"You shut it," Skellum said, but his rage was mellowing. "I'll be frank with you Chainer, this dementia training I'm guiding you through can really scramble your brains. A few of my ex-students are in there," he gestured back over his shoulder, "attending the First. And they don't have skulls etched on their shirts, either. Brains non-functional."
"Well, then, I shouldn't have any trouble. The way you talk, I'm like that now."
"You haven't heard me talk yet, little brother," Skellum flicked Chainer's ear maliciously. "I wouldn't let you speak to a brain-dead flunky, much less become one. They're too good for you. Too efficient and tidy."
Chainer laughed and ducked another of Skellum's flicks.
"Ahh, to nine hells with you," Skellum said. "The First will have his way, and it will work out for the best, and you'll laugh at me all the while for being concerned. But do me one favor, my pupil."
"Anything, Master."
Skellum spun his hat and caught it with a gap in front of his face.
"Watch and learn. Do not go into the pits. Don't pick or accept a quarrel so you can go into the pits. And don't burn any Dragon's Blood without me." Chainer didn't answer right away, and Skellum glared at him. "Do you understand?"
Chainer wrinkled his nose. "Okay. But I want you to show me more before the games start."
Skellum nodded. "A lot more. More smoke, more spinning, more meditation. Starting right now."
Chainer tried to hide the secret thrill that ran up his spine. He could feel a whole horde of formidable pit fighters in his mind, just waiting for him to give them form. It would surely be worth a few days as the First's spy in order to stand at Skellum's side as a dementist in service to the Cabal. It was one more step toward the destiny that had been promised to him by the Mirari.
CHAPTER 7
Chainer watched the big barbarian, Kamahl, come through the entrance gate. He was some kind of local hero among the tribes who lived high up in the mountains. Chainer had heard the upper reaches of the Pardic mountains were thick with dwarves, but the big, bald barbarian towered over even the half-troll door guard.
The pit fighter in Chainer quickly surveyed the potential challenge. Kamahl had several ragged scars along his shoulders and chest, where the skin hadn't so much healed as it had closed and then puckered like wet leather. Chainer watched him stalk his way through the crowd, maneuvering his heavy weaponry around others' like an expert. He wasn't sure what to make of the warrior, but Chainer quickly determined to never take him lightly.
He miserably patted his hip, where his black chain should have been, and his shoulder, which should have held a holstered knuckle dagger. The First had sent word early this morning via messenger. As his personal representative, Chainer was obliged to leave his fighting weapons in Skellum's care. The First did not wish to antagonize his guest, Kamahl the barbarian, and so Chainer was to leave his chain and his dagger behind as a gesture of hospitality. The note came with a long, ceremonial dagger for Chainer to wear on his hip. It was traditional, the note said.
Chainer pointed out to Skellum that in addition to being ceremonial, the dagger was also too heavy, had runes carved clean through its blade, and was entirely useless for anything but stirring gruel. The First had not offered any alternatives, however, and Chainer put on the dagger.
So here he was, representing the First and the Cabal without his weapons and without any coherent instructions. As far as he understood, he was supposed to linger around Kamahl and make sure that the big hunk of meat didn't get lost on his way to winning the Mirari and taking it away with him.
Chainer watched Kamahl a few moments as the barbarian took in one of the preliminary bouts. He was clearly not impressed, and Chainer couldn't blame him. The Master of the Games was either slipping, or he had been ordered to put on a dreary show. There was no other way such a clown act would be allowed to continue. As the First's representative, Chainer thought, I should step in here. I should steer the mighty muscle head away from the cheap seats and help him find the Master of the Games.
"My job reeks," Chainer said out loud, but he approached the barbarian, stepping up to him just as the larger man was shaking his head.
"Don't give up hope just yet, sir," Chainer tried to sound helpful, like one of the shills who roamed the casino floor.
The barbarian looked Chainer over, much as Chainer had gauged Kamahl moments ago. He didn't seem to like what he saw.
"The name is Chainer." He offered his hand. He motioned his head toward the awkward show in the nearby pit, "The pair are partners against Lieutenant Kirtar." Chainer wrinkled his nose. "A champion from the northern Order."
The barbarian brightened a little. Of course, Chainer thought. A wild warrior from the mountains would certainly share Chainer's dislike of the Order.
"Kamahl, here to win the tournament."
Chainer raised an eyebrow, but once more reminded himself that this was his mission. "You'll want to see the Master of the Games, then."
Chainer exhaled and began to relax. Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible after all. He led Kamahl to the Master of the Games through an admittedly confusing sprawl of practice pits, betting circles, impromptu grudge matches, and gawking yokels. He played tour guide by pointing out the Mer Ambassador Laquatus, who got an excellent barbarian grunt of disapproval, and Laquatus's bodyguard Turg. Kamahl looked at the big amphibian warily, but his face betrayed none of his thoughts.
They paused to watch the end of the embarrassment that was Kirtar's match, then Chainer brought Kamahl to the Master of the Games. The master winked at Chainer and started giving Kamahl a hard time about letting the barbarian into the tournament. Kamahl didn't seem to notice he was being slighted. He was too busy staring at the Mirari.
The Master of the Games reminded Chainer of Roup: thick, stupid, and clumsy. He didn't know if the master's wink had been a signal of the assumed camaraderie between Cabalists, or if it meant the master was hassling Kamahl on the First's order, just as Chainer was accompanying him around the games. He didn't like it in either case. Much to Chainer's delight, Kamahl didn't like the master's attitude either. In fact, he didn't like it so much that he casually tossed what appeared to be a red-hot copper coin through a nearby wall with the force of an exploding cannonball.
Chainer laughed at the master's bewildered face as the rubble smoked and the dust settled. Kamahl smiled mischievously at him.
This, Chainer said to himself, will definitely be more fun than I thought. His excitement cooled as Kamahl advanced on him.
"Look," the barbarian said, "what do you want? I appreciate your help, but I'm busy, and I don't need a sidekick."
Chainer darkened. "Then it's just as well that you don't have one. I'm here on business."
"We don't have any business. We just met."
Chainer took a breath. "My friend, I have to admit, I don't understand the point of this any more than you do. But this is Cabal City, and things happen for a reason here. I can at least explain that."
"Okay, Cabalist. Explain."
"Do you have tribal elders up in Pardic?"
"Elders? Sure."
"And do you obey them?"
Kamahl laughed harshly. "Only when it suits us, and only when they're right." He shrugged. "Sometimes not even then."
"We revere our elders here. We've all sworn oaths to obey our superior Cabalists. And the First himself, the lord and master of the entire Cabal, wishes me to learn from you. I intend to respect his wishes."
"I don't want a student."
"And I've already got a mentor. I was hoping we could teach each other something. As if we'd been randomly assigned as pit partners." Chainer locked eyes with Kamahl. "I can help you."