The illusions faded as the mer warrior realized the beast's sense of smell made the illusions useless. Catcalls rose from the benches at the turn of events. The frog crouched, its arms spread wide. Power crackled along its arms, and small streamers of lightning trailed from the tips of the frog's claws. The two monsters leaped at each other, the crowd rising to its feet. The reptile caught the skin of Turg's thigh and lacerated it as hands closed over the beast's eyes. Both the frog and dragonette screamed now, but the cries of the ocean warrior's opponent were full of pain and despair. The calls grew shriller as the six-legged beast tried to escape, its bellows becoming more plaintive and fearful.
Kamahl's magical senses could detect Turg's power forming a circuit between the reptile and the amphibian's own flesh. The frog's own magic made its flesh shake, but the surge of energy increased as the frog cooked its enemy from the inside out. The Mer champion shouted its triumph as it fed off its own pain. The ambassador across the arena shook in sympathy as his champion bellowed in a self-inflicted orgy of pain.
Some of the crowd threw down tokens of appreciation, the valuables reaching the sand floor as the Cabal servants curbed the defensive spells protecting the stands. Turg ripped a hunk of steaming flesh free and swallowed the meat, reaching for another handful as the applause slackened. The mutter of the crowd asking for the next fighter was heard as Cabal minions posted new placards. Then a cry was heard.
Kamahl stood, and the bellow repeated. The echoing call was filled with rage and came over the arena wall. The sound beat against the barbarian's skull as it grew louder. He looked to Chainer, but the youth seemed as confused as any. The barbarian made his way for the exit, pushing his way through the other fighters, the cries continuing unabated. Kamahl slowed as he recognized the sounds. Though louder and far deeper, they were much like those Turg's dead opponent gave forth. Though the dragonette lay dismembered, a response to its dying cries filled the arena and perhaps the rest of the city.
CHAPTER 5
"Something is breaking into the city!" screamed a voice in the ambassador's ear. Laquatus struggled from the depths of his trance, his senses assaulted by the troubled noises of the crowd. The merman shook his head, still confused. On the sands below, Turg bellowed and fell into a feeding frenzy, losing any sign of civilized restraint. Again a cry filled the air. The rage and despair in its tone gave the ambassador's spirit a little burst of joy. Something was in great pain, and Laquatus could always smile at the pain of others. The erstwhile town crier moved on and shouts continued down the line of boxes. "See what the noise is about," the ambassador said to a guard standing nearby. The mercenary nodded and left at a run. The merman stood, shaking the stiffness from his muscles. The amphibian continued to eat voraciously and Laquatus saw the difficulty in reining Turg in. Better to let the amphibian feed. Usually, the ambassador lost himself in the frog's sensations when the opportunity presented itself. However, the tumult outside continued as crowds drifted out of the pits.
"See about getting the arena gates open," he directed a Cabal servant who came into the box, looking for a way to please the ambassador. "Tell the Master of the Games that while I blame him for nothing, I want my jack allowed to leave the field." Laquatus paused for a second.
"Right now," he said emphatically as the servant stood there stupidly. The servant left at a run, his sandals loudly drumming on the stone floor.
"I wonder if the fools think I will forgive the insults offered me?" Laquatus asked himself pensively. The assault on his dignity burned, lying like a bed of temporarily banked coals, ready to flare up at any moment. Whoever drove the ass out onto the field would pay a hideous price. As would the person that gave the order, their households, and any with close connections. Laquatus idly wondered if the city should be razed to assuage his honor?
Perhaps not, after all he had plans for the Cabal and the pits. But the image of burning buildings and corpses seemed very attractive. Turg's savage appetite bled into his consciousness. Perhaps a minute passed before new events broke his reverie. Messengers returned with news, the one sent to the Master of the Games speaking first.
"The official is gone, and all the Cabal servants are called away," he explained, bowing in humiliation. "There is no one with authority to order the gates opened on the arena floor." Laquatus smiled slightly and walked to the refreshments laid to the side. A variety of seafood imported at great expense lay cooling in shaved ice. Laquatus reached for metal tongs used to crack claws. He grabbed the man's hand and grasped a finger quickly. The muscles beneath his aristocratic facade showed themselves as he broke the finger like a twig. The servant went white as the ambassador stepped back to the table. Laquatus picked up a lobster claw and some bread to feed the echo of his jack's hunger.
"I sent you to get Turg out," he said merrily, cracking the chitin to get to the meat. The servant turned even paler at the sound. "I have confidence that you will get my frog free before I run out of fingers." The man swayed, and Laqua-tus's personal retainer gave him a wide berth, waiting for him to go down.
"Now, now, now," Laquatus clucked, lightly rapping the man's cheek with the metal tongs. "You don't want me breaking more bones to wake you up."
The servant shook his head rapidly, bowing and backing away as he stumbled to the door. The ambassador smiled and motioned to the retainer. The man smiled as nastily as his master, his bald head flushed with excitement at the cruelty.
"Follow along, and if he collapses make sure he receives medical attention." At the disappointed look Laquatus chuckled and waved the man away. How could he punish someone for failure if he died from shock? These landsmen were such unthinking brutes. They had no sense of style. He invited the other messenger forward with a wave of his hand.
"And what is the commotion outside?" the merman asked. "A riot? A revolution? Come, come," he said, as the Cabal servant gathered his composure. "Use your tongue, or I'll have it out."
"A monstrous beast has broken through the city wall and is making its way through the town," gushed the man. The ambassador briefly considered using the crushing tongs again, but business before pleasure.
"Why the excitement?" Laquatus asked. "The arena teems with monsters every day. Surely one more should not provoke such disarray."
"The beast, my lord," the servant said quickly, "is huge. It overtops buildings and can be clearly seen from outside the arena."
The ambassador nodded, intrigued enough that he decided to see the monster for himself.
The runner screwed up his will enough to speak once more before making for the exit. "It also resembles the beast your champion just killed." Then his nerve broke, and he left at a run.
The guards made as if to block him, but the ambassador stopped them with a barely perceptible motion. The messenger was of no importance though his words were intriguing. He waved to a skybox, calling it down. The pilot promptly complied, and the merman soon stepped into the small floating craft with a single guard. He looked to the rest of his household. "Go back to the embassy," Laquatus said and dismissed them from his mind.
The skybox was one of the smaller ones but any affording such luxury were rich and important. The seats were of the finest leather. Though it had no buffet, there was a collection of rare liquors stowed against the side. The mage directing the craft was clad in black regalia while the obvious patron of the box wore an understated tunic and trousers of deep purple and black.