"The Mer Empire is the sea, " Laquatus said, "and Cabal City is a port city. We have always had much in common."
The First scowled slightly but went on. "But not enough in common, unfortunately. I was just describing how the crusat raids have begun again and how disruptive they are to business."
"The Mer Empire is always concerned about maintaining the flow of commerce between the land and the depths."
The First waited patiently for Laquatus to finish. "But not concerned enough," he added.
"You have to understand, Patriarch," Laquatus said, "the Empire has a long, solid relationship with the Order. They aren't like you. They don't have a single ruler who speaks for them all with a single voice. While one division prepares for crusat, the others are merely trying to rebuild. Morally and economically, I cannot turn my back on the entire Order."
Chainer choked back a snort when the Ambassador said, "morally," and he saw the shadow of a smile on the First's lips, too.
"I would never ask you to do something so drastic as to turn your back on the entire Order," the First said. "Indeed, even we don't want the Order to be wiped out entirely. Do we, Chainer?"
"No, Pater," Chainer's tone belied his words. "Not at all."
"We simply want there to be peace between our two groups. Civilized people don't kill each other because of philosophical differences. I was hoping I could convince the ambassador to join us in censuring the Order. Lodging official protests over the crusat. Demanding restitution from Bretath, if he ever returns to this region. Perhaps, Ambassador" the First said, "it isn't your relationship with the Order that needs to be solidified. It's your relationship with the Cabal."
Laquatus smiled greedily. "You have something in mind, Patriarch?" "I do. You recently lost your champion, did you not? And while it served you well, and was formidable in combat, it was never as… refined as a man of your stature requires."
"Turg was an excellent jack," Laquatus said. "He is sorely missed." "What if my young dementist here were to provide you with a new champion? As I say, he's one of our best."
"A most generous offer," Laquatus said, "but if we really want to strengthen the bond between us, might I suggest something even more valuable?" With the exception of the First's attendants, everyone in the room knew what he meant. Chainer's fists clenched.
"The Mirari has already been slated as the grand prize in the Cabal City Games, to be held three months from now. My apologies, Ambassador. It is no longer mine to offer. But please," he gestured at Chainer to step up, "accept a new familiar from us. As a gesture of good faith."
Chainer came forward. "I can make you forget the frog," he said. "Tell me what you need, and the Cabal will produce it."
Laquatus looked him over once more. "It must be powerful. Unbeatable."
"Then it will be."
"It must be obedient. Minimal intelligence, highly developed instincts."
"Then it will be."
"It must be mobile. Able to accompany me wherever I go, above ground or below the sea." "It will be."
Laquatus looked to the First. "When?"
The First smiled. "Regrettably, Chainer is unavailable for the next week or so. But as soon as he returns, he will be at your disposal."
Chainer watched the merman building a timeline in his head. "Can't he start now?"
"Alas, no. He is still recovering from injuries suffered in the pits."
Laquatus finished calculating. "A week, then. With your permission, Patriarch, I will stay on in the guest house and continue to enjoy the sights and sounds of Cabal City while I wait for the boy to heal."
"Outstanding. Now, if you will excuse us, Chainer has a report to make."
Laquatus was slow to leave, but the hand attendants gathered around him and firmly led him to the door. Chainer knew he could speak freely, for the First's attendants always escorted his guests all the way out into the street. Laquatus was just the kind to try to linger behind in order to eavesdrop. He shuddered, overcome by a fit of revulsion for the fawning politician.
Once Laquatus was gone, the First spoke to Chainer casually. Not as an intimate, but as a peer. "I'm sorry to call you away from the pits, Caster Chainer, but the ambassador needed seeing to. It was not difficult to arrange for your replacement."
"I am your obedient child, Pater." Chainer suddenly smelled Dragon's Blood. The First watched him with mild interest as the boy began sniffing the air.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, Pater. It's just that…" He sniffed again, absently looking behind him, above him, all around. "Something's… pulling me. Do you smell incense?"
"This room is scented daily."
"No, I mean… this room reeks of Dragon's Blood. Can't you smell it?"
"Perhaps you should take a moment to gather yourself, Caster Chainer. You're not making sense."
Chainer cried out and slammed the palms of his hands into his forehead. He smelled the smoke, he felt the black sand beneath his feet, he saw the mustard sky…
"Chainer," Skellum's voice said. It was high pitched, buzzing with distortion. It cut through Chainer's head like a blade.
"Skellum?" Chainer said, as the First's hand attendant slapped him for the third time. Chainer broke the man's collarbone with his metal fist, shoved him back, and bolted for the door. Two brawny killers leaped out of the shadows and took him down before he went four steps.
"Don't harm him." The First spoke loudly but calmly. "Mazeura," he whispered, hissing the secret name and freezing Chainer in mid-struggle. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Skellum," Chainer said. He was immobile beneath the weight of the First's guards and the power of his secret name on the First's lips.
The lead wolf-monkey stopped five feet from Skellum and bared its teeth. Behind it, the rest of the troop chattered and pounded the ground. Skellum himself stood with his hand raised, as if in greeting. With a start, the dementist master came back to the pit and saw the wolf-monkeys closing in. The crowd booed his complete lack of motion.
Skellum stopped his hat with a gap in front. The leader was tensing for its charge. Skellum smiled amiably.
"Animal," he said. The leader snarled, then dove for Skellum's face. Before its slashing fangs could latch on, however, the vortex in Skellum's head boomed and a smoking comet erupted out of his hat and crashed into the wolf-monkey. It was a near-formless horror, all shadows and teeth, but it devoured the lead mandrill whole in a single bite. It hissed, and snapped at another wolf-monkey. Then it began to fade.
"How are you doing, Skellum?" Fulla was bedeviling Major Teroh with a pair of wolf-headed spiders and was beating Sgt. Baankis back with her gladius. She crowed happily and unleashed a zombie centaur at the justicar. Yewma cried out in horror when she saw Fulla's latest contribution, and the wolf- monkeys reoriented on the caster.
"Better now," Skellum said, the sing-song quality of his voice resonating in his own head. "I've got a lot on my mind, however." He spat out four small comets in rapid succession, each transforming in midair. While the pack of wolf-monkeys howled and gibbered toward Fulla, Skellum sent a quartet of man-sized millipedes scurrying after them.
Skellum saw that he had a moment's respite and let his mind drift away from the pits.
"Chainer?" he called. "Forgive me, my boy, but I need you to see this."
Chainer swooned and found himself standing in the pits. There was a match going on, a busy one with monkeys and toy soldiers and dementia castings and glowing knights. Chainer's hat spun before his eyes. He blinked. His hat?
"Skellum!" Fulla called. She was tossing out monsters left and right, but she was slowly being overwhelmed.