"And don't think he's pleased by it," Skellum said. "The First liked dealing with Pianna. She was a rarity among Order officers. She kept her word, even when she gave it to hedonistic infidel criminals like ourselves."
"Is the Order broken?" Chainer could not keep the hopeful joy out of his voice. He nodded to Skellum, and his mentor tossed a copper coin into the air. Chainer snapped the artificial arm forward and created a lashing chain that struck the coin cleanly and bent it in double.
"Not really," Skellum said. "Bretath is still the highest-ranking officer on Otaria. Pianna's absence creates a power vacuum in this region, however, and there are a number of lesser officers looking to fill her shoes."
"Do we at least get to bury the bird-man who stole Kamahl's victory?" Chainer practiced sending short lengths of chain out of his metal palm and drawing them back in again.
"Kirtar? Yes. Dead, dead, dead. In fact, if he were still alive, which he isn't, he would have been named Pianna's replacement by acclamation."
The air around Chainer was still thick with smoke. He concentrated, shuddered, and positioned his hands for a casting. A two-headed wolf sprang out from between his hands, its tail a spitting cobra that hissed back at Skellum. Chainer nodded, waved, and the wolf evaporated in mid-growl.
"The arm seems to be working fine now." Chainer flexed it and examined his own wiggling fingers. "I've got to get used to the new feel of things, but I can do all the things I did before."
"Let's hope you can't point projectile weapons at your own body anymore," his mentor said. "That's a skill you can do without." Skellum came forward and held out his hands. "Let me see."
Chainer presented the arm, and Skellum looked it over, poking his fingernail into what would be muscles and pressure points on a flesh and blood arm. Except for the fact that it was made of metal and the fingers came to needle-sharp points, Chainer's arm was extremely lifelike. Between the steel gray of the arm itself and the polished black chrome of the brace he wore to keep it in place, it looked like he was wearing a basic warrior's gauntlet instead of a replacement limb.
Affixing the arm had been torture. The arm, which the healer kept calling a "golem limb," had to be magically infused with part of Chainer's life force before it could be grafted on. The golem arm had then been fused to the remaining bones and flesh of his stump, and despite the pain, Chainer was obliged to sit perfectly still for three hours while the graft took root.
"You can scream if you want to," the healer had said, but Chainer denied him that particular pleasure. Cabal healers were well known for their ability to get maimed or dying people back on their feet and into the pits. They were not known for their comforting bedside manner.
Skellum released Chainer's arm and Chainer looked it over again himself. Cabal healers were also not known for their aesthetic sensibilities. Chainer had seen some hideous patch jobs in the pits. People with lobster claws instead of hands, legs fused or amputated to make room for stingers or spinnerets, heads that in no way matched the bodies they were attached to. Chainer counted himself lucky to get his new limb. It'd be just like Skellum to stick him with some dead bastard's reanimated arm. Zombie replacement limbs were far cheaper, easier to graft, and quicker to master than the metal one he was sporting. They tended to rot and stink, however, and had to be replaced at least twice a year.
Chainer grunted suspiciously. His mentor was not above childishly taunting him to put him back in his place. But Chainer had missed a lot while he was convalescing, and Skellum had so far been stingy with details. Chainer had felt something shift each time the Mirari changed hands, but his senses weren't refined enough to tell him as much as the Cabal's informants could.
"It looks good, Chainer. And try not to lose this one. Real arms are expensive enough, but the cost of replacing this one would be ruinous." He shook his head sadly. "You just don't have the silver."
Chainer saw him sneak another look at the sun, then suddenly say, "All right. Ask me what the surprise is."
Chainer had spent enough time with Skellum to become used to his mentor's rapid changes in subject. Politely, he said, "Master Skellum, what is the surprise?"
Skellum waited, listening. Then the warning bell from the guard tower that overlooked Cabal City's port started ringing, audible even at Skellum's academy six blocks away.
"The surprise is… Fulla and the Mirari are arriving now, right on schedule. And your barbarian friend has been in the city for the past two days, waiting for them to return." He produced a small black towel from under his cape and offered it to Chainer. "Why don't you wipe off some of that sweat you've worked up, so you can go greet them?"
Chainer snagged the towel on the end of his pointed fingers. Careful not to dig the sharp tips into his face, he wiped his brow and cheeks with the towel and dropped it lightly onto the floor. "Thank you, Master. Are you coming to the docks?" "No, I'm going to see the First. Once he receives Fulla and the
Mirari, he wants to see me and the Master of the Games. Once he's done with us, he wants to see you."
"How long have I got?"
Skellum shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe an hour, maybe less."
Chainer took a step toward the door, but stopped. "Am I dismissed, Master?"
"You are dismissed."
Chainer took one last second to lash a chain into the discarded towel and haul it in to his hand. With a bow and a flourish, he offered the towel to Skellum from his artificial arm.
"Thank you again, Master," he said. "For everything."
"Go on," Skellum took the towel. "Just try not to lose any limbs between here and the docks."
Just as he knew where to go to get the best view of the incoming pit fighters, Chainer also knew where to go to watch ships arrive in Cabal City harbor. He sat in a second-story warehouse window as Fulla's travel fish swam up. He felt almost smug, high above the small crowd that had gathered to gawk at the amazing creature, with the best view on the pier.
The fish was whale sized, with transparent skin and organs. The only visible internal structures were its bones. A small dark-haired woman rode just inside the thing's stomach, leaning against its gullet on her elbows as she watched the fish swim into port. Her sword arm was scarred and slightly malformed, almost clublike. She wore a thick, short gladius on her hip and carried three daggers on the outside of her vest. Her skin was pale, her hair was short and unkempt, but her boots were polished and her coat well tailored. Apart from an extremely wild glint in her eyes, she carried herself at least as elegantly as Skellum did.
Behind Fulla stood Ambassador Laquatus. He looked much the same as he did the last time Chainer saw him, only now he was not so smug or haughty. The voyage looked as if it had been a hard one for him. From the way he kept glaring at Fulla, Chainer guessed Laquatus would like nothing better than to dive straight to the bottom of the ocean with Fulla in tow and leave her there.
Fulla's fish bobbed on the water near the pier for a moment. Inside of it, Fulla stood and then backed up a few paces. She got a running start, then jumped and waved her hands simultaneously. The fish faded from view while Fulla was in midair. Her leap carried her safely onto the docks, but the unprepared ambassador was dropped unceremoniously into the sea. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, but it quickly died as Laquatus surfaced and angrily called for assistance. The dock was thick with Cabalists. A handful stepped forward to haul the ambassador out of the water, but the majority hovered close to Fulla. Her reputation and her eerie, intense stare kept anyone from touching her, however, and they cleared a path as she walked toward the First's manor. Dripping, sputtering, and largely ignored, Laquatus fell in behind her.