Chainer tried one final time to make himself an arm, but it came out as a lifeless and callused roll of flesh. Nearby, Kamahl was grappling with the tangle of horrors and losing. Chainer shook his head. That wouldn't do. He had promised Kamahl a fair fight.
In fact, the entire building was getting too noisy and crowded. Chainer needed peace and quiet to kill his friend, and he held the Mirari up to help him get it.
"Chainer," Kamahl gurgled from the bottom of the pile. "Don't."
"Hold on," Chainer said. "I'm almost done." With the sphere in his hand, he once again felt all of the minds he had broken into and pillaged, all of them still frozen and empty. Instead of reaching into those minds, this time Chainer reached out into the world. The other dementists were merely relay stations for his dementia space now, and there was no reason to give back what he had rightfully stolen. He wanted to finish Kamahl man to man, however, and for that he needed quiet.
Chainer used the Mirari to locate each and every one of the monsters he had unleashed since the games began. He was surprised how many of them were left. In fact, there were very few people left alive in the arena around him, and the monsters there had turned on each other. All the more reason to call them home, he thought. The battle's nearly over, and we've already won.
All around Otaria, the flow of power reversed as a million nightmares began to flow back into the fragmented brain that created them.
"This kind of hurts," Chainer said. "Is it supposed to hurt?"
*****
Buried by hostile monsters, Kamahl was helpless to stop Chainer. He watched the Cabalist as the Mirari sent blasts of light out in all directions, and then a thousand smaller beams began flowing back into Chainer's body.
"This kind of hurts," Chainer said. "Is it supposed to hurt?" "Drop it, Chainer!" Kamahl tried to yell more, but something with hooves instead of fists punched him in the mouth.
The swarm of monsters stopped tearing at him as the lights beaming into Chainer began to grow larger, faster, and more frequent. Kamahl was still unable to move, but at least he wasn't being damaged any further.
Chainer was screaming now. They were no longer merely beams of light slamming into him, but elongated streamers of flesh, eyes, fangs, stingers, and claws. Not just energy, but mass was pouring into him, and his physical form was not prepared to deal with it. In a final burst of triumphant, agonizing sound, the air around Chainer's body imploded and a flash of purple light blew outward, knocking stones loose from the wall and almost reburying Kamahl in rubble.
Many silent minutes passed. Then Kamahl broke the silence by shoving one of the larger stones off of his chest and letting it crash loudly to the floor. The barbarian painfully got to his feet and limped down the hall to where Chainer writhed. At first Kamahl thought his friend was coated in some kind of undulating ooze, but as he looked closer, he saw the truth. It wasn't something on Chainer's body that squirmed, it was Chainer's body. Though he still had the same build and the same shape, Chainer's arms, legs, chest, head, even his hair was now a turbulent mass of wriggling monsters. Tiny eyes looked up at Kamahl, and miniature fangs formed, struck, then melted again. Sometimes a head or a hand would rise above the surface of his skin, and snakes swam all through the unstable flesh like sharks in a feeding frenzy. His nose and mouth were only shapes, and those shapes were crammed full of tongues and scales and fingers and talons. Even his missing arm had been replaced with the cancer of living monsters.
Worst of all were his eyes. Chainer's brilliant blue eyes had returned, and they bore mute and tragic testimony to the agony he suffered.
The Mirari had rolled free and sat unobtrusively on the floor. It seemed smaller and drab, its eerie black glow extinguished. Kamahl marveled that he and so many others had fought and bled for something that appeared to be nothing more than a spent cannonball, or a discarded child's toy. He knelt down next to Chainer.
The hideous parody of his friend's body reacted to his closeness, and Chainer clumsily flopped a boneless arm toward Kamahl's hand. Kamahl took it, and he fought the urge to release the hideous squirming thing and start hacking it with his sword. Chainer pulled on Kamahl's arm, and the barbarian leaned forward to put his ear next to the place that had been Chainer's mouth.
"Mu. Ra. Ree."
Kamahl had no idea how the sound was created, but he understood. He shook his head. "You don't need it. It'll only make things worse."
Chainer shook his head, his eyes pleading. He tried to point at it with his free arm.
"Yours. Take. You. Take it."
"I'm not so sure I want it anymore."
Chainer's horrid grip grew tighter. "Must," he gurgled. "Not. Safe." "All right, Chainer. I'll take it, and I'll keep it safe." A hundred battles had taught him not to argue with a dying man.
Chainer's grip relaxed. "Sorry," he said. "So sorry."
Kamahl held his friend's hand until the squirming stopped and his ragged breath stopped completely. He stood, remembering the simple courtesy he had paid to dead enemies and allies alike. In this case, it was the least he could do to free Chainer's spirit from the hideous form it had been shackled to.
With a wave, Kamahl burned Chainer's twisted body to cinders. When he was alone, he caught site of the Mirari once more, so unassuming in repose. He had told Chainer the truth. He wasn't sure if he really wanted it anymore. But he also had made a promise to his friend, and he thought he understood why Chainer had insisted and why he had agreed.
After a few moment's hesitation, Kamahl bent and picked up the Mirari. For a brief moment, he saw a huge, smoking battlefield littered with corpses and an ocean of multicolored flames. And then he was alone, surrounded by the memory of monsters and the death of his friend.
EPILOGUE
Laquatus and his mercenaries had explored the length and depth of the chasm, and the news was the same: There was no simple way out. All the water in the chasm was surrounded by Veza's barrier, one giant, permanent portal that only led to itself. Anyone who touched the barrier from within or without instantly appeared on the exact opposite side of the chasm, on the same side of the barrier that they started on. Those inside couldn't step out. Those outside couldn't step in.
