His current return to the pits had been gradual but steady. In his first bout, an afternoon show that few spectators attended, he tore through a team of slow-moving zombie wildcats with just his chains and dagger. When the pit bosses released a maddened coal- bellied razorback at an evening exhibition two days later, Chainer kept away from it and spun his censer until he produced the snake-thing he had mastered earlier. It tore the smoking, red-hot boar into little bits and then swallowed the pieces whole. The snake-thing turned on Chainer with murder in its eyes, but Chainer quickly collared it once more and brought it to heel.
With each match he was making a name for himself. People were starting to notice his eclectic style, and more and more people filed in to watch him fight. Most dementia casters in the pits were armed only to keep their creations in line. Even the ones who knew how to fight were casters first and warriors second. Chainer could engage his opponents directly from the outset and then surprise them with an unexpected monster, or he could send something nasty at them to test their abilities and then exploit any weaknesses with his chain and dagger. Word started to spread that the young dementia caster was undefeated since returning to the pits. The quality of Chainer's competition increased, and Chainer's control and winning streak increased tight along with them.
When he wasn't in the pits he was with Skellum, meditating and breathing and mastering his own dementia space. Each creature he faced in the pits left an impression on his eyes, his ears, his memory. At night, those impressions churned and bubbled in Chainer's sleeping head, and when he awoke, there were more nightmare denizens of the world with the black sand and the hole in the sky. Some nights he would retire after dinner and lie in a deathlike state until midday, and others he spent in a fitful, restless state of agitation. No matter how long he slept or how deeply, he always dreamed of monsters. The largest of his pets was still only slightly larger than human, but Skellum was pleased with his creature's durability, detail, and speed. His mentor was also pleased that Chainer was following his instructions to the letter. Skellum worked him hard to keep him grounded in the day-today events in Cabal City, and he seemed satisfied with Chainer's progress. The old man had not mentioned the mental strain of dementia casting in weeks. The only objection
Skellum had to Chainer's success was that his pupil was obliged to abandon the designation "apprentice" in favor of "dementia caster."
"I didn't train a mere caster. Casters work in the mud and the blood of the pits," he huffed. "I train dementists. Dementists do important, detailed work for the First. And we know all the best people."
Chainer laughed at the old snob and tried to smear some of the dirt from the pits on his hat.
"Let me be a caster for a few more months," he said. "I like it."
Skellum blocked Chainer's grimy hand with his cape. "Don't touch me, you clod. I have a dinner engagement at the manor tonight."
"With some of the best people, no doubt."
"Indeed. And you'd do well to wipe that smirk off along with the dirt. You're invited, too."
"Is it the First?" Chainer said, suddenly interested. "Is there news of the Mirari?"
Skellum scowled. "No, then yes." When Chainer looked confused, he went on. "The Master of the Games wants a sit-down with you and me to plan for this weekend's event. Apparently, there's a couple of tough nuts coming in from the mountains, and he wants you to attend to them personally." Chainer wrinkled his nose. "Does that mean I have to baby-sit another barbarian?" His eyes brightened. "Or has Kamahl returned? I'd like to place a few bets on him, make some extra silver." He tugged absently at his ragged clothing. "I could use a new suit."
"That's my boy," Skellum said happily. "I'll take you along to my tailor. Never forget worldly delights, my boy. They should be the reason you fight so hard."
"Master," Chainer said dramatically. "You mean that serving the Cabal isn't reward enough?"
Skellum narrowed his eyes. "You have always had a smart mouth," he said. "And no, service is not its own reward. Neither the First nor Kuberr himself have ever said otherwise. We serve the
Cabal, but the Cabal also serves you. That's how it works. That's why it works. Remember it."
Chainer nodded. "Right now, I'm feeling pretty well served. And after I clean up and join you for dinner, I'll feel even better."
"Agreed," Skellum said. "Meet me in the master's parlor in an hour. He'll meet us there."
Chainer sat in stunned silence as the Master of the Games prattled on. She was different from the master who had directed the games that had been interrupted by the dragon attack. No one spoke of him or his absence, and Chainer decided not to ask.
He shot an aggravated look over at Skellum. His mentor seemed calm and collected, but Chainer could tell he was not happy, either. Chainer waited for the new master to take a breath. When she did, he broke in.
"So you're saying I have to lose." He had never been asked to throw a match before. He was finding that he didn't like it.
"Not in so many words," the master said. She was a tall woman, with a tight, pinched face and her hair pulled tight against her skull. "We want the Cabal to make a good showing. But this pair has worked their way up through all the lesser pits between here and the mountains. They haven't lost yet, but we haven't been able to give them what they want."
"What do they want?" Skellum asked. He was keeping a close eye on Chainer, watching for any sign that his pupil was losing his temper.
"Oh, she's looking for her brother or something. The last she heard, he had come to fight in the pits. She and her dwarf keep beating the best we can throw at them, but so far nobody knows who she's actually looking for, or if we know where he is. He might be dead. He probably went into debt and is working it off in the side pits or in the flesh mills. Most barbarians can't resist betting on themselves to win." She smiled unpleasantly.
Chainer kept his voice neutral, but he saw Skellum note his renewed interest. "Barbarian?"
"Yes," the Master of the Games checked her roster. "Apparently, both brother and sister are from a tribe in the Pardic mountains. She's got an elderly dwarf as her partner. They seem to have worked together before, because they make an excellent team. Undefeated so far." She raised her eyebrows at Chainer. "Just like you. Think of the crowds, little brother. The Cabal's best against the toughest thing ever to come out of the hills this year."
"I think I know her brother," Chainer said.
The Master of the Games smiled. "That must be why the First gave me your names. I wasn't going to mention it unless I had to, but this directive comes from the First himself. You are to fight the pair from the mountains. The First wants them to get the information they've already earned, but we can't just hand it to them. So we're going to let you square off against them, put on a good show, and then let them walk away feeling victorious."
Chainer looked at Skellum again. He smiled. "What's in it for me?" he asked. Skellum fiddled with his hat to hide his smile of pride.
"For you, little brother? You get to do your duty for the First and the Cabal. What else did you expect?"
"He expects compensation," Skellum broke in. "His undefeated record has value. You're asking him to throw it away. It's only fair that he get something in return."