“We haven’t seen their women, either,” I admitted. “On their city thoroughfares there are only Kobalos men and the occasional purra being dragged about like an animal on a leash. I am sorry, but I am unable to answer your question.”
The witch nodded. “But it is a very interesting question nonetheless,” she mused. “I suspect that when we learn the answer, we will understand these creatures far better.”
CHAPTER XIX
HOSTILE, HUNGRY EYES
ON first glimpsing the witch, the three sisters were terrified and shrank away as if she were some kind of fearsome monster. I found it difficult to understand. The four of them were human, after all. But when I returned half an hour later, they had calmed down somewhat and were engaged in conversation.
Nessa in particular seemed much happier, and I wondered if they had been plotting together. Perhaps the witch did not respect a trade in the same way that I did? It made little difference. The priority now was to survive our encounter with the haggenbrood. I would deal with any other difficulties later.
Grimalkin had explained to them what needed to be done, and Nessa seemed calm and agreeable to being replaced in the arena. It appeared that she had entrusted the safety of her two sisters to the assassin. I wondered what the witch had said to win them over so completely.
The three sisters hugged each other as we left for the arena. All three were crying as Grimalkin used her magic to mask herself as Nessa.
As they pulled apart, I was surprised to see that Susan was the calmest and least affected of them all. She wiped away her tears, straightened her back, and forced a smile onto her face as she looked directly at Nessa. “I’m sorry for being such a burden and for always complaining,” she told her. “If I live through this, I’ll try to be a better sister in the future.”
“You’ll be back soon,” Nessa said. “You’ll both live, I promise you, and we’ll all be safe again.”
I wondered if the girl was right. But I could not dwell on the question for long; it was time to face the haggenbrood.
The arena was already full of excited spectators who began calling out and jeering, baying for our blood the moment we entered. News of my trial had spread throughout Valkarky, and to say the least, the crowd was hostile toward me. Because we are outsiders and our lives and vocation—gathering power, managing our haizdas, and seeking understanding of the universe—are mysterious and unknown to the majority, haizda mages have never been popular in the city. To make matters worse, I had slain a high mage, one of those who might one day have become part of the triumvirate. Valkarky is very patriarchal; in their minds, I had slain one of the city fathers. During the trial, as the hysteria increased, it would have become more personal still—as if each spectator believed that I had killed his own father.
Of course, many had come simply to view the spectacle and savor the spilling of red blood on the arena floor, as I had done as a youngster. Some were visibly salivating already.
On being led into position, all three girls looked terrified and sobbed hysterically. It was hard to believe that the real Nessa had been left behind in my quarters. It was a testament to the power of the human witch. A haizda mage must gather knowledge wherever he can—from friend and foe alike. Should I survive this encounter, I intended to learn from this witch assassin.
The purrai were tied to the posts by the Kobalos who served the trial judge, while I waited patiently close to the pit where the haggenbrood was confined. I glanced down through the grille. Nothing was moving. The creature was sedated. The moment the grille was removed, the first of three trumpets would sound and the creature would become aware, wishing to know more of the opponent it faced. At the second trumpet, it would crawl out of the pit. The blast of the third trumpet would rouse it to extreme fury and bloodlust, and the battle would begin. Such was its conditioning. It was all very predictable—up to that point. But once the battle began, everything was uncertain.
During my earlier preparations in my quarters, I had gone into a trance to summon into my mind all previous trials during the last fifty years. The haggenbrood had proved victorious in all three hundred and twelve encounters, never once repeating the same pattern of attack. Most victories had been achieved within less than a minute.
Dressed in his black robes of office, the trial judge entered the arena and held up both hands for silence. He had to wait several minutes before the crowd calmed down sufficiently for the proceedings to begin.
In a loud voice he began to read out the charges.
“The haizda mage known as Slither is charged with the murder of the high mage known as Nunc and stealing from him the three purrai that you see before you.”
At this, a great roar of anger erupted from the spectators, and the judge had to hold up his hand to order silence again.
“Second, he is charged with the unlawful slaying of a Shaiksa assassin who attempted to prevent him from leaving with the stolen purrai. Third, he is charged with the unlawful slaying of the hyb warrior who was sent to execute him for those crimes.”
The spectators brayed out their anger once more, and the judge was forced to hold up his hand even longer to command order. Only when absolute silence was achieved did he continue.
“The haizda mage refutes those charges on the grounds that the three purrai were, and still are, his property and that he killed lawfully to protect his rights. In addition, his mind has been probed thoroughly and he is convinced that he is being truthful. He would therefore have been released but for the fact that the Shaiksa brotherhood has objected on the grounds of evidence supplied to them from the dying mind of the assassin slain by this haizda mage.
“That communication asserts that Lord Nunc had paid Slither for the purrai and they were his lawful property. Lord Nunc is dead and therefore unavailable for questioning. Consequently, as this contradiction is impossible to resolve, we require this trial by combat.”
Then the judge pointed at me.
