When Jedra awoke, it was late evening. He was once again chained to the wall in the gladiators' quarters, and the noble himself, Rokur, stood before him. Kayan was not on her bunk beside him, nor anywhere else in the building's single room.
"Where is she?" Jedra asked.
"She is safe," Rokur said. "I'm keeping you in separate quarters until your... ah... final encounter."
"Why?"
The noble laughed. "You don't think I'm going to risk losing you twice, do you? Not now that the king has taken an interest in your welfare. He'd have me in the arena if that happened. No, I prefer watching, so I've made sure you can't escape or hurt yourselves before the game."
Jedra couldn't resist saying, "We would have made it if Shani hadn't been there."
The noble said, "No. If she hadn't distracted the tower guards by returning early from the stadium, you wouldn't have made it even to the gate. We were expecting you to try something."
That seemed likely, given how fast the guards had come down on them. "We'll try again," Jedra said, knowing it was bravado speaking. Then the other thing that Rokur had said penetrated, and he cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. There was one sure way to make sure he and Kayan didn't have to fight: If he killed himself first, she wouldn't have to do it.
He certainly wasn't going to kill her, no matter what the king wanted. Kalak could use his defiling sorcery to turn Jedra into a quivering pile of goo first, but he would never harm Kayan. He said so to Rokur, but the noble merely laughed.
"You'll fight, because if you don't, you'll both die," he said. "As it is, at least one of you will live. You'll both fight to lose, but you'll fight." He laughed, and added, "And who knows what will happen when you feel the first bite of the blade? You may find that sweet life is more important to you than your precious love." Then he turned away and left Jedra alone with his psionicist guards.
Sahalik showed up a few hours later, smelling of sweat and cheap wine. He carried a jug with him, which he held precariously in his right hand as he sat down heavily on Kayan's bunk and belched. A fresh scar drew an angry red line across his forehead. "That was a good fight you put up this afternoon," he said.
Jedra snorted. "I feel like I won the battle but lost the war."
"Hah." Sahalik scratched at another scar on his abdomen, swigged from the jug, then offered it to Jedra. "I didn't exactly make out like a champion, either."
"You must've won, if you're here talking to me."
"Barely."
Jedra took the bottle from him and sniffed it cautiously. Rotgut. But it was the only wine he was liable to get, and he could use a little dulling of the senses. He took a mouthful and swallowed slowly, trying not to let the fumes make him cough.
"Tough luck about next week," Sahalik said. "Kalak's a malicious bastard for making you two fight each other." "That he is."
"I'm sorry it worked out this way."
"Me, too."
Jedra handed the jug back, and Sahalik took a long draught. "Nothing ever seems to work out the way we expect, does it?"
"Not very often," Jedra admitted, then he laughed softly.
"What?"
"Well," Jedra said, "I sure never would have expected to be sitting here sharing a jug of wine with you, not considering the way we met."
Sahalik grinned. He was missing another tooth. "Ah, that. I was a malicious bastard, too, there's no denying it. I'd been second in command for so long I was going crazy waiting for that old kank of a chief to die. I led all the raids, but he took all the glory. It ate on me. Made me mean."
"I could tell." Jedra took the jug and drank again. It didn't taste so bad on the second swallow.
Sahalik said, "I was actually kind of glad when I woke up out in the desert and remembered how I'd got there. Gave me a perfect excuse to go after some glory of my own." He shook his shaggy head. "But you know, I finally learned something today. No matter how big you are, no matter how strong and how mean, there's always going to be somebody bigger and stronger and meaner. It's just a matter of time."
"I suppose so."
Sahalik belched again and took the jug back. "So you think the tribe's ready for a new chief?" he asked.
Jedra shrugged. It was hard to concentrate on Sahalik's words, but he made himself try. He said, "The old one's still kicking, but he didn't look good when we last saw him. I don't know if you'd have to wait for him to die-he'd probably give you the honor just for the asking. If the Jura-Dai can do that sort of thing."
"The Jura-Dai can do whatever we want," Sahalik said. He drank, then said, "I think I will go back. I will come gibbering and capering out of the desert like a mad fool, and I will bark like a rasclinn at the moons until everyone laughs at me. And then-" he belched-"my worst fears already realized, I will settle down to become a wise old man whom even the warriors respect."
"Sounds like a good plan," Jedra said. "I'd love to go with you, but you see how it is." He rattled his leg chain.
"I would help you escape if I could," Sahalik said, heedless of the guards listening to him, "but the entire city would come after us. Your upcoming battle is the biggest thing to happen here since Kalak started the ziggurat. Everyone is betting on it."
"Really." Jedra took the jug and drained the last of the wine. He didn't know what to say to that.
Sahalik said, "So far the betting gives you just about even odds."
"I hate to disappoint everybody, but there won't be any fight."
Sahalik shook his head. "Don't be so sure. If you don't fight, you'll both be tortured to death. The crowd must be entertained, after all."
"Gods forbid that the crowd be disappointed," Jedra said wryly.
Sahalik didn't smile. "As hard as Kalak has been pushing this city to build his ziggurat, he needs to provide an outlet for people's frustrations. If he doesn't, there's going to be a revolt. So you can be sure he'll make a spectacle of you one way or the other."
"You're not thinking this through," Sahalik said. He took the jug from Jedra, saw that it was empty, and set it on the floor beside the bunk. "If you do fight, you can at least assure that one of you will die a relatively painless death. Under the circumstances, it would be the best gift you could give Kayan."
Jedra shuddered. "I couldn't."
"Then you had best hope she can give it to you." Sahalik stood up. "During our next practice sessions I will show you both how to kill someone painlessly, and how to make superficial wounds that will make the battle look much worse than it is. But I'm afraid that's all I can do." He picked up his jug and walked to the door, but he paused with his hand on the latch. "Besides spreading the tale, of course. I will make the tribe's bard compose a more complimentary song than his last one about you, and I will send him to every city in the land to sing about your tragic love."
"Thanks." Jedra leaned back against the wall, blushing.
Sahalik shrugged. "The Jura-Dai honor our heroes."
Heroes, Jedra thought. Hah. He never wanted to be a hero.
Over the next few days, he got a small taste of what it felt like, though. All the soldiers and servants whispered among themselves and watched him whenever he took the practice field, no doubt trying to gauge his performance so they could decide who to bet on, and between practices he got the best meals he'd ever eaten. He assumed Kayan was getting the same treatment, but the noble was true to his word; they even practiced separately. Sahalik and Shani offered to pass messages back and forth, but neither one could think of anything to say except "I love you."