into the spreading fight as the ill feelings between the Grand Master’s guards and the mob exploded.

  Garth continued across the Plaza, moving straight at the House of Kestha. Just before reaching the outer circle of paving stones that marked Kestha’s territory he tore off his cloak, revealing an Orange uniform underneath, though his face was still concealed by his wide-brimmed hat. Garth pointed toward one of the guards standing at the entryway into the House.

  “Who is it?”

  Hammen squinted, peering through the gloom and mist.

  “Josega. At least I think so. Fourth- or fifth-rank.”

  “Good enough. You know what to do.”

  Garth broke into a run, charging across the gray paving stones.

  “Josega, you cowardly bastard!”

  Josega, who had been lounging wearily against the wall of his House, stirred, looking up as the Orange robe raced toward him. Even as he started to raise his hands, Garth caught him with a bolt of fire from above that knocked the man head over heels, laying him out unconscious on the pavement. The other guard started forward t
o meet Garth, not seeing Hammen coming up from the other side. Hammen caught the other guard across the back of the head with a blow from his staff.

  The two pulled out daggers and, even as the alarm was raised inside the House, they ran off, the satchels of the two fallen guards in their hands.

  “Well, at least they won’t get killed now in the arena,” Hammen gasped as they disappeared back into the crowd, which had not even noticed the robbery, their attention drawn instead to the growing clamor of the riot.

  “Do you always find a moral balm for your sins?” Garth asked.

  “It helps.”

  Garth pushed his way across the square, which was now resounding with the angry shouts of the mob. Crowds raced past him, many of them carrying clubs, pikes, carving knives, and even the occasional crossbow. Over by the palace the fighting was now in full swing, warriors pushing their way outward with overlapping shields, the mob pelting them with offal, pieces of firewood, paving stones, and whatever else they could lay their hands on.

  Garth edged his way around the riot and moved toward the House of Ingkara. He stopped and tore off the Orange tunic he had been wearing, to reveal a Brown robe underneath.

  “Haven’t you had enough?” Hammen asked.

  “Not yet. Now the same as last time.”

  A minute later the two were running away, carrying two more satchels of spells, their pursuers cut off by the mob.

  Garth slowed and then, at a casual pace, crossed back over into Bolk’s territory. Half a dozen fighters were at the gate, watching the spreading riot.

  “What’s going on out there?” Garth asked, coming up to stand by Naru. The giant looked down at him curiously.

  “All sorts of fighting tonight,” the giant rumbled with amusement. “You not know?”

  “No, I was out for a little pleasure around behind the House.”

  “What kind pleasure?”

  “The female kind.”

  “Ah, you break training. Mistress not like that.” Naru guffawed loudly and then looked up, his eyes narrowing at the sight of a dozen Ingkaran fighters storming onto the pavement belonging to Bolk.

  “Get off our territory!” Naru shouted, stepping out from the main gate to face the approaching Purples, who slowed at the sight of the giant.

  “Two of our men were robbed of their spells by one of yours!” a Purple shouted.

  Naru said nothing, gazing down contemptuously at the fighter. The Purple seemed to hesitate and then he set eyes on Garth.

  “It was him, One-eye.”

  Naru threw back his head and laughed.

  “He good fellow, he out robbing women of their honor, not dogs of their offal. You Purple are the lapdogs of the Grand Master.”

  With a wild cry of anger one of the Ingkarans raised his hand. A twisting cyclone suddenly appeared, the wind racing out from it as frigid as an arctic night. Inside the cloud a form took shape and stepped out from the cloud. The ice giant moved slowly toward Naru as if its joints were still locked in blocks of frost but it came forward with a deadly purposefulness, raising its steel war hammer, a howling cry like the wind on a winter night thundering from its open mouth.

  Naru, laughing, dodged the strike. With a balled-up fist he struck the frost giant with such a blow that the giant’s head splintered into tinkling fragments. With that the fight was on. Cries for Purple and shouts for Brown echoed on the Plaza. Brown fighters and warriors came charging out of the House to aid their comrades. The crowd, which had been storming toward the riot around the palace, slowed, turning to watch the show. Bets were hurriedly placed. Partisans of Ingkara and Bolk shoved forward to watch the fight and within seconds were fighting with each other as well.

  From the next section over could be heard the cries for Fentesk and Kestha, an explosion piercing the darkness, the crowd oohing and aahing as bolts of lightning shot overhead from the top of Fentesk’s House.

  Garth stayed in the shadows, ignoring Hammen’s excited cries as the fight spilled out into the Plaza, the mob now joining in as well, the partisans of the different sides turning on each other with gleeful abandon. No warriors or fighters of the Grand Master intervened to stop the brawl since all were tied down holding back the mob around the palace.

