Chapter 1

I’d only been breathing the air of the New World for a few minutes, and I already hated it. No rot of open sewage, no horse's sweat, or dust clouds stirred up by ten thousand pairs of feet on market day. Just air so clean and cold it burned the back of your throat, full of salt from the sea and pine sap from the forest just beyond the docks.

“State your name, prisoner.”

“It’s Charity.”

Three months at sea and he hadn’t bothered to learn my name. To be fair, I hadn’t cared to learn his either, or the names of the other legion soldiers who’d been sent to make sure our chains stayed locked tight during the voyage. Each one looked just like the rest; black hair that had long since outgrown regulation close-crop as days turned to weeks, noses beaked sharper than the bow of our ship, and brown Byzantian skin that had only browned further beneath the fierce sun that beat down on the upper decks each day.

The soldiers had spent the entire trip complaining about the ill fortune that had posted them to a ship sailing to the ass end of the world and taking their bad temper out on those of us chained below decks. The whole journey had been miserable, but the pointless chains they fastened to our ankles every evening had been the worst indignity of all. Where did they think we would escape to, with nothing but rolling sea waves stretching to the horizon in every direction?

He stared at me for a moment, waiting for a family name to go along with my given one, but I had none to add. The Daughters of Vesta had only given me the one when they’d swept me up off the streets, and it was all I’d taken with me again when they’d thrown me out.

“Fair enough, girl.”

He marked it down in his ledger, then gestured down the gangplank. I wobbled my way down the length of wood as best my sore and sea-worn legs could manage and turned to look back at the hulk of timber that had been my prison cell for three long months. The Typhon was a sturdy, ocean-going vessel. Even a street rat like me could see it was nothing like the sleek galleys which glided through the calm waters of the Mare Nostri back home.

Home. The word still sent a twist through my guts. If you’d asked me back before the magister had sentenced me to slavery and servitude here in their new world, I would have told you that I had no home. Only Byzantia’s cobbled streets and twisting alleyways, and the crawlspace above the ovens of the bakery on the Plaza Chrisari in winter. Now that Byzantia and all the other cities of the Imperium were lost to me forever, I found that I’d had enough home to miss after all.

I shuffled down the dock with the other prisoners, linked together as we were by the heavy chain that the ship’s crew had retrieved from the stowage hold when we’d first sighted land. The dock led from the deep water where the Typhon sat at anchor to a forested shoreline broken by a collection of rough-hewn buildings and dirt tracks that ran along the waterfront. Two of the buildings were large enough to serve as warehouses, and one even had a small canal with a winch dock for punts to pull in and unload cargo, though for now it sat idle. I saw the Consortium’s sign hanging over the door of a merchant and lending exchange, a small tavern that was far too quiet for this late hour, and a collection of houses whose walls and beams still bore the white scars and loose splinters of the axe that had planed them.

A few souls had gathered at the end of the docks to stare at the ship, and at us, in undisguised glee. I had no doubt that our arrival was the most exciting event these docks had seen in a long, long time.

“This is Farshore?”

The man chained in front of me kept scanning up and down the coast as though he expected the rest of the city to emerge from the trees at any moment. The despair in his voice would have been comical if I hadn’t been feeling the same way myself. I’d known the colony was young, but I’d at least expected something that a country peasant might be tempted to call a town. All I could see above the small collection of rooftops were trees, rocks, and endless sky ahead of us. All I could hear was a looming green silence broken only by the harsh calls of birds I didn’t recognize, and the unbroken rumble of the ocean surf at our backs.

“Don’t be daft,” one of the Typhon’s sailors snorted as he walked beside us down the dock. “This is just Shoreside. The governor’s keen on turning it into a proper port town. Wasn’t long ago this was just a dock and a stretch of dry beach. The city lies inland a ways.”

A half-dozen soldiers wearing the same legion breastplates and short blades as the one who’d taken my name on the ship waited at the end of the dock. They looked bored, but they unlocked our chains, sorted us into groups, and loaded us into the three wagons that stood waiting with a tired kind of efficiency. The driver snapped his whip, my wagon jolted, and we were off.

“Divines preserve us,” whispered the stocky blacksmith on the seat beside me as he made the sign of Jovian’s Wise Eye with his shackled hand. His failing business had left him unable to pay his debts, and then in irons aboard a prison ship, which he’d spent the better part of the passage complaining about to anyone who would lend him an ear.

“They’ve done a shit job of it so far,” I said. “Don’t see a reason we should expect that to change now.”

“Hold your tongue, girl,” said the pudgy seamstress seated across from me. I had no idea why she was here, but she hadn’t offered her story during the trip, and I hadn’t cared to ask. “Or if you must tempt ill fate, at least wait until I’m not seated so close to you.”

“Who’s to say the gods can even see us from across the waves, or stretch their oh-so-exalted and glorious hands far enough to reach us if they could?” I snapped at her.

“The Divines see all, know all, and are in all.”

She spoke the familiar words with reverence, as if they offered the ultimate answer, though they still sounded as hollow as ever to my ears. “We are alive, are we not? What greater sign of their favor do you require?”

I spat over the side of the wagon in answer but decided to waste no more words on her. The passage had taken its toll, true enough. Seven of the forty-one souls who’d begun the trip had perished before we made landfall, but I saw no great Divine hand in my survival. I’d lived because I was too damn stubborn to do otherwise. I had no great hopes for my future here on the ass end of the world, but I’d be damned if I was going to meet my end retching out my guts in the dark, and that was all there was to it.

I rubbed at the chafed and swollen band where the chains had dug into my ankles, and thought about how easy it would be to dive over the side of the wagon and disappear into the tree-line before anyone could stop me. Easy though it might have been, I knew it was just an idle thought, a way to pass the time as our wagon lurched and jolted along the rough dirt trail. I’d heard enough stories about our new home on the passage over that I would have sooner tried my luck at swimming back to Byzantia than brave those woods alone.

The magister who’d sentenced me had expected me to be grateful for his great mercy in sparing me from the headsman’s block. As we rode beneath the shadow of trees taller than a temple spire that stretched out their branches like they meant to pluck me from the wagon and devour me, I thought again that it would have been an even greater mercy to just take my head and be done with it. Before Tiberius the Wanderer had made landfall in this accursed place they would have done just that, but the First Colony of the Byzantian Imperium was badly in need of bodies to work her fields and various labors if the mother city wished to continue receiving the wealth it had come to rely on.