The auditorium had been absolutely quiet during the final part of the reading of the charge. Now he called out dramatically, in a voice filled with authority, loud enough to reach every corner of the arena. “Choose!” he cried.
I was being asked to choose my starting position. This had to be directly in front of one of the three posts. I had, of course, selected it long before entering the arena. I quickly stood before the semblance of Nessa. In my possession I had the saber, which I now drew, preparing for battle. In addition I now had three blades; the extra one in my pocket was for the witch, even though I knew that behind the facade she projected, she had her own blades too. It was important for the maintenance of the magical illusion that the spectators see me hand her a blade.
The employment of magic such as cloaking or changing size were forbidden in the arena. I hoped the witch’s use of it would go undetected. Otherwise, I would instantly be declared the loser and my life—and those of the sisters—would be forfeit.
The judge signaled again by raising his arms. This time three Kobalos appeared. Together they walked toward the heavy grille and, in a well-rehearsed move, lifted it clear and carried it away, strutting self-importantly across the arena. Now the dark mouth of the pit was wide open.
The judge walked to each side of the triangular arena in turn and bowed to the spectators ostentatiously. His fourth bow was to me—to the one who was about to die. And with that, a low murmuring began, gathering slowly in volume.
I returned his bow and then straightened up again, maintaining eye contact until he looked away. Then he left the arena and raised his hand high above his head. In answer to that gesture, a loud trumpet blast was heard. It filled the auditorium, echoing from wall to wall.
At that sound, the several thousand spectators became absolutely silent again. At first, all that could be heard was the irritating sniffling of the youngest sister.
But then the haggenbrood spoke to me from the darkness of the pit.
There came a crepitation, a rhythmical clicking and snapping that
somehow seemed to be full of meaning; it was almost like speech, as if a withered old Kobalos had opened and closed his arthritic jaws while his bewildered mind searched the empty vault of his mind for fragments of memory. Then the noises sharpened into focus and became words that all present could hear and understand.
It spoke in Losta, the language used by Kobalos and humans. The voice had three distinct components, which, even as I listened, fused so fully into one that that they could not be separated; all three of the creature’s selves were speaking to me simultaneously, three mouths opening; one thinking mind teasing, taunting and testing the fiber of my resolve.
You are a haizda mage, it said. It is a long time since I last tasted one of your kind.
“Talk not of eating. You have had your last meal!” I cried. “Tonight I will carve your flesh into cubes and feed it to the carrion creatures in the sewers of the city. Then I will melt your bones in the furnaces so that they can be used for glue. Nothing will be wasted! You will prove a useful servant until the end!”
In response to my words the crowd gave a roar of approval. But I did not fool myself into thinking that they were now on my side. It was just the opposite—they were looking forward to my bloody defeat. But my words had given them hope that I would make a proper fight of it, that the spectacle would not be over quite as quickly as was the norm.
You speak boldly, but soon you will start to scream, haizda mage. I will bite off your arms and legs, and lick the stumps to stop the flow of blood. Then I will give you a slow, painful death so that all can delight in your screams. Finally I will slice the soft flesh of your purrai very slowly, savoring each morsel.
Hearing those words, all three captives became even more hysterical, straining against their ties in vain, but I did not reply. We had talked enough. Action would speak much louder than words.
Then came the second trumpet blast. In the following silence I heard the haggenbrood begin to move. As the creature dragged itself out of the pit, I registered a razor beak and two murderously sharp-clawed hands. Within seconds, the first of the selves had emerged and was regarding me with hostile, hungry eyes.
I had never been so close to the unconfined haggenbrood before, and it momentarily filled me with dismay. It was even more formidable than I had imagined. Despite the fact that each part of it had only four appendages and a long serpentine neck, they resembled nothing more than insects. Glistening as if smeared with some gelatinous substance, the sides and arms were covered in plates of bone like the ribbed armor worn in battle by Kobalos high mages. It gave off a new stench now. I smelled its hunger and eagerness for battle.
I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and gathered my courage. I was a haizda mage, an undefeated warrior. I would prevail.
Within moments, its three selves were crouched on all fours, ready to spring, but they could not do so until the blast of the third trumpet was heard.
I prepared myself to cut the bonds of the human witch and thrust the blade into her hands as she had asked. I was reaching for it, but suddenly, at the last moment, I changed my mind and left it in my pocket—with good reason, too.
CHAPTER XX
THE TAWNY DEATH
OUT of the previous trial encounters that I had studied, on only two occasions had the haggenbrood concentrated its efforts on its opponent, waiting to attack and devour the sacrificial purrai until after he was dead.
In both cases, the opponent had somehow managed to inflict the first wound on the haggenbrood. In neither case had the trial lasted long, but the move had succeeded in changing the pattern of conflict. If I could get it to concentrate solely on me, then the intervention of the witch would be an even more effective surprise.
As the sound of the third trumpet echoed from the walls of the auditorium, the twelve limbs of the haggenbrood extended, and the three selves each came up onto two legs, growling with battle fury. Then it attacked. I was the target, not the purrai.