  Suddenly there was a great explosion of light around the palace and, from atop the Grand Master’s palace, bolts of fire stormed down indiscriminately into the mob, knocking over hundreds.

  “I think I’ll go in and take a nap,” Garth said calmly and, turning away from the spectacle, he walked through the door, stepping over the unconscious body of a Purple fighter whom Naru had tossed more than half a dozen fathoms. The giant, bellowing with delight, continued to wade into the battle, fists rising and falling.

  Garth went through the door and paused. He looked down at Hammen.

  “Why don’t you go turn down my bed, Hammen.”

  Hammen, staring wide-eyed at Kirlen, who stood before them, nodded and slipped past the Master of Bolk.

  “Masterful, One-eye, a masterful act of cunning.”

  “And what is that, my lady?”

  “The riot out there. Don’t you think I know how it started? Don’t you think the Grand Master does too?”

  “He has no proof. Perhaps he is just reaping the whirlwind of his misrule.”

  “And you are his moral judge? Hundreds will be killed out there.”

  Garth nodded.

  “It would have come anyhow. No one out there is being forced to riot and murder. They’re only imitating their betters.”

  Kirlen laughed coldly, leaning heavily on her staff.

  “Our games match for the moment,” Kirlen finally said, and, turning, she hobbled away.

  ***

  “That bastard! I know it’s him!”

  Uriah looked up at Zarel.

  “How do you know that, sire?”

  His voice was filled with a wary caution.

  “How dare you! I should take your head for your insolence.”

  To Zarel’s shocked disbelief Uriah for once did not blanch.

  “If you kill me now, Master, I fear a rebellion will sweep this palace. Right now our fighters are outside this very building holding back the mob. If their captain should die by your hands, what would they say?”

  “Concerning you, not much,” Zarel snarled.

  “But of things in general,” Uriah replied, amazed as the words poured out of him. “Eleven fighters have died in the rioting of the last several days, more than two hundred warriors as well. They are not happy, my lord, and though my death might mean nothing, then again it could mean an awful lot.”

  “What has come over you?”

  Uriah swallowed hard, trying to control his fear.

  “You violated the rules of the arena not once but four times today. You planted Silmar in the House of Ingkara, you gave him a spell, you had the circle master declare it a death match, and then you tried to intervene.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He told me this morning. He took the assignment but feared it would be his death. So he told me just before going over to stand with the House of Ingkara.”

  Zarel started to raise his hand.

  “Go ahead. So far it’s a secret. But kill me and the entire city will know what they only suspect right now. That will end all betting, for the mob will no longer trust you at all. Go ahead. You see, my lord, I left instructions with someone detailing all and if I die, it will be revealed.”

  Zarel hesitated, stunned by the sudden turn of his second.

  “And I could reveal all about the role you played in the fall of Turquoise.”

  “You have held that over me for twenty long years, Master, and I groveled before you. But for this moment I want to be treated as a man.”

  Zarel laughed.

  “You are nothing but a deformed animal.”

  “Then why do you make me your captain of fighters?”

  Zarel smiled coldly.

  “Because I could control you.�
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  “You still can but the price has changed.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Control of the House of Bolk,” Uriah replied evenly.

  “I have no control over who is selected as Master of a House.”

  “Then find a way. You will have to kill Kirlen before this is over or she will kill you. Isn’t it obvious that she is behind this One-eye?”

  “How can I trust you afterward?”

  “You can’t. For that matter how can I trust you? Perhaps that is the beginning of the only type of relationship that can last in this world.”

  Zarel nodded wearily and sat back down.

  “Can you bring the mob under control?”

  “Difficult, but yes, though I worry about tomorrow in the arena. A single spark will set them off.”

  Uriah hesitated.

  “If that spark should come, then you will have to kill the mob by the thousands and drive them into the dirt. Nothing can be held back.”

  Uriah nodded in agreement.

  “Master, will you bring him down tomorrow?”

  “I plan to kill him during the procession to the arena. I have my assassins taking their positions even now. He will never make it out of the city.”

  “Suppose he eludes that trap?”

  “Not in the arena. It is too risky.” Zarel paused.

  “Let the Walker have him as a servant and you’ll be done with him. He is working toward some plan, not only against you, but against the Walker as well.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “You asked me to find out all I could,” Uriah replied. “He is dangerous beyond measure.”

  Zarel lowered his head.

  “Get out.”

  “Do we have our agreement?”

  “Yes, damn you. Now get out.”

  Uriah, head bowed low, turned and hobbled out of the room.

  “And bring that damn mob under control!”

  As the door slammed shut the dwarf sagged against the wall, suddenly unable to control the trembling of his limbs. He fought down the sudden urge to vomit. For years he had dreamed of standing up to Zarel, and always feared death would be the payment.