When Tiberius’ ships had returned with holds filled with riches and word of a new world ripe with fresh opportunities and land for the taking, volunteers had rushed to the docks in the thousands, but the next fleet of ships to return from Farshore brought the whole truth with them, inconceivable though it might have been.

Mythics. Creatures from the ancient legends had swarmed out of the shadows to kill and raid. The sailors spoke of Elves in the forests and Dwarven raiders prowling the seas in great warships, of bestial Orcs roaming the western plains, and feral Halflings who swarmed through the jungles of the south in search of victims for their strange blood rites. Worse monsters still were said to prowl through forests and lurk within caves, ready to pounce on the soft, foolish creatures who had come to their shores so unaware of its dangers.

Every child knew the old stories of brave heroes sent by the Divines to battle the inhuman menace that had once plagued humankind and kept us trembling within our walls at night in the distant past. One of the first lessons Sister Gizella taught me was of the Grand Crusade, when the legions of First Emperor Alexius had swept the last of the mythic creatures into the sea, but I had always assumed that her lessons were no more real than the tales of Chressus and Partho.

Some claimed the sailors’ tales were nothing more than sun-addled madness, but the death rolls posted in the marketplace soon had others thinking twice. It wasn’t long before the supply of volunteers dried up. It had begun to look like Farshore colony would have to be abandoned, no matter how rich her forests and mines might be, until some genius in the imperial court hit on the idea of sending those convicted of less serious crimes in their stead.

Farshore had already celebrated its sixtieth year by the time I came of age, and the passage of sailing ships leaving Byzantia’s docks loaded with prisoners or returning with holds filled with fresh timber, gold and silver ore, furs, and other goods had become a regular occurrence.  Now here I sat, rolling along in a wagon like a sow led to slaughter, and trying hard not to jump at every cry and rustle from beyond the forest’s edge.

We endured the rest of the ride in silence. Our wagons made poor time, and by my guess the minutes had stretched to nearly an hour. Just as I’d begun to wonder if Farshore colony was as much a drunken sailor’s tale as the mythics I’d yet to catch sight of our wagon crested the hill we’d been climbing and broke through the trees to give me my first good look at the city filling the valley below.

It wasn’t much to look at. You could have tucked the whole lot of it into Byzantia’s east end with room left over. But the sight of straight walls, sloping rooftops, and other evidence of human habitation in this strange and wild land sent a warm comfort through my bones.

Our wagon wound down the dusty road, and as the city grew closer, I saw that even though it was somewhat smaller than I’d expected it was well built. Buildings of wood and stone, some boasting three stories and more, crowded together behind a sturdy wooden wall lined with watch towers. The flag of the Imperium, five golden stars on a field of red, snapped in the breeze atop each of the towers, a defiant spot of color within the endless expanse of muted greens and browns that surrounded it. The sun was beginning to set behind the mountains to the west, and as we wound our way through the valley the glow of lanterns, candles, and tavern fires flickered to life throughout the city.

As we approached the wall, the driver of the lead wagon shouted up at the soldiers standing watch atop the gate, and soon the heavy wooden doors rolled open to allow us to enter. We rumbled through the yawning doorway, and then the gate crashed shut behind me like a portal to the seven hells.

My first sight of Farshore’s streets felt oddly familiar. With rooftops and awnings to block the view of the wild lands beyond the walls you could almost believe you rode through any other Byzantian city of moderate size and means. Bakeries and taverns, clothing shops and houses of exchange all lined the streets, with the windows of the homes and apartments above them standing open to let in the fresh air and sunlight. Buckets were thrust out to dump the evening’s wash water and stronger waste into the street below. Men and women went about their evening business, most giving our wagon only a brief passing glance. I even spotted a few street urchins and stray dogs, though far fewer of both than I was used to seeing in a city.

But in many ways those similarities only made the differences stand out even stronger. For one thing, the clothing here was a strange sight. It was heavier and more practical than the light, colorful garments that filled Byzantia’s streets. The voices that I heard calling to one another from shop windows and across plazas all rang with a strange accent as well. They all spoke Byzantian, but their tones were short and guttural one minute, fluid and musical the next, and I heard a number of unfamiliar words mixed into their speech.

We rode past one shop whose sign I didn’t recognize, a rounded glass beaker filled with a bubbling green liquid. I glanced through the door and caught sight of jars filled with eyes, tails, teeth, and worse lining the shelves within, and the strange odor that flooded my nose as we rolled past nearly sent my lunch up into my throat.

Then we took a turn down a new street and things got truly strange.

A smaller wall cut through the city, tracing a straight line from one side of the outer defensive wall to the other to separate one pocket of the city from the rest. Our wagon rumbled past a small gate guarded by two soldiers. The dusk had grown heavier now, but I could still make out shapes moving amongst the streets and buildings beyond the gate, and few of them looked human. Some were no larger than children, but walked alone or in pairs as though they had business to attend to. Some were far, far too large, with hulking shoulders and long, thick legs. One of those shapes stepped into the light that spilled from a window. Its skin was gray, its black hair was long and matted, and I swear I caught sight of a row of pointed yellow teeth curling up over its lips before our wagon rolled past the gate.

The more I saw of Farshore, the more I realized how far from home I truly was. Finally, our rolling tour came to a stop before the steps of the largest building I had seen yet, the local Temple of the Five Divines. Its twin stone spires soared into the air above me, casting their shadows over the nearby rooftops like the wings of a falcon ready to pounce on its prey. The soldiers ushered us out of the wagons and formed us into two lines at the base of the steps.

“Time to see what new life the Divines have in store for us, eh?” The blacksmith who’d ridden next to me in the cart tried to sound jovial, but fear and tension weighed down his words. The others shuffled their feet, looked up at the buildings around them, and made pointless conversation as they awaited their fate. I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on the ground. They could all accept the hand they’d been dealt without protest if they wished, but not me. I had a plan. Escape at the first chance I got, then beg, borrow, or steal what I needed to book passage on a ship back to the real world. No matter what it took, no matter how long I had to bide my time, I was going to find my way back home.

