The Lvin in the arena. Dariel wished he had dreamed that as well. It had been the only time since his captivity began that he had seen the light of day. Tunnel, who had watch duty over him that day, explained that he had something he wished to show him. Dariel had followed him through the passageways, stumbling on legs stiff from disuse. Tunnel had taken off his ankle chains for the walk. Hobbling along behind the man, it was obvious to both of them that Dariel was no flight risk.
They met several other slaves in a cramped bend in a corridor, a few Dariel recognized, a few he did not. Together, they crowded around slots in the wall that looked out upon some sort of exhibition ground. Dariel's view was partly cut off by beams, but it was enough. He soon understood-by the sights of carnage he witnessed and by the roars of adulation and by the tremors driven down into the stone around him-that he was somewhere within the foundations of a massive structure, a stadium of some sort.
On the field below him, a mass of warriors butchered one another with a speed and furious precision Dariel had never witnessed before. The figures-lightly armored or not armored at all-were clearly human. At least, they were the human-animal merging that he knew marked the People. Tattooed in the various totem patterns, adorned with tusks or feathered plumes or what looked like scaly protrusions enhancing their backbones. They fought in clan groups, each group standing against all the rest. They leaped and spun, slashed and ducked and kicked and even snapped out somersaults. It could have been some mad, frenzied acrobatics exhibition, except that they worked with weapons: swords and axes, long spears and jointed staffs that whirled about at bone-breaking velocity. Death blows were announced by gouts of blood. Limbs wheeled through the air. Heads were sliced from shoulders and kicked beneath the churning legs.
The battle was short-lived. By the time Dariel understood that one band of warriors-marked by white tattoos and dangling hair locks-had gained the advantage, the fighting was all but over. The soldiers of the prevailing group relaxed, straightened, and let the blood and bits of tissue drip from their bodies. There were several opponents left before them, survivors from among the other clan groups. The chanting in the crowd and the thrum of what must have been thousands of feet on the stone indicated that the action was not concluded yet.
Still, it was a moment before one of the winning band stepped out before the others. The lone warrior was massive. A man muscled like Tunnel but as tall as a Numrek. He carried wide-bladed axes in both hands. His skin was white from midway up his torso, over his shoulders and arms and face. As grand as any lion's, his mane framed his head with a bulk of knotted hair and swaying locks, nearly white but with a slightly gold tint. Dariel would have stared at him for a long time, but he was still only long enough for his remaining opponents to line up across from him. Once they did, he stepped toward them.
"You see him? The chief warrior among the Lvin?"
Dariel whispered, "Yeah, I see him. How could I not see him?"
Tunnel said, "Good. Good that you see. He is sublime motion, the most honored class of divine children."
As if to demonstrate the definition of this, the Lvin chief unleashed a long-limbed choreography of slaughter that had touched each of the four opponents before the first one had even dropped to the ground, falling from the height of his severed legs. It was like a single movement that they did not even try to fight. The last Dariel saw of the Lvin was when he threw his arms out and yanked back his head, mouth open. He might have roared. Surely he roared, but if so it was drowned out by the booming applause of the unseen crowd.
Saw," Dariel said, correcting Skylene's last statement. "The Lothan Aklun saw your traits. They don't see anything anymore."
Skylene brushed this aside. "That Lvin-Menteus Nemre is his name-lives in a palace with his own slaves, his own women, whatever he wants. He has all of that as long as he fights when the Auldek tell him to. You see? We're not so different here from your people over there. One man-one child, even-will sell out another just so quick." She snapped her fingers. "Considering all these things, the fact that the People have survived so long in defiance is a wonder."
"Whom do you mean when you say 'the People'? Those in rebellion, or all the slaves?"
"Both. It depends on the context in which it's used. We fight for all the quota slaves, even those who harm us, and especially those too numb and beaten down to understand their plight. Privileged or shackled, it doesn't matter. We are all the People, and none of us are free. 'Divine children' is an Auldek title. When we are free, we will put that name away and just be people instead.
"But you see, Prince of the Akarans, the People can't gather an Acacian army by issuing a summons. The Auldek are not easily killed. You saw Devoth take that arrow through his heart. He pulled it out and chopped off the leagueman's head. They could have shot him full of arrows. He would have risen again and again. You've never seen the Auldek fight."
"I've seen Numrek."
Skylene conceded that was something by cocking her head, then righting it. "The Numrek were always lesser fighters among the Auldek. Some say acknowledgment of that is what drove them to their crime in the first place."
"But with the Lothan Aklun gone," Dariel said, "the Auldek can't steal more souls. They have only so many lives, right? So if they are attacked they'll be weakened. They could be beaten eventually."
"Those slaying those spirit souls would suffer. Would you volunteer to die so that the twentieth warrior behind you might finally slay the Auldek you died killing?" She let the question sit just long enough for Dariel to think he would have to answer it, and then she went on. "And even that is only assuming the soul catcher will not be used again. It's out there you, know, still on Lithram Len."
"You think it's a thing? A thing to be used?"
"It is a tool of their sorcery. I do not say it would be easy for anyone to master it, but neither can I say it's impossible."
"Who would use it? Would the Auldek?"
"They know where it is. The Lothan Aklun made them travel to the island to get their souls. It's a short trip, but it was punishment of sorts, since the Auldek hate to be at sea."
"Just like the Numrek," Dariel said. "Why is that? They are fearless about so many things. Why this terror of water?"
"Because," a different voice said. They all started, surprised, as the wooden door swung open and Mor swept in, suddenly changing the atmosphere, crowding the room with her presence. "Because the Auldek, no matter how strong, cannot swim. They've tried, but the same density of muscle and bone that makes them warriors also makes them dead weight in the water. They sink." She folded her arms and stood, defiant, as if expecting to be refuted.
Dariel was not about to. "Ah, all right-"
"That's why they never voyage across the Gray Slopes themselves," Skylene added. "And it's why the Auldek were so shocked that the Numrek did. It could only mean they had something important to tell them." The last words came out hesitantly, her eyes on Mor the entire time.
"You've said that before," Dariel said. He let the statement hang, inflected at the end like a question, one obviously meant for Mor.