A flame of white-hot anger ran through Jasmine’s body, burning away the fear. She looked up at Doom, and with satisfaction saw the smile fade as he sensed the change in her. She saw his mouth tense, and a wary look creep into his eyes.
“You are tired, old man,” she hissed. “Tired to your bones.”
And as she said it, she knew that it was true. His long struggle with Barda had sapped his strength and dulled his reflexes. Why else had he missed her when he struck?
“Catch me if you can!” she grinned, and half-turned as if to run.
Taken by surprise, Doom took a stumbling step forward. She whirled around and kicked, whirled and kicked once more. She leaped away from him as he snatched at her, leaving him clutching the empty air. She jumped and attacked again and again.
With savage pleasure she heard his grunts of pain and anger, heard the crowd begin to cheer. Their excitement was mounting and so was hers. The game went on and on. Doom could not touch her.
The arena was a blur. She felt nothing but her own desire to punish and hurt. It was as though her blood was bubbling, as though her anger had turned into energy, surging around her body, making her feet and hands tingle. Laughing, she danced backwards as Doom came at her again, tall and glowering. The crowd howled. The roar was deafening. So loud … why was it so loud …?
She stepped back — and her heel hit solid wood.
She glanced behind her in shock and saw a wall, and above it, a mass of red, shouting faces. Only then did she realize how she had been tricked, how foolish her anger had made her. Little by little, Doom had pushed her to the edge of the arena. She had her back to the low wall that surrounded it. And he was closing in on her.
She sprang up, up and back, landing surefooted on the top of the wall as so many times she had landed on tree branches in the Forests of Silence. Behind her the crowd was screaming. But Doom was close, very close, leaning forward, and his hands were reaching for her ankles. Hands like giant spiders. Arms like thick, hungry vines …
Pure instinct drove her to jump, to spring up and out towards him. For a split second his bent shoulders were her tree branch. Then she had thrust backward with her feet, launching herself into the air once more, sending him toppling forward. She heard him cry out, heard him fall crashing against the wall as she turned in the air and landed lightly on the sand far behind him.
She landed poised to run. Her only thought had been to escape. But her leap for freedom had done far more than that.
Doom lay crumpled by the wall, unmoving. The crowd was on its feet, shrieking her name. Slowly, in wonderment, Jasmine realized that the fight was over. She had won.
“So — it is all over for another year! And what a thrilling contest our final was at the last!” laughed Mother Brightly, as she hurried Lief, Barda, and Jasmine back to the inn after the presentation ceremony. “A little slow to start, perhaps. But then the fun began!”
She patted Jasmine’s shoulder affectionately. “You are a popular Champion, my dear. There is nothing the crowd likes better than agility beating strength.”
Jasmine was silent. The gold medallion hung heavy around her neck. A bag of gold coins was heavy in her arms. And her heart was heavier than both.
She felt sick at the thought of what she had become for a short time in that arena. A beast who took pleasure in hurting and punishing another. A fool who forgot everything in the heady delight of battle. She had been as vicious as the loathsome Glock. As drunk with violence as that reeking, bellowing crowd. If her conceit had been her undoing, as it so nearly had, it would have served her right.
Lief and Barda glanced at one another over her head. They knew her well enough to guess a little of what she was feeling. But Mother Brightly could not imagine that Jasmine was anything but proud.
“To tell you the truth,” she chattered on, lowering her voice, “I was very pleased to see that person Doom brought down. A proud and glowering man — with an unpleasant past, I am sure. I am certain that it was he who arranged for the cider to be drugged. He skulked away, you know, as soon as he woke, not even waiting for his 100 gold coins. Surely this shows that he has a guilty conscience.”
“Have Glock and Neridah woken?” asked Lief.
Mother Brightly shook her head sadly. “They still sleep like babes,” she sighed. “They will not be able to leave here till tomorrow. But Joanna and Orwen have left already. Joanna was limping badly and Orwen’s head had a nasty lump, but they would not be persuaded to remain.” She sighed again. “It seems that having gotten their hands on the gold they had no further use for Rithmere.”
Lief had no desire to stay any longer than he had to either, and plainly Barda agreed.
“Sadly, we must hurry away, too, Mother Brightly,” the big man said tactfully, as they moved into the inn. “But we need to buy some supplies before we leave. Can you recommend —?”
“Why, I have everything you need!” Mother Brightly interrupted. “I sell all manner of travellers’ supplies.”
And so it proved. As soon as they had fetched Kree and Filli from their room, the companions went with Mother Brightly to a storeroom stacked to the roof with packs, sleeping blankets, water bottles, ropes, fire chips, dried food, and dozens of other useful items.
As Lief, Barda, and Jasmine had suspected, everything was very expensive. But they had plenty of gold to spend and, like other winners before them, they were happy to pay more so as not to have to wander the town. Within half an hour they had everything they needed. Then, at Mother Brightly’s insistence, they ate for the last time in the empty dining hall.
Lief did not enjoy the meal. He was plagued by the uncomfortable feeling that all was not as it should be. His skin kept prickling, as though they were being spied upon. Yet who could be watching them? Neridah and Glock were still asleep. Joanna, Orwen, and Doom had left.
He shrugged the feeling off, telling himself that he was being foolish.
Mother Brightly was in high spirits all the time they were eating, but afterwards, when she had brought their weapons to them and they were preparing to leave, it became clear that something was on her mind.
In the end, she bit her lip and bent towards them. “It is hard for me to say this,” she said in a low voice. “I do not like to spread bad tidings about the Games, or Rithmere. But — you must be told. It has been known for Champions, and even ordinary finalists, to meet with … ill fortune, on their way out of the town.”
“You mean they are attacked and robbed?” asked Barda bluntly.
Mother Brightly nodded uncomfortably. “The gold coins are a great temptation,” she murmured. “Would you be offended if I suggested that you leave the inn by a secret way? There is a back door — reached by a passage that runs from the cellar. The cider barrels are brought in that way, but few people know of it, and the back street is narrow, and always deserted. You could slip out unseen, easy as winking.”
“Thank you, Mother Brightly,” said Lief, clasping her hand warmly. “You are a good friend.”
The passage from the cellar was long, low, and dark and smelled sickeningly of cider. Their boots clattered on the stones as they shuffled along in single file, Barda bent almost double. They had divided their remaining gold between them, to make it easier to carry, but still it weighed heavily on their belts. Already sore from their battles of the day, they were soon very stiff and uncomfortable.