***

“Catella Lascari, seamstress, step forward.”

As the guard captain called her name, the woman who’d lectured me during our wagon ride walked around the altar to stand before the temple nave, while those of us who remained stood beneath the feet of the statues of the Five Divines that loomed large on the wall behind us.

Farshore’s Patriari, the legion officers, nobles, and principle citizens of the colony, walked among us with an uncomfortably keen interest. They’d been drawn by the promise of fresh labor for their various enterprises like city dogs circling a butcher’s wagon.

“Thirty-three years of age and convicted of adultery. Sentenced to four years good service. Notable skills include the sewing and mending of garments.”

So much for your lofty piety, madam.

By the way the woman squirmed and kept her eyes fixed on her feet you’d think they’d hauled her out there naked, but holding these proceedings within the temple walls instead of the market square was another one of those mercies the magister had spoken of back in Byzantia. Once our debt was paid, we would become honest citizens once more, and then we might be glad that only two-score others knew of our various sins.

After a short round of bidding, the seamstress was claimed for the barracks by Knight Captain Alexius, a stern-faced man with salt and pepper hair. No doubt his soldiers would thank him for it when they greeted the winter months dressed in new uniforms. Each of those gathered here had been granted a certain degree of credit, determined by their station and the importance of their duties and businesses to the colony, with which to bid for the contracts of the newly arrived convicts.

“Charity of Byzantia, step forward.”

I swallowed hard and moved to stand in the space that the seamstress had just vacated. The Five Divines stared down at my back, while Farshore’s gentry circled around me, and I couldn’t decide which of the two left me more uncomfortable.

“Twenty-one years of age, and convicted of thievery, public drunkenness, resisting of arrest, assault on representatives of the law, licentious and indecent behavior, and blasphemy.” I saw more than a few eyebrows raise as my list of crimes rolled on.

It would have saved us some time if you’d just said “convicted of trying to survive.”

“Sentenced to ten years good service. No known skills or abilities.”

Well, that won’t do.

My list of various offenses already did me no favors, but if the good lords and ladies of Farshore colony thought I had nothing to offer, I’d surely be bound for the fields or a mining outpost before the sun had set.

“That’s not true! I can read and write.”

One of the requirements of continuing to reside with the Daughters of Vesta had been that I attend well to my studies. Their patron was the goddess of wisdom and learning, after all. I’d given them hell for it, of course, but in the end I’d learned what they’d wished to teach me. I’d even come to enjoy those lessons, but if you ever breathe a word of that to Mother Shanti I swear I’ll gut you like a carp.

“I’m familiar with history and the classics, and I’ve a decent head for figures if you don’t rush me overmuch.”

Even in my wildest dreams I doubted that anyone would risk taking on someone with a history like mine as a clerk or bookkeeper, but there was always a slim chance that one of those present was desperate. Very, very desperate.

“A lady thief who reads Porathus and Scytho? Now I have seen everything.”

The gathering chuckled at the joke as a man walked up to give me a more thorough inspection. He was several inches taller than me, heavy set but not exactly fat, and kept his hair and beard well-trimmed to match his fine clothes.

“Governor Caligus,” the guard captain said as he saluted.

So, this is the man himself.

I’d heard of the governor back in Byzantia even before I got nicked. The emperor had sent him to take command of Farshore after the previous governor died of a fever, and he’d done enough to improve the colony’s fortunes and reputation in that time to lead some of the Imperium’s more optimistic citizens to volunteer for the ocean crossing once more. I gritted my teeth and offered him a proper curtsy as he circled around behind me.

“It seems a shame to waste such a delicate young creature on hard labor. Perhaps we can find a better use for your many talents, eh?”

He came to a stop in front of me once again with a smile on his face and a light in his eye that was anything but fatherly.

Oh shit.

I've never held to any pretense of beauty. My jaw is too square and my hands too rough. I crop my soot-black hair with a dull knife when it’s grown too long, and the one time I got my hands on a box of rouge and blush I sold it to the first corner doxy I could find for a pouch of coppers and a decent meal. But although I wasn’t born beautiful, neither was I blessed with enough ugliness to keep men’s eyes away from me completely. I have legs, breasts, and breath in my lungs, and I’ve found that for most men that’s more than enough to attract their unwanted attentions.

“What say you, girl? Wouldn’t you like to come work for me? I assure you that employment in my household comes with all manner of…benefits.”

I knew how this worked. Now that he’d shown interest none of the others would dare to bid for me even if they’d wanted to. I felt a cold chill crawl its way up my spine, but I gave him my best smile to show him that I still had all my teeth. He leaned forward for a closer look.

As soon as he’d come close enough, I drove my knee between his legs as hard as I could.

I may be many things, but I’m nobody’s whore.

The governor collapsed to his knees, clutching his privates and gasping for air as the gathered gentry erupted in a mixture of startled gasps and hearty laughter.

“Come near me again and I’ll take your bits clean off, you shit eating bastard.”

I went for his face, but the guard captain caught my wrists and pinned my arms behind my back.

“Aaaaaagh!” The governor finally found his voice, sounding for all the world like a zitar with its strings stretched to breaking. I knew I was about to pay for my moment of defiance, but I would rather endure a whole lifetime of digging in a mine than ten years as a bed slave. “Take this demon to the arena pits!”

Double shit. I didn’t think of that.

Despite Farshore’s strangeness, it seemed that a fondness for arena games was one of the few legacies of the old world that had survived the time and distance intact. In Byzantia the crowds loved few things more than a contest of arms to honor the Divines, especially one that ended in blood.

I was rather partial to the arena myself. Its crowded stands had always proved a ready source of unguarded pockets to pick, but the thought of being the one to stand out there on the arena sand while the crowd screamed for my death drained all the strength from my legs.

The guard captain hauled me away, twisting my shoulder in its socket with a shock of pain as he marched me towards the door. I saw no pity in the faces of those who watched my departure, only varying degrees of anger, disgust, and cold calculation, as those with a fondness for gambling tried to decide their wagers on how long I’d last. I doubted many of them felt inclined to wager in my favor, and at that moment neither did I.

