Chainer saw a few white-robed Samites milling around as well, looking for survivors to care for. There were also two or three black-robed Cabal healers, who were known in the pits as "leeches." The two groups took pains to avoid each other and communicated only through cold stares. Azza sniffed and whined. She bounded forward, almost tossing Chainer off.
Kamahl was lying face-down in the center of a charred and smoking circle. His sword was missing, and he had taken a heavy blow to the right side of his face. His right hand clutched at a stab wound in his stomach that was filling his tunic with blood. His hands, feet, arms, and face were horribly burned.
Chainer paused only long enough to stare at the Samite healer approaching them. She was tall and willowy with a concerned air, and she offered her hand out to Chainer. "I am Nibahn. I am a Samite. I can help him, brother. I can help all who suffer." She started to kneel next to Kamahl, but Azza stopped her with a growl.
"The Cabal is here," Chainer called, and one of the black-robed healers answered. Nibahn shook her head sadly, eyes pleading, but Chainer drew his dagger and began idly cleaning his fingernails. Azza growled again, and the Samite withdrew.
The Cabal healer bowed to Chainer and Azza. He had a wide black stripe tattooed over his left eye from his hairline to his jawline and a wispy black mustache. The healer was an oily little rat-faced toad, but Chainer trusted him because he knew how to motivate him.
With a wave, Chainer whipped a collar around the healer's ankles. He yanked the healer's feet out from under him, and Azza stalked forward, so that her huge head was directly over the healer's, and her great, snorting breaths puffed into his face.
"Take this barbarian inside," Chainer said, "and keep him alive. Do nothing apart from keep him alive and comfortable until I come for him." He leaned over the healer himself, almost overbalancing, and his eyes went black. "Nothing. Do you understand?"
The healer sniveled, his eyes darting between Azza and Chainer. "I do, big brother."
Azza turned and carried Chainer away. He saw the healer rise and motion for his assistants. He clearly heard the healer say, "Gently, very gently."
CHAPTER 20
Laquatus stood in the First's private chamber at the head of a small group of Cabalists and dignitaries. They had all been summoned in the wake of the raid, ostensibly to testify about their whereabouts and report what they had seen. The Mer ambassador recognized a simple call for scapegoats, however.
He was unconcerned for himself. His contact with Major Teroh had been completely innocent, or at least, absolutely secret. Even if the First knew he had been in contact with the Order, Laquatus felt secure. There was nothing in the content of his exchanges with Teroh that was incriminating. If Teroh read a hidden meaning into the ambassador's words, Laquatus could easily feign shock and could well afford to make restitution. Besides, he was certain the First understood the political necessity of keeping in touch with one's enemies as well as one's allies, especially in these troubled times.
The captain of the city watch standing next to him was not so confident. The man had the common, earthy stink of fear all over him, and with good reason. The city's defenses were virtually nonexistent during the opening minutes of the raid, and so far no one had come up with an explanation of how the Order was able to penetrate so far into the city so quickly. There were even rumors that the captain had betrayed the Cabal and given the Order free access to the heart of the city, but Laquatus knew for a fact they were false. He surreptitiously stepped further away from the captain, however, for his was the most likely head to fall.
Next to the captain stood Chainer, the young dementist who was going to provide a replacement for Turg. Chainer seemed calm, almost tranquil compared to the captain, but Laquatus was having a difficult time seeing into the boy's mind. Most of the individuals he encountered in person were as defenseless as if they had peepholes installed in their foreheads that Laquatus could peer into at any time. Chainer was more like Caster Fulla, however. Instead of a peephole, his mind was guarded by a tortured maze of mirrors. Every time Laquatus looked in, all he saw were distorted images of himself.
The boy Chainer kept glancing to his right at Louche, a sallow Cabalist who had just become the new Master of the Games. Louche's mind was more open than Chainer's and calmer than the captain's, but there was no useful information in it. It was full of facts and figures and deals and deadlines, all glued together with acrid contempt for almost all sentient being.
The First swept into the room with his attendants hovering all around him. The killers on the wall stood a little straighter as he passed them, and the entire entourage took up their positions at the far end of the room. The First's mind was even more closed to Laquatus than Chainer's.
"I will be brief," the First said. "I am conducting a basic inquiry into the recent visit we received from the crusat. Captain Fleer."
"Yes, Pater." Sweat fairly poured from Fleer's forehead.
"Explain the guards' poor performance."
"It was a well-organized attack," Fleer stammered. "They hit us on three sides simultaneously."
The First nodded to one of his hand attendants, who was busily transcribing the captain's words. "West, north, and south?"
"Yes, Pater."
"But not from the east. Not from the sea." He looked at Laqua-tus meaningfully, but the ambassador kept his face and his thoughts blank.
"No, Pater. There was no attack on the port or the docks."
"That you know of."
"Uh… no, Pater. Not that I know of."
"And yet, somehow an entire squadron of crusat fanatics was able to gain access to the arena."
"Yes, Pater."
"And storm the vault in an effort to seize the Mirari."
"Yes, Pater."
"And you have no idea how they were able to get to the arena so quickly?"
"No, Pater. We killed or wounded hundreds," he added desperately. "They took heavy casualties in their retreat."
"Because they took almost none in the attack. Be silent, Captain." The First turned his withering white gaze on Laquatus. "Ambassador," he said. "I trust you were not inconvenienced by the attack?"
"Not at all, O Patriarch. If not for the noise, I doubt I would have even known there was an attack."
"Outstanding. As you know, the comfort of our visitors is something we city dwellers pride ourselves on. We would never want to breach the sacred bond between host and guest."
"That bond is as strong as ever, my lord."
"You must understand, however, that these events will impact the plans we have already made."
"Of course, my lord." Laquatus swallowed his first taste of uncertainty. "I trust it will not impact them too… dramatically?"
"That remains to be seen." The First addressed Louche. "Master of the Games," he said, and Laquatus saw Chainer's mild surprise tinged with… disappointment? Laquatus wasn't sure, but clearly Chainer had not been aware of Louche's promotion.
"Pater."
"Your predecessor allowed the arena to be taken like some lonely mountain outpost. The pits are now in your hands. Will they be ready for the anniversary games?"
Louche's lips moved as he juggled figures in his head. "Three months from now, Pater?"
"Two months, three weeks," the First said.
Louche nodded. "No problem. The damage to the facilities was mostly cosmetic. The crowds will be down for the next few weeks because the spectators will be afraid of another raid. They'll forget, though. By the time the anniversary rolls around, everything will be back to normal."
"Outstanding. Be sure that all the shills and runners know the date. I want the arena full."
"Yes, Pater."
The First now turned his milky gaze on Chainer. He smiled warmly. "Master Chainer," he said.