"Look, barbarian," Chainer said. "A show of faith. Your brother is competing regularly in one of the minor pits to the north. Kamahl is alive and well."
Jeska paused. "What's he doing up north?"
Chainer relaxed but didn't lower his weapon. "Chasing after treasure."
"You mean I've been halfway across Otaria looking for him, and he's not even lost?"
"Seems that way."
"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"For Fiers's sake, Jeska," Balthor yelled. He was jabbing at the dragonfly with his staff, but he seemed more concerned about preserving the staff than he was about harming the insect. "Stop babbling and finish this! Did you forget the rules of this thrice-damned farce?" Chainer saw realization crowd the anger out of Jeska's eyes. She let out an ear-splitting war cry and heaved her baton at Chainer's head. While he was distracted, Jeska stuck her gauntleted arm straight out and sighted down it like a crossbow at the black pennant. She drew a smooth red stone from her pouch and touched it to the gauntlet between the horns. She spoke one word, and the horns sparked, igniting a thin stream of fire that stretched between them like a clothesline. Jeska drew the red stone back and prepared to release it toward the flag.
"Wait," Chainer said. The gauntlet was a kind of slingshot, and if he didn't act quickly, Jeska would win the match before Chainer had gotten anything out of her. Chainer sent a collar chain slamming into Jeska's wrist and jerked her off-balance, so that she couldn't target the flag.
Pulling Jeska away from her first target was a passably sound pit strategy, but Chainer immediately realized the flaw in his execution. As close as he was to her, once he pulled her off balance the only thing Jeska could fire her slingshot at was him. Jeska barked out an incoherent warning as the red stone flew. In the eight feet of space between Chainer's eyes and the oncoming stone, the missile transformed from a shiny, glasslike bead into a glowing ball of concentrated heat. Chainer's hands proved to be faster than his brain as he jerked his arms up to protect his face.
His eyes slammed shut as a blast of heat burned his eyebrows away. He was temporarily deafened by the explosion, and the pain in his right arm was agonizing. The impact blew him back on his heels, but he didn't stagger or fall.
"Held my ground, gods damn it," he heard his own voice say. He started to sway, his eyes still squinted and unfocused. He could barely make out the old dwarf and the brass girl as they stood, side by side, staring over at him. They were curious, but they were keeping a safe distance.
Confused, Chainer looked at the flag, still untouched. He was helpless. Why weren't they finishing him off or climbing the mound?
"Do you give, Cabalist?" Chainer could see her shouting, cupping her hands around her mouth, but he could barely hear her. He recognized her tone, however, as that of someone who knows the fight is over even if nobody else does.
Chainer reached for his dagger, and a fresh wave of searing pain dropped him to his knees. His left hand seemed fine, but his right felt thick and vague and clumsy. Chainer held his arm up to get a better look at his hand.
"Or not," he said out loud. His right arm ended in a charred, smoking stump. His hand was completely gone, and his forearm now ended two inches below the elbow.
"Damn," Chainer said. He turned his dazed eyes on Balthor and Jeska. He looked back at his mangled arm. With an amiable smile, Chainer raised his arm and his stump over his head.
"I give," he said evenly. Then he collapsed face- first onto the arena floor. The last thing he heard before he passed out was the sound of the horn signaling the end of the match.
CHAPTER 14
Llawan's personal transport was a ninety-foot- long leviathan that had been specially bred, engineered, and enchanted to serve as a combination warship and yacht. Its insides were vast and hollow, with compartments that could accommodate air breathers as well as sea creatures. Its hide was thick and durable, and its head was hard and bony enough to ram through the sides of any wooden vessel. Specially trained handlers sat in the fore of the creature's skull and steered the ship based on orders from the captain and the view from a huge scrying screen.
The creature had clear crystalline chambers grafted onto its sides and back where passengers could dine, chat, and enjoy the view. These cabins could be removed or, in times of emergency, broken off to protect the empress and her armed guards inside. Though it had no offensive capabilities other than its ramming skull, the creature was fast enough to escape even the swiftest pursuers.
Veza eyed the clear wall that separated her cabin from the frigid depths of the ocean. She couldn't drown, and they weren't deep enough for the pressure to be a danger, but she was still uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because she knew that the passengers in the external compartments were considered expendable in case of attack.
The closer the craft got to Aboshan's territory, the more somber the mood became. Nobles who had ignored Veza since coming on board suddenly felt the need to chat with her, to hear what she knew, to clutch at any straws she might offer. When they found she knew even less than they did, they moved on without another word. Veza was the only legged creature on board, at Llawan's continued request.
Excuse me, honored guests. The voice was painfully loud, and echoed in Veza's head. Everyone on board seemed to have received the same amplified thought message.
The Empress Llawan requests your immediate presence in the forward viewing pod. She will make a short address there. Please hurry.
The gentle sense of forward motion eased, then stopped. The ship was no longer swimming toward Aboshan. There were murmurs and a few anguished questions, but no one knew what was in store for them. Were they turning around? Had they been met at the border by Aboshan's navy?
The tubes that connected the external cabins were only wide enough for one humanoid at a time, so Veza and the other guests waited patiently to join the single-file line to the front of the craft. Veza was one of the last ones into the forward cabin. She stepped up to the doorway, which shimmered like the surface of a pool. She cleared her lungs and walked into the flooded chamber. Magic kept the water from running out into the hallway and flooding the next compartments. Llawan floated at the front of the chamber in complete regalia of scepter, skull-cap, and imperial robes. If everyone on board seemed anxious, it was because Llawan had commandeered all the confidence. Floating beside her was a small cephalid male with a hood pulled up over his head. His face was impassive, his eyes were closed. Llawan raised her forelimb for silence, and the room fell quiet.
"Noble guests and loyal friends," she said. "We are mere moments away from a most impressive sight. We had hoped to address you before the event began, but we fear we shall have to wait. Please remain silent. And… watch." Llawan swam back a stroke, and presented the forward view with a grandiose wave of her tentacle.
The guests watched in hushed awe. The ocean stretched out before them, a vast and uniform curtain illuminated only by the leviathan's lights. A full minute ticked by, and nothing happened.
Then across the vast expanse ahead of them came a deep, booming crack. Veza felt it all over her body as the water around her vibrated. Some of the more sensitive cephalids keened in pain as their delicate skin reacted to the trembling sound. A pinpoint of light flashed in the distance and grew, taking up more and more of the view as it came closer and closer. It was a frothy light, blue in color, and it boiled like a cloud of steam.