Chapter 2

The guard captain passed me off to two soldiers who’d been standing watch at the temple door and ordered them to hand me over to the Master of the Games without delay. We set off at a brisk pace, each one with a hand clasped tight to one of my elbows. Neither man seemed inclined to conversation, which suited me just fine. My head was still reeling from the speed of the day. I’d awoken this morning in the same corner of the prison ship that I’d slept in every night for the past three months, and now I was being marched to my eventual but certain death before the sun had finished its dive behind the city walls.

It seemed that my sour luck had managed to follow me across the waves. I thought briefly of the seamstress’ warning against tempting the Divines’ ire. It hardly seemed fair that the gods, who as far as I could tell had never lifted a finger in my aid or defense, should be so quick to condemn me for speaking my mind. But now that I considered it, that seemed like exactly the sort of petty horse shit they would find entertaining.

In truth, I remember little of that forced march through Farshore’s streets. I recall faces turned towards me, a good deal of pointing and whispered words, but little else. At one point we wove through a series of market stalls whose vendors had begun packing away their goods for the evening. Sometime later we marched through the pools of light that spilled out the door of a tavern ringing with voices, laughter, and the clatter of plates and mugs on wooden tables. I’m not sure how long our trek lasted, only that the fog that clouded my thoughts abruptly cleared as our journey through the streets came to a stop before the arena’s walls.

Farshore’s arena was nowhere near as grand as Byzantia’s Hippodrome, but it still towered over me as I craned my neck to look up at the imposing bulk of its high wall crowned with the fiery glow of the sunset beyond it. The arena curved outward, molding the street that ran in front of it into a half circle. From the wooden guard tower that rose up behind it I guessed that the structure had been built up against the city wall itself. The entrance was a wide archway designed to let the crowds pour in all at once, and I could see the open arena floor and rows of benches within.

The guards ignored the entrance, however, and led me around the wall to the left until we stood facing a smaller, iron-banded door watched over by a large, muscular man in a loose shirt and pants. He sported a black mustache whose tips draped down to frame his mouth and swayed in the breeze as leaned his chair back against the arena walls. I spotted a wicked-looking cudgel set with iron bands leaning against the wall next to him.

At first I thought he was napping on the job, but he cracked one eye open as we approached. As we came to a stop in front of him the man yawned, then let his chair fall forward to sit upright once again as he stared up at my two traveling companions with obvious boredom.

“Got a prisoner for the pits,” said Left Guard.

“Get gone,” said the man, his words rolling out in the lilting accent of the Gaellean tribes from the forests north of Byzantia.

“This is the arena, not a boarding house for children.”

“Governor gave the order himself, so shut it and take her to the Master,” said Right Guard. He gave me a little shove forward to emphasize his point.

The man sighed and stood to his feet. He was a full head taller than all three of us, and I had to fight the urge to take a step backward as he looked down at me.

“You came in on the prison ship this afternoon?”

I nodded.

“And you couldn’t manage a single night without getting yourself sentenced to the arena?”

“I’m good at making friends.”

I was surprised to see him smile in return, and I realized that he was younger than I’d first thought. A few years older than me at most.

“I can see that.” He turned and lifted the heavy iron bar from the door with one hand, then pushed it open. A set of stairs led down into darkness, lit only by a torch that stood in a wall sconce just inside the door. Left Guard shoved me forward again, then turned and marched off with Right Guard close on his heels.

I scanned the street, judging the distance between me and the closest building. It wasn’t far, but to reach shelter I’d have to get past the Mustache Giant, and my instinct told me that for all his size the man could move quick when he wanted to. Besides, where would I go? Unlike Byzantia, I had no bolt holes or hideaways to lay low in. No, for now the safest way for me was forward, which was a rather depressing thought considering that “forward” meant “down into the arena pit where men wait their turn to fight to the death.” I sighed, took one last look at the rays of the sun spread across the open sky, then stepped through the door.

Mustache Giant followed me in and pulled the door shut with a thud behind him as he retrieved the torch and gestured for me to lead the way. Didn’t want me at his back, even if I was only half his size, which meant that he was taking me at least a little bit seriously. I decided that I liked him.

“You got a name, Mustache?”

We walked down a dozen steps in silence, until I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“Cael,” his voice rumbled at my back and bounced off the walls.

“I’m Charity.”

We reached the bottom of the staircase to find another heavy wooden door waiting for us. Cael reached around me and used a key I hadn’t spotted before to unlock it, then slipped the key inside his shirt. He caught my eyes following it, and grinned.

“Somehow, I doubt that.” He pulled the door open, gesturing again for me to step through first.

I found myself standing in a hallway of carved stone. The floor was level, and the ceiling was short enough that Cael had to tilt his head just a bit to avoid bumping into it, but it was dry, and more torches lined both walls to fill the space with light. There was a door set into the wall just a few paces ahead on our right. Cael led me up to it and knocked twice.

“Enter,” called a thin voice from inside. Cael opened the door and we both stepped through.

The room turned out to be an office, not richly furnished, but comfortable. Shelves loaded with books and scrolls lined one wall, a tapestry of green fabric with beautiful, spiraling patterns in silver thread hung on the other, and a large desk stood between them. A table stood in the corner covered with bottles filled with strange colored liquids, half-burnt candles and various stones, leaves, animal bones, and bowls of powder. Lanterns gave the room a brighter light than the hallway outside, and a fireplace was dug into the back wall. It held a few burning logs which cracked and sizzled as they fought to keep the underground room warm, and a man sat at the desk with his back to the fire. He looked up as we entered, and frowned.

“What’s this, then?”

“A new prisoner for the games,” Cael answered. “Sent by the governor himself, I’m told.”

The man’s frown deepened, but he stood and circled around the desk. He was as noticeably short as Cael was noticeably tall, with a thin face, beaked nose, and thinning black hair. He regarded me with a long, appraising look before he spoke, looking for all the world like an ill-fed bird in winter.

“I am Trebonious Leucator, Master of the Games here in the arena, and now the right hand of the Divines themselves as far as you’re concerned.”

I considered making a comment about exactly what he could do with his right hand, but even I have my limits of unnecessary stupidity. Instead I just nodded and waited for him to continue.

“This is your world now. You live for the crowds, and will most likely die for them.”