But a fraction of a second later, I began to move, too—directly toward it. In my left hand I held Old Rowler’s saber; in my right, my favorite dagger.
Five strides, each faster than its predecessor, brought me to the edge of the pit and within cutting range of my multiselved opponent. The element of surprise was now mine. It had not expected me to be so bold. Teeth snapped toward me. Hot, foul breath was in my face. Talons missed my face by the thickness of a rat’s whisker.
Then it was my turn.
I attempted two blows, one fractionally after the other. The scything cut with my saber missed because of the amazingly rapid reaction of the self I’d targeted; my favorite dagger didn’t.
Its tip penetrated an eye. The crowd roared. Three throats gave a simultaneous delicious scream. Each self felt the pain. That was good to know.
Now the haggenbrood only had five eyes left.
Then I leaped across the pit, landing safely on the other side. My tail was parallel with my back and ready. I needed it for balance.
The selves scuttled toward me, jaws open wide, faces twisted in fury. But they didn’t leap over the pit. They kept to the edges—two on my left, one on my right. I waited until the very last moment, then did a backflip, returning to the opposite side. Quickly I ran toward the post where the witch in the shape of Nessa was secured and cut her bonds.
As I handed her the blade, a huge gasp went up from the crowd. This had never been done before, but there was no mention of it in the rules. It was perfectly legal.
We stood side by side facing the pit. Once again the three selves of the haggenbrood circled it slowly, five eyes signaling their fierce intent.
Sometimes in battle we act instinctively. The thrust of a blade, the avoidance of a spear, is automatic and faster than thought. One enters a trancelike condition in which the body moves of its own volition, far faster than any action can be planned.
So it was now. And there was something else: when I fought alongside the witch, it was as if we shared one consciousness. Whether she employed some human magic to achieve that, or whether, in the heat of battle, we somehow became transcendent, elevated to a fighting ferocity where our two bodies were controlled by one joint mind, I didn’t know. But it seemed to me that the way we two fought was similar to the haggenbrood’s coordinated selves.
My concentration was total, and I no longer heard the baying of the excited crowd. I fought with Grimalkin in a pocket of silence.
One touch was enough to cause kirrhos, the tawny death, but as we attacked, taking the battle to the haggenbrood, its claws missed my face by inches. I felt its collective corrosive breath singe the skin of my face, but our blades flashed and the creature screamed. We cut it, and it bled.
I was aware of Grimalkin’s cuts and thrusts as if they were my own; no doubt she too felt my strikes at the enemy that confronted us. It was as if I were floating just above my body, watching us do battle below. I remember briefly wondering how the fight appeared to the spectators on their tiers of seats. Surely they would not see it as I did?
For how could the purra Nessa fight with such consummate ferocity and skill? Somehow the witch must be cloaking that from their gaze, making it seem as if the brunt of the battle was all mine. In truth, it was hard for me to judge which of us made the greater contribution. As I said, we were like one. My arms were her arms; her blades were my blades. It was a pleasure to share combat with such a warrior.
Within moments. two of the haggenbrood’s selves had been cut to pieces, their body parts scattered across the arena floor. Victory was almost ours, but then, with victory almost in sight, there was a small reversal of fortune.
The last of the enemy selves broke away from us and scuttled straight toward Susan, the elder of the two bound sisters. This took me completely by surprise; the creature had hitherto shown no interest in the captives, who had their eyes shut in terror. The creature was defeated and could not have achieved anything by such an act unless it could slay both purrai—but it would not have time for that. Perhaps it was sheer s
pitefulness.
I intercepted it, slaying it on the spot by burying a blade deep within its left eye. It twitched, jerked, and went into a death spasm. Seconds later all life had left its body. We had defeated the haggenbrood. I had won!
My unexpected victory caused an uproar that came close to a riot. More than a hundred stewards rushed in, and immediately set about the foolish spectators with clubs and maces. I watched heads break and bleed as the stewards laid about them, clearly enjoying their task. Soon more blood flowed there than had ever graced the combat area itself. It was enjoyable to watch, and I savored every moment. But all too soon the unruly spectators had been forced back into their seats.
After order had been restored and the bodies removed, the trial judge climbed up into the arena and formally announced my win. He did not look happy at my unexpected and unorthodox triumph. I could see that he was struggling to conceal his shock and dismay. But what could he do other than confirm my victory?
This time he did not read aloud. No doubt he had prepared only one statement—that announcing my expected defeat and death. But he spoke slowly and ponderously, as if weighing each phrase in his mind before uttering it.
“The haizda mage who stands before you has triumphed in combat and proved his case beyond refute. Both the Shaiksa brotherhood and the triumvirate must acknowledge and abide by this outcome. He is free to leave the city and may take his purrai with him. They are now officially his lawful property. That is the law and none are above it.”
All that remained was for me to seize my property, return to my quarters, and leave as soon as possible. I cut the youngest purra, Bryony, free, but when I approached the stake to which Susan was bound, I suddenly realized what had happened.
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