The trap for Laquatus also served as a source of income for Llawan. While Laquatus and his forces were trapped inside, Llawan's functionaries, had already fixed a price for merchants to use the portal's external surface as rapid transit for shipping from one side of Otaria to the other. He was not only trapped, he was isolated from any and all Mer commerce.
Disrupting the barrier from the inside was costly and difficult. Since the field was powered by the newly formed tides in the chasm, penetrating the field required enough magical power to baffle the elemental force of the tides themselves. For the time being, Laquatus couldn't do it alone for long, and he could only open a hole big enough for a few people at a time.
Still, he had the resources and the time he needed to breach the barrier. He still had his contacts inside the Order, and a good working relationship with the First, should the Cabal patriarch ever return. And the Mirari was still out there, in the hands of one ignorant savage or another.
Laquatus accepted defeat as he did victory. Each was merely a shorter step in his lifelong campaign for greatness. He had been bested and embarrassed in Mer, and it was his own fault. His mistake was to go after the Mer imperial throne and the Mirari at the same time. In the future, he would focus all his attention on obtaining the sphere and then use it to carve out a kingdom for himself. Llawan may have temporarily exiled him from the deep, but that simply meant that he must turn his sights inland. There were a million land crawlers to conquer, a dozen factions to play against one another, and a priceless source of power to be obtained.
First, the sphere. Then Otaria. Then, the empire. After that? Laquatus laughed in his spacious prison.
If his ambition was as bottomless as the seas, why shouldn't his power extend as far?
*****
Kamahl stepped out
of the Cabal City arena and squinted in the bright, setting sun. He was preoccupied by thoughts of the Mirari, the way it reacted so swiftly to its handler's thoughts. Therein lay the real danger of it. Chainer's thoughts had been dark and troubled, and Kamahl's own were violent. He wondered what would happen the next time Jeska gave him lip. Would she spontaneously burst in to flames because Kamahl thought about it?
The street was full of surviving spectators and pit fighters. The crowd was murmuring, and all eyes were on the Mirari. "… killed the entire Cabal…"
"… the only survivor… "
"I challenge you, barbarian."
Kamahl looked up at the Order officer who had stepped forward. She was a tall and immaculate aven, almost blinding in her white robes. She drew a long sword and a short dagger.
"For the Mirari," she continued. "I will fight you for the Mirari."
"When you've killed her," said a burly Cabalist, "I will fight you for the Mirari."
"Then me."
"I will fight, too."
One of Kamahl's own people, a barbarian from Pardic, stepped forward. "Forgive me, cousin. But I will fight you for the Mirari. It is our way."
Kamahl stared out at the growing number of challengers. His sword felt heavy, and he had never felt so tired. His burns still ached, and for the first time in his short, brutal life, Kamahl wanted to rest rather than fight. The other barbarian was right, however. It was their way to compete for the things they wanted, to constantly improve their skills and their situation through combat.
Reluctantly, Kamahl drew his sword and almost dropped it from his clumsy, aching hands. He looked at the long line of challengers, growing longer all the time, and the crush of others who edged closer, unwilling to wait for their turn. Warriors and monsters and dementia beasts all jostled for the right to kill him and collect the spoils.
Kamahl snorted a bitter laugh. Improve through combat? If he survived the next few hours, according to the ways of his people, he would be very much improved.
*****
Fulla and Azza made their way through the plains due south of Cabal City without incident. Azza sometimes forced Fulla to get on her back as she was now, but the caster preferred to have her own feet on the ground.
Azza's spirit seemed muted. She was still in mourning for Skel-lum. Fulla was also sad that she would not see Chainer or Skellum again, but Fulla was easily distracted when she was not in the pits. While she remembered that she was sad, she did not always remember why.
For days before the First's surprise announcement that he was leaving, Fulla had strange dreams. They were of a jovial figure who sat on top of a huge pile of money. The figure's voice hurt Fulla's head, and he kept insisting that she should get out of Cabal City and head south. Fulla eventually agreed just to get the figure to leave her alone, and Azza had refused to let her make the dangerous trip by herself. They were hardly outside the city walls when the commotion at the arena began, but they were too far away to make it back in time for the fun.
As they came over a rise in the road, they saw a tall man standing before them in the distance. Many bodies were strewn around his feet, as if his party had all fallen asleep at the same time. When the tall man turned toward them, both Fulla and Azza straightened up. "The Cabal is here," Fulla called. "And everywhere," replied the First. Closer to the scene, Fulla could see that the bodies of four or five snake-men lay dead and blackened around the First's feet, along with a handful of humans in Cabal clothing. He smiled as his children approached, ignoring the corpses around him.
"It seems we are all going to Aphetto," the First said. "Yes, Pater." Azza carried Fulla past the First, slowing her pace but not stopping.
"I would offer you Azza's back, Pater," Fulla said, "but that wouldn't be good for either of you."
"No, my child. You two go on ahead. I have already sent for an escort from Aphetto, which should be here shortly." He dipped his head toward the dead at his feet. "The first three escorts were waylaid on the road as soon as they picked me up. Then their waylayers fell ill. Such a waste."
Azza and Fulla were now completely past the First, and the caster had to turn to continue the conversation. "We shall see you in Aphetto then, Pater."
"Indeed. I have much to ask you about the final Mirari Games."
"The First is wise."
"Long live the Cabal."
Fulla and Azza rode on over the next rise, and the First disappeared behind them. Azza began to trot, but Fulla tugged on her neck.
"We're in no rush, sweet Azza," Fulla said. The hellhound dropped back to a slower pace, and they rode on.
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