He tilted his head to one side and studied me as though he sought to fix the exact worth of my life in coin and found the answer somewhat disappointing.

“Fight well, and you will enjoy glory and some measure of comfort, perhaps even freedom and riches. Fight poorly, and, well…,” he shrugged.

“But most important of all is this: do not cause trouble, attempt to escape, or inconvenience me in any way. If you’re smart, this conversation is the last that we shall have together. If you force me to turn my attention to you again you will find me far less pleasant. Am I understood?”

I nodded again. I could already tell that this Trebonious did not suffer from an abundance of good humor, and with the way this day was going I thought it best not to trust my mouth overmuch.

“Excellent. Now, while I assure you that I take you and all the other criminal garbage who wash ashore here entirely at your word, common sense dictates that I not rely solely on your good intentions to ensure your behavior.”

He turned and walked to the table covered in strange items, then retrieved a wooden box and began unpacking its contents. He placed a small pair of silver scissors, a spool of silver thread, and a knife with a blade of clear glass side by side on his desk.

“Now, hold still.”

He picked up the scissors and stepped towards me. I don’t know about you, but I have never in my life known a time when someone ordering me to hold still and then advancing on me with a sharp object worked out in my favor. I tried to jump back, but instead of opening some distance between us all I managed to do was collide with six plus feet of muscle and mustache. Cael had moved to stand behind me while I was distracted.

“Relax,” he said, although he had a pretty firm grip on my arms as he said it. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

If the man wasn’t so damnably tall I might have tried putting my heel in his groin and telling him to relax, but I wasn’t sure I could reach high enough to do any real damage, and I didn’t see much sense in angering him without getting results. As I was thinking all that through Trebonious stepped forward and snipped off a good-sized lock of my hair.

“That’s it?” I asked, feeling equal parts confused and relieved.

“Almost.” He grabbed my hand in a surprisingly strong grip for a man his size and made a quick, shallow cut across my palm with the glass knife. He muttered some strange words under his breath, then smeared the ends of the lock of hair in the blood that had welled up from the cut.

“There, now I have what I need.”

He returned to the desk and began to wrap the silver thread around the lock of hair.

“Having just arrived from Byzantia I’m sure you are filled with all manner of skepticism regarding the magical arts, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to attempt to change your mind. I will say this only once, and I advise you to suspend your disbelief if you would prefer for your insides to remain on the inside.”

He held the loop of hair in front of my face. A single drop of my blood clung to the bottom for a moment, then plunged to the floor. Just looking at the thing set my teeth on edge.

“When I finish the incantation this evening, this will become an effigy. Your effigy, specifically. I’ll spare you the technical details and simply say that with this I can bring you to such a gruesomely painful end that being eviscerated in the arena would seem a mercy in comparison. I trust you will not force me to use it?”

“Not planning on it, no.”

I kept my voice and expression neutral. He clearly believed in what he said even if I didn’t. The gullible and foolish wasted many an evening back home with whispered talk of strange forces and magic spells that could charm a lover, curse an enemy, or worse. Those rumors had grown a hundred-fold since the first ships returned from Farshore carrying word of terrible monsters and mythical races who wielded strange magics, but so far I’d seen no sign of any such thing. Whatever I’d seen through the gate we’d ridden past earlier had probably just been a trick of the dim light and an anxious mind.

In fact, I was beginning to suspect that all the talk of wild magic and wizards had been nothing more than eager imagination and exaggerated reports spun by sailors looking to impress their friends into buying them drinks. The clerics of the Divines made dire proclamations every day about the ill fortune that would befall those who defied the will of the gods, but little ever came of it. Was this really any different?

But, magic or no, this man had the power to make my life miserable, short, or both, so I thought it best to avoid offending another powerful official in the city unless I absolutely had to. The only thing I wanted now was to get out of his sight and hope he forgot all about me by dinner time.

“Good. Cael, show her the facilities and see her settled in her quarters.” Trebonious turned back to his desk in dismissal as Cael lead me back out into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

We continued down the hall for several paces in silence.

“Kitchens,” Cael said as we passed by a door. “And the guard barracks,” he said with a nod towards another door further down.

“Not that it matters. You won’t be passing by this way again.”

His voice remained light and pleasant, but the complete certainty with which he spoke those words did more to dampen my spirits than any of Trebonious’ threats had managed.

Soon the hallway ended in another heavy door with an iron crossbar that slid into the stone of the wall itself. I heard a muted hum of voices on the far side, which rose to a full-pitched roar as Cael drew back the crossbar and pushed the door open.

The room beyond was far larger and wider than any I had seen thus far. Oil lamps hung from a ceiling that was twice the height of the hallway, and the floor was set with a dozen long tables that currently hosted an evening meal in full swing. More than fifty men of all sizes and colors sat on benches or stood against the walls as they ate, and their shouts, curses, and laughter echoed through the hall. I counted six guards with swords at their hips and cudgels like Cael’s in their hands, but they seemed content to leave the men to their meal as long as no one was causing trouble.

My look around the room ended on the table nearest me. Two men sat on one side, cheering for a third. Their champion was nearly a match for Cael in size, and was locked in the middle of an arm-wrestling contest with a fellow who sat across the table. He was as thick as an ale barrel, with arms and legs like fallen logs, and was short enough that he had to kneel on the bench to get good leverage on the table. His head was crowned with a shock of fiery red hair that flowed down into one of the most impressive beards I had ever seen. His opponent strained and heaved at his arm so hard that his face had turned red, but the short man mostly just looked bored.

Finally, the bearded one seemed to tire of their game. He slammed the other man’s hand down on the table as if he was swatting a fly, then jumped up onto the table and spread his arms wide.

“Ha! This be no sport at all! Are there none here fit to challenge Magnus Ironprow?” He leaned down, snatched up the man’s mug, and drained its contents in three large gulps.

“Who be next to donate their beer to a more worthy stomach?”

The rest of the room mostly ignored his taunts and jeers, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him. He looked like no man I’d ever seen before. In fact, I was starting to realize that he didn’t look much like a man at all.

“Is..is that a…?” I seemed to have trouble forming words.

“The dwarf? What of him?”

