Douk lay on the ground, still screaming, his hand to his head where the red liquid had spread.
Drahar sensed the Abyssal taint still-but it was on Douk, as well as Mandred.
Then Douk’s scream grew louder, and pustules very similar to those of Mandred started to form on his skin. Douk was only wearing a loincloth, so Drahar could see his skin break out all over right before his eyes.
The fat human also started to grow in size. His scream modulated from one of pain and anguish to one of rage and anger.
But before he could get to his feet, Mandred pounded him on the top of the head in much the same manner as he did the half-giant at the start of the bout.
Drahar closed his eyes, focusing the Way toward Mandred. With his mind, he was able to sense the Abyssal taint, the magic that coursed through Mandred’s entire body, changing him-and changing Douk as well.
What was more impressive was that the strange magic had increased in power each time Mandred caused violence. When he killed his foe, the intensity was even greater.
The transfer of the magic to Douk caused a slight dimming, but it was temporary-and brief.
For the final battle, Jago brought out half-a-dozen opponents. Amazingly, that fight went fastest of all, as the six foes had simply no chance against Mandred. Their strikes would have had more effect on a stone wall, and Mandred’s own blows were instantly fatal. The increase in magical potency had led to a concomitant increase in Mandred’s strength.
Drahar then turned to Tharson. “We may now have a solution to our issues with raising a proper army.”
Tharson squinted. “You’re not thinking-”
“Yes, I am. Mandred is a powerful creature of magic, and he can be ours. What’s more, he can possibly create more just like him.”
“Perhaps.” Tharson took a long gulp, draining the last of his tankard. Then he summoned one of the errand boys that worked the arena. “Take a message to Calbit and Jago. Inform them that the Imperial Guard will be coming later this evening to remove Rol Mandred and Daj Douk from the arena. If they ask why, tell them that they are being …” Tharson smiled, “conscripted into service to the king.”
The errand boy nodded and moved off.
A slave poured Tharson and Drahar both fresh drinks. The templar held his up. “To Rol Mandred.”
Holding up his own tankard and clanking it against Tharson’s, Drahar said, “To Urik’s future in our hands.”
CHAPTER TEN
Helsno Calbit was about ready to kill someone.
He was tempted to grab one of the mercenaries’ bone knives and slit the throat of whichever fighter had the most losses, just for the satisfaction.
But no, then he’d have to pay to clean the blood off the stone floors of the cubicles. And all of a sudden, their ability to pay for that was in jeopardy. Bad enough that that hejkin’s green pus was all over the catacomb floors from his burst boils; one of the guards had expressed concern that someone might slip on it, but it was the least of Calbit’s problems.
Of course, he had no choice in the matter. How could he? The king’s chamberlain and the commander of the Imperial Guard wanted Mandred, and that was the end of it. People who went against those who represented the king could measure their life expectancy in seconds.
It had all been going so wonderfully. When he first saw those three goons beating up on the Black Sands Raiders, he immediately started talking to Tirana about ways to get them into the stone carriage. After all, anyone who could take down eight raiders and leave the remaining four scattered to the sands without mounts were people he could count on to give good value in the arena.
Tirana inherited her looks and seductive capabilities from her mother. Thankfully, she didn’t inherit the bitch’s personality. That meant, though, that she could make any man do her bidding with just a few well-placed words.
Calbit had done worse to get fighters for the arena.
He’d only left Urik in the first place because Gorbin’s success was making it damn near impossible to find anyone willing to get in the ring with the bastard. He’d had to travel across the wastes for weeks, hoping that Jago didn’t make a mess of the place while he was gone. All their excess capital-which was damned little-was used to buy slaves, which was why he had to resort to kidnapping. That, and taking some prisoners from a town magistrate eager to clear space in his jail, a transaction that only required a modest bribe. Said bribe garnered him a dozen slaves, and it was the same amount that he paid per head for the merchandise he got from the other slavers.
And then there were Mandred and Storvis, who were quite literally a steal.
It was a pity that the third one died at the hands of the Black Sands Raiders, though Calbit got the impression that the other two didn’t care all that much. Perhaps the one who died was their original owner, and they’d been hoping that his death meant freedom. Or maybe they didn’t like him very much.
Maybe they were in his debt.
Not that it mattered anymore.
For a few days, everything was perfect. Up until last year, even with declining attendance thanks to the sameness of the main event, they were still making a profit. Any and all attempts to change things up were even bigger failures. True, Gorbin wasn’t much of a draw, but no Gorbin nearly resulted in a riot every time. The few people who did show up did so because they wanted to watch the mul pound the hell out of his opponents.
But it became a case of diminishing returns, and last year they were starting to lose profit.
Hence Calbit’s taking his daughter on their extended trip.
Sure enough, they found everything they wanted and more. Mandred was an even more amazing fighter than his singlehanded defeat of the anakore indicated. Within two days, they were back to breaking even, as the crowds poured in, eager to see who managed to defeat the mighty Gorbin.
He was muttering as he walked down a corridor toward the office that he and Jago maintained. “Conscription, my right toe-what’s he trying to pull, anyway? Taking coin away from honest folk …”
“Talking to yourself, Calbit?”
Looking up, he saw that Jago was also approaching the office. The shorter man was rubbing his hands with glee.
“Yes,” Calbit said sharply, “it’s my only guarantee of intelligent conversation.”
Jago just shot him a look.
“Things are finally looking up, and those idiots from the court have gone and-”
“Made everything better. Are you mad, Calbit? I was ready to hand Mandred over to them right then instead of waiting until this morning when the guards came.”
Calbit frowned as they both entered the office. The space had been a guard post when the catacombs were part of the mine. It had no windows, and so had to be lit by torches regularly, but Calbit actually preferred that. After weeks spent trudging through the wastes with the sun beating down on him, being surrounded by cold obsidian and firelight was oddly appealing.
“What are you on about, Jago?” he asked his partner.
“We had to put down the last thri-kreen today. Mandred must’ve bled on him or something. In fact, Douk is the first one he’s infected that hasn’t gone crazy-and that’s probably just because he hasn’t had a chance to yet.”
Reluctantly, Calbit said, “You may be right.”
Jago’s eyes widened. “May be? The guards have barely been able to contain him. It’s only a matter of time before he’s strong enough to break down the cubicle door. Honestly, if we didn’t have Storvis, I think he might’ve already broken out. Ironic, given that breaking out is all Storvis talks about.”
“Well, there’s no chance of that-he’s our best fighter, now.”
“In any event, we’re well to be rid of Mandred. Even with all the other issues, he wasn’t any better than Gorbin.”