The five armed men wore the black tunics and white masks of the supposedly disbanded Servants of Silence.
The bound man was Torvik. The bound woman Pirvan did not recognize, but she was tall, auburn-haired, and her ears had elven points to them.
The man in the stern of the boat stepped out onto the sand and drew his sword. It was another piece of ritual garb-a short sword with an ugly saw-toothed blade, like a smaller version of a minotaur clabbard. He raised his sword.
"Hear us, O servants of iniquity, while we speak for the virtue you know not," the masked man called. "Heed our words, and virtue may come to you. Give no heed, and death shall be the portion of these beslimed folk, while ignorance and defeat are yours."
The man halted, to be sure he had everyone's attention. Pirvan thought the halt was needless. Even the sea breeze seemed to be holding its breath. But the silence gave him a chance to study all those around the arena, and two in particular:
Revella Laschaar, who seemed less surprised than she should have-but also angry, as though she should not have been surprised at all.
Zeskuk, who had made his face so unreadable that Pirvan thought he must have taken great pains to do so-for reasons that no human might be able to guess.
Zeskuk could not quite read Lady Revella's face, but did not need to. Lujimar was closer, had a better view, and commanded magic.
What the minotaur priest's face said was a plain accusation: Lady Revella had guilty knowledge that might bring her spells down on anyone who attempted to end this farce before it brought dishonor to all here.
Or at least what Zeskuk hoped would remain a farce. That saw-edged blade and the ritual garb of the Servants of Silence were not encouraging. Nor was the ability of the abductors of Torvik and the elf-woman to appear out of nowhere a good sign. She was Dimernesti, and was she the young captain's secret?
Had he been anywhere else, with any sort of weapon in his hand, Zeskuk would have felt freer to choose what to do next. Had he been here and ten years younger, with shatangs ready, he would have held the abductors' lives in his hands.
As it was, he deemed it wise to listen for a trifle, to hear what course these gutter scourings intended to steer. The leader was one of those, wearisome in any race, who could never use two words when five would do half as well. In spite of this, and the fact that he spoke with an accent that Zeskuk did not recognize except that it was not pure Istaran, he somehow made his intentions clear, saying, "Torvik Jemarsson stands guilty of treason, uncleanliness, lack of virtue-" and a whole list of other offenses. Zeskuk could have sworn he heard "spitting on the decks," but doubted his ears.
The tirade ended with "-and for all these offenses against men and gods, his life is forfeit. But mercy is a virtue. I and my followers, defenders of virtue, may be persuaded to show mercy, if the fleets accede to these terms I set forth:
"All at Suivinari will acknowledge the leadership of these five men…"
Zeskuk recognized only two of the names, and those because they were such blatant lapdogs of the kingpriest that even minotaurs had heard of it. Andrys Puhrad, with his reputation for diplomacy toward all, was not one of the five. Nor were any of Sir Pirvan's friends. Zeskuk wondered what army these virtue-defenders had, to impose their preposterous demands. Or did they care if the demands were met, as long as making them caused trouble?
"All at Suivinari shall also swear to fight side by side until the island is cleansed. Torvik has, though it be through his uncleanliness with the Dimernesti female Mirraleen, learned of a way to victory. Once all have taken oaths to the new leaders, that way shall be revealed. Then Torvik shall be set free, to redeem his honor as a human by leading his fighters in the cleansing of Suivinari Island. Mirraleen shall be held closely, as a hostage for the continued help of the Dimernesti. She may hope for freedom once victory is gained, but only for the hardest of deaths if she seeks to escape or her folk turn against the fleet that champions virtue."
A number of further thoughts ran through Zeskuk's mind, foremost among them the utter ignorance of these people about minotaurs. The leader seemed to think that the Destined Race would either abandon Suivinari Island (and their share of glory), fight (and be defeated), or tamely submit to being led by the new council (who probably had neither knowledge of war nor any other virtue).
Zeskuk's second thought was that perhaps the leader knew minotaurs better than it at first seemed. This farce would most likely sow quarrels between human and minotaur that no contest of honor could settle.
Then victory would be impossible, or at least so costly as to be hardly worthwhile. The only one to gain from leaving Suivinari Island under its present ruler would be that ruler himself. Did the Servants of Silence know that they were unwitting servants of Wilthur? Did Lady Revella suspect as much?
Questions to be answered later. Zeskuk realized that for now it was necessary for those who knew the truth to act to end this farce. Since he was the only one such…
For a moment, the minotaur chief would gladly have stopped breathing if that would have drawn less attention. He shuffled his feet, trying to look like one testing the muscles of a weak leg rather than one testing his footing for a leap.
He snatched the towel out of Juiksum's hand, took three running strides, and leaped over the torch-line into the arena.
Wilthur's scrying glass had just given him a clear enough image to see the arena when the minotaur chief leaped over the torches. The wizard's curses would have peeled paint off the walls of his stronghold, if any of them had been painted. Only chips of rock and fine dust fell instead.
His thoughts plunged downward-to find his Creation as unwilling as ever to seek the open sea. No diversion from that quarter.
No diversion from plant or animal close to the arena, either. Human and minotaur had done their work too thoroughly for that.
Nor could he openly work magic that would make the Servants of Silence wonder if they had help beyond Lady Revella's. They were proud and foolish; they would rather die than knowingly serve him, for all that he could cleanse Krynn of those without virtue as well as any mage in history and better than nearly all.
If someone killed Zeskuk, however, and in such a way as to make it seem to come from human dishonor-
Yes. Peace always had enough enemies, and hatred enough friends, for such work.
Nor would it be necessary to hide the traces of his mind-tampering spells, this time. Those whose minds he had twisted would be dead soon enough in the fighting, or have no coherent memory of Wilthur's invasion of their thoughts.
Pirvan was as surprised as anyone at Zeskuk's running leap into the arena. He also thought the bemused, gape-mouthed faces all about him were images of his own. Then Darin moved, so quickly that Pirvan realized here was one man who was not surprised. Which did not explain what he was doing.
Darin's movements were an almost exact copy of Zeskuk's, allowing for the human's being a much better jumper than the minotaur. Darin's leap over the torches seemed to carry him halfway to the boat. Then both man and minotaur were running toward the boat, and toward each other.
Knowledge burst like sunrise in Pirvan's mind. Whatever Darin and Zeskuk might intend, they would do it while so close together that no one could strike at either from a distance, for fear of hitting the other. Spears, arrows, stones, anything shot or thrown was useless.
Anyone wishing to aid the Servants of Silence would have to do so close at hand. That meant violating the sacred precincts of the arena, and also coming within reach of a large man and a large minotaur, both trained fighters and neither friendly to unwelcome visitors.