Cael sounded like I’d just asked him why the sky was blue. I hadn’t really known what to make of the strange tales of mythic races in the new world, but I certainly had never expected to see one standing on top of a table shouting for another round of arm wrestling.

“You have a mythic in here?”

“Oh right, I forgot that you just arrived. We’ve more than one, actually.”

Cael pointed to another table, where a slender man with flowing blonde hair was playing at cards with a half dozen others. I’d overlooked him before, but now that Cael pointed him out I noticed that his features were far more delicate and graceful than any human face I’d seen before, and I spotted two pointed ear tips peeking through his hair.

“Elf.” Cael shifted his hand to point towards the shadows in the far corner of the room.

At first glance I thought he pointed at thin air. Then a pair of yellow eyes flashed in the lamplight, and I realized that the shadows concealed someone even smaller than the dwarf. The eyes shifted back and forth, constantly scanning the room. As they swung back again, they fixed on mine with the sudden attention of a hunting bird. As the figure leaned forward into the light I realized that it was a small woman, with a heart-shaped face beneath brown hair that had been braided in long, tight rows across her scalp to hang down her back.

“Halfling. Wouldn’t recommend trying to make friends.”

The halfling clearly knew we were speaking of her. She grinned at me like a cat sighting prey, and ran the tip of her tongue across her small, white teeth.

Cael’s finger moved towards another table, where a hulking brute with wiry black hair sat scooping great spoonfuls of stew into its mouth. I saw now that its skin was more of a grey-green than the black I had mistaken it for in the lamp light, and that the mouth making short work of the food was lined with round, pointed teeth.

“What is that?” I whispered.

“She is an orc. Nataka.”

My face must have gone a bit pale, because when Cael turned back towards me he burst into a fit of laughter.

“Cuernos’ balls, girl, she’s not going to eat you. Not unless you give her a reason to. Although I might suggest a bit less staring.”

I realized my jaw had dropped open a bit, so I shut it and fixed my eyes on Cael’s smiling and very human face.

“But what are they doing here?”

Cael just shrugged.

“Pissed off the wrong person or broke the law in the city, same as you. Magnus broke every table in a tavern on the Breezeway during a brawl, Nataka beat three men senseless for offending the spirits or some such, and we found Sheska chewing her way through a merchant’s ribcage.”

I glanced up to see if he was having one over on me. He wasn’t smiling.

“Claims he earned his death. From what I knew of the merchant she may have been right. Now the elf just walked up and knocked on the door one day asking if he could join the arena. Strangest damn thing I’ve ever seen, but his kind is always strange. It’s more mythics than we usually have at one time, I suppose, but that just means bigger crowds.”

“Won’t their kin come for them? You know, be angry that we’ve thrown them in here to fight or die?”

“Mmm, those that visit Farshore or choose to take up residence here are told of our laws and what comes of breaking them. If anything, their folk think we’re a bit soft. A chance to fight your way to freedom is a damned sight better than most of them would give a criminal. Come on, let’s get you settled.”

Cael led me down the center aisle that ran between the tables towards an open doorway on the far wall. I felt the eyes of everyone in the room turn towards and the raised voices fade into whispers and muttered speculation as we walked. He led me to an empty table at the far end of the room and gestured towards the bench.

“Have a seat. The guards will bring you food, and you’re granted one half-mug of beer with each meal.”

“You don’t get many women here, I take it?”

Cael turned around, and the volume of noise returned to normal as he glared about the room before turning back to me.

“Not many, no. Not human ones, anyways. You might stand out a bit until they get used to you, but you don’t need to worry about anyone bothering you. Stay within sight of a guard and you’ll be safer than if you went walking the streets alone.”

Great. Inhuman monsters straight out of a bedtime story, but I’m the strange one in the room?

“Go ahead and eat,” Cael continued. “I need to speak to the quartermaster about your room. I’ll be back.” He turned and left without waiting for a reply.

I kept my head down until a guard passed by and left a bowl of stew and a mug of beer on the table. I tucked in, and was surprised to find that the food was actually pretty good. Nothing fancy, but better than a lot of meals I’d eaten back home, and a damn sight better than the ship’s biscuits and water they’d fed us during the crossing. Being sentenced to the arena was basically a death sentence, but at least I’d eat well while I waited for the end.

A shadow fell across my table, and I looked up to find a pure-bred Byzantian alley bruiser blocking my lamplight. His hair was shaved down to his scalp and his nose had been broken at least once before, but it was his eyes that gave him away. They were the eyes of a man who’d grown used to taking what he wanted whenever he damn well pleased.

“You’re in my seat,” he growled.

I’d seen his type a thousand times. They were common as paving stones in my part of town, and suddenly I felt right at home. Mythical creatures on the far side of the world were one thing, but this was a good old-fashioned shake down, and that was something I understood. I hadn’t expected the testing to start quite so soon, but if this thug and his friends were that eager to find out where I was going to stand around here, who was I to say no? Even as adrenaline flooded through my veins I couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks,” I said, keeping his attention on my face while my hand inched towards my mug. “It’s been a hell of a day. I think I needed this.”

“Don’t thank me yet, puppet. We haven’t discussed how you’ll be making it up to me.”

“Well, how bout we start with a drink?”

I flung my mug at his head before he could answer. I hated to waste good beer, but the opening it bought me was well worth it. I screamed and launched myself at him, ramming my knee into his gut with all the force I could manage, then smashing my soup bowl over his head as he doubled over. He dropped to all fours as the clay bowl shattered and sent hot soup into his eyes. I’d hoped the blow would put him down for keeps, but he just shook his head, sending beer foam and cooked vegetables flying in all directions. He fixed me with a look of pure murder and started to launch himself at me.

A knee struck his back and drove him to the floor with a thud, and an iron-banded cudgel smacked the stone an inch from his nose.

“Saying hello to the new blood, Borus?” Cael asked.

For a minute I thought Borus would try to fight back. Then he seemed to think better of it.

“Aye,” he growled, “I was just offering a friendly greeting when this bruta jumped me.”

“Hmm. I’ll tell the guard to keep you safe from her from now on.”

Laughter echoed through the room, and Borus flushed red all across his shaved head. Cael looked up at me.

“I take it you’ve finished your meal?”

“Quite, and I enjoyed every minute of it.”

Cael just shook his head and pointed me towards the open doorway that I assumed led back to the fighters’ rooms.

“Let’s get you settled, then.” He took my arm and marched me out of the mess hall without another word.

The corridor we entered branched to the left and right, and the walls of both passages were lined with narrow wooden doors set into the stone wall. We turned left and walked for a while in silence. I could tell that he was upset, but I figured if he was bothered enough to say something then he’d speak up, and if he wasn’t then there was no need for me to do it for him.

“I guess you really are good at making friends,” he finally said into the silence.

“I was only defending myself,” I protested. “If I’d backed down the first time some two-copper thug bared his teeth at me, everyone else would know I was easy pickings.”

“But that wasn’t just some two-copper thug. Borus is the arena champion.”

Cael might as well have just dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.

“What?”

“Going on four years now, the longest anyone I know of has held the title. He’s won so many bouts that we’ve stopped counting. Trebonious granted him his freedom last year, believe it or not. Borus told him the arena was his home now, and he had no intention of ever leaving.”

And some twig of a girl just broke a soup bowl over his head in front of all his friends. Wonderful.

We came to a stop in front of one of the last doors on the wall before the hallway ended in another heavy, locked door. Cael pushed it open to reveal a simple, bare room. Four stone walls were lit by a small lantern.  A straw pallet, a chamber pot, and a stool were all that waited for me inside.

“This is mine?”

“It’s not much, but the door locks from the inside, and you can’t beat the view.”

“It’s perfect,” I said, and I meant it. A room of my own. It was nicer than anything I’d seen since the Daughters of Vesta had tossed me out and closed the temple doors behind me.

“So what happens now? Do I have to report for inspection or something?”

“Ha, no, nothing like that. In fact, you’re free to mind your own business during the day unless there’s a fight scheduled.”

“When’s the next one?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered, then chuckled at my involuntary gasp. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the Master won’t send you out onto the sand that fast. And don’t worry about Borus, either. Just keep your head down for a few days. Another win in the arena should do wonders for his pride, and he’ll forget all about you.”

“I’ll try.”

He nodded, and turned to leave.

“And Cael?” He stopped and looked back at me.

“Thank you.”

He seemed surprised at first, then a pleased grin spread across his face. He nodded, then walked back down the corridor.

I stepped inside my new home and closed the door. I drew the bolt home, paused for a minute, then checked again to make sure it was as locked as it could get. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but with no way to see the sun I supposed it didn’t really matter, and I was exhausted. I blew out the lantern, stretched out on the pallet, and fell asleep before I’d finished my third breath.

Chapter 3

I woke up to the sound of muffled voices in the hallway outside my door. I still had no sense of what time it was, but after smashing the better part of my last meal over Borus’ head I was hungry enough that I didn’t much care. As I opened the door and stepped into the hall the two bruisers who’d been chatting it up a few cells down caught sight of me and went quiet. They stared at me as I walked past, but didn’t make a move or speak to me. Apparently word of my run in with the arena champion had already made the rounds.

First day here and I’m already famous. Lucky me.

The common room was mostly empty when I wandered in. A few men sat alone or in pairs around the room, and I spotted the blonde elf-man cleaning off his plate at a nearby table. I felt their eyes follow me as I moved to sit at the same table that Borus had tried to roust me from yesterday. I glared around the room, daring someone to say something about it, but they all just turned back to their meals as the quiet hum of morning conversation picked back up again.

A few minutes later a guard set a bowl of porridge and hunk of dark bread in front of me. I tucked in and tried to think of some way to keep myself alive and un-maimed through the end of the week.

I’d never been to prison before, but I’d talked to enough of those who had to understand the way of it well enough. I’d made the biggest man here look stupid, so it was sure as shit he was looking to make an example of me to keep others from trying to do the same. Now every man here who wanted to be on better terms with him had a good reason to rough me up, or worse, and it didn’t take a Vestan Sister to deduce how long that list would be.

Someone would get to me sooner or later. It wasn’t a happy thought, but trying to fool myself into thinking otherwise wouldn’t change the facts, which meant my only hope of keeping my skin in one piece was either to make nice with Borus somehow, or find enough folks willing to watch my back to make the risk of trying something too high. Either way, that meant making friends, and making friends fell just above growing daisies out of my ass on the list of things that I was good at.

I couldn’t help but let out a sigh as I chewed my breakfast. How did I keep managing to turn a bad thing worse? First the senator whose purse I’d snatched by mistake back in Byzantia to get myself sentenced to this shithole in the first place, then the governor and Borus once I’d arrived. After years of doing a reasonably good job of keeping my head down and my stomach filled, it seemed I’d suddenly developed a stunning capacity for pissing off exactly the wrong person at exactly the wrong time.

Still, thinking back over the chain of events that had led me here, I couldn’t honestly say I’d do things any different if I was given the chance.

Nothing about life is fair. Never has been, and never will be. The strong and the rich hold all the cards, and they know exactly how to play them. The only thing a street rat like me has going is that they don’t ever expect you to fight back, so when life backs you into a corner your only play is to hit first as hard as you can and hope it buys you enough time to run. It had worked for me well enough so far, but somehow I didn’t think that either fighting or running were going to save me now.

“I’d offer you a copper for your thoughts, but from the look on your face I’m not sure they’d be worth the coin.”

I looked up and found the elf man standing over me with a smile on his face. It took me a moment to realize that the words I’d heard had been his.

“You can talk?”

Surprise had loosened my tongue, and those words were the first that tumbled out.

So much for making friends, but the smile on his face just spread into a grin.

“I should certainly hope so, or else my dear parents would be even more disappointed in me than they already are.”

I felt the blood rising to my cheeks as I shook my head. He might be an inhuman monster, but he wasn’t half bad to look at, and here I was babbling like a sun-addled idiot.

“I just didn’t expect you to speak Byzantian, is all. Don’t your people have their own language?”

“Indeed we do, but I’ve taken a liking to yours.”

He sat down on the opposite bench without waiting for an invitation.

“It’s so colorful. I don’t know how you’d begin to call someone a shit eating cock-for-brains in elvish, but I’m certain it wouldn’t have half the same spice. Besides, your Byzantian is a rather simple tongue to master, truth be told. Nothing like trying to get your mouth around a dwarven syllable, that’s for certain. I suppose that’s why many here in Danan have adopted your speech as a sort of common language. Makes it a far sight easier to communicate, given that most would rather chop off their own hand than be heard speaking their enemies’ native tongue. So, thank you for that I suppose.”

“Danan? I thought this city was called Farshore?”

“Your city is, but I’m speaking of the continent you built it on, love. Goodness, haven’t they even bothered to tell you its name? Oh, and speaking of names, mine is Alleron. At your service, to be sure.”

“Charity,” I mumbled as I shoveled the last of the porridge into my mouth. It didn’t seem like this Alleron planned anything that might force me to break my bowl over his head, but I wanted to get all the food out of it this time, just in case.

“So I’ve heard. In fact, I’d wager there’s not a man in here who hasn’t. You made quite an entrance.”

“That bad, huh? Does Borus have a lot of friends?”

“Lanari’s tits, I should think not. He’s a shit eating cock-for-brains.”

He paused, and his eyes drifted towards the ceiling as though they chased after some important thought that had nearly escaped him.

“On the other hand, I’ve never before seen an individual who was quite so adept at killing people, so most go out of their way to remain in his good graces. It did my heart a world of good to see you go after him the way you did.”

“Glad I could brighten your day.”

I’m normally fairly good at reading people. You have to be to stay alive on the streets, but I had no idea what to make of this one. His smile was friendly enough, but something about the grace in his movements or the way he kept a casual watch on the room told me that he could take care of himself if he needed to.

“So, Alleron, what are you doing down here in the pits, anyway? Did you eat someone you weren’t supposed to?”

Most of the Farshore stories I’d heard either started or ended with someone being eaten by a mythic, but my question mostly just seemed to confuse him.

“I volunteered, actually.”

“You can do that?”

“I wasn’t entirely certain myself until I tried, but that Trebonious fellow seemed happy enough to have a ‘sharp ear’ in his arena when I asked him about it.”

“But why would you want to risk your life down here by choice? You get tired of breathing?”

“Nothing of the sort. In fact, I’m waiting to meet someone here.”

“Oh? Friend of yours?”

“Not yet, but I’m hoping she will be one day.”

“Wait, then how do you know the person you’re waiting for will end up here if you haven’t met them yet?”

He leaned forward as though he wanted to swap secrets, so I leaned forward too.

“I have foreseen it.”

His voice was full of cheap theatrics, and he wiggled his fingers in front of his face as though he were playing with invisible puppets. He grinned and raised one eyebrow as he waited for me to laugh at his joke. The only problem being that I had no bleeding idea what he was going on about. All I could do was stare back at him in confusion as his smile wilted away.

“Um, you know…magic, that is.”

Just then I was glad that I’d already finished my food. I’m sure I would have choked on it otherwise.

“Say what now?”

Alleron laughed and shook his head.

“Ah yes, you’re fresh off that boat of yours. Are there truly no wizards or sorceresses where you come from? Not even a hedge witch or two? Life must be exceedingly dull there.”

I only half heard what he said after that. A good night’s sleep had put Trebonious’ threatening talk of magic out of my mind. At the time I’d dismissed it as nothing more than the eccentric ramblings of a man who’d been away from Byzantia a little too long; just one more strange part of a strange day. Yet now an elf (and I had only just begun to make my peace with using that word as it was) sat across the table from me, prattling on about magic like we were discussing suits of clothing or possible breakfast options.

“…not as flashy as Evocation magic of course, though I dare say it’s a damned sight more practical indoors. Most laugh when they hear that I’ve devoted the better part of the past century to mastering the nuances of Divination, but I wouldn’t trade it for all the stone golems or pillars of balefire in the Emerald Magus’ spell tome.”

I knew that some of the Divines’ clerics had shoved the stick of holy righteousness so far up their asses that they’d been able to channel the gods’ power into miraculous signs and wonders, but none would ever have been mad enough to claim that the power was their own. The old legends were filled with enchantments; fire from the sky, hundred year sleeps, conjured beasts and the like, but everyone knew they were just stories.

Yesterday I’d have sooner believed a man offering to sell me a gilded mansion in the Silk District on the cheap than one claiming to weave spells and incantations, but I was having a harder and harder time ignoring the fact that everyone around here seemed to take the idea as a given. I realized that Alleron had paused and seemed to be waiting to hear my thoughts on the matter.

“Well…good for you, I suppose. Most people are idiots anyway.”

His face brightened.

“And here I thought I was the only one who’d noticed that. Come on, Trebonious will be posting the matches for today’s games any minute now. Care to join me in a round of pointing and laughing at the unlucky sods who’ll be risking life and limb today?”

In truth I didn’t much care who would be fighting in the games now that I knew my name wouldn’t be on the list. Alleron seemed eager to go, however, and as I’d somehow managed to avoid offending him so far, I decided to at least make some effort to keep it that way. I nodded, grabbed the last of the bread off my plate, and stood to follow him.

Alleron threaded between tables as he headed toward the door on what I had come to think of as the west wall. A guard stood next to it, cudgel in hand and a scowl on his face, but he made no move to stop us as Alleron reached forward and swung the door open, so I followed him into the hallway. It was a short corridor of blank stone that ended in another door. I could hear the muted sound of a crowd of voices through its thick wooden planks, and when Alleron opened it and stepped through I saw that most of those who’d been gathered in the common room when I arrived now milled around the room inside.

The first thing I noticed about the large room was the glorious morning sunlight that flooded into it through the open grates in the ceiling. The sudden brilliance sent a shock of pain through my eyes, but I drank it in all the same. Even though I’d only spent a day or so underground, I was surprised at how much a spot of real sunlight did to lift my spirits.

As my eyes adjusted, I scanned the rest of the large, circular room and realized that it was mostly devoted to training and general exercise. Boulders of various sizes were lined up against the far wall just waiting for the next muscle ox to lift or roll them about. They stood next to racks filled with wooden or blunted practice weapons, while battered straw dummies and sand pits for wrestling or sparring were spread around the room.

None of the men around us were training, however. They stood alone or in small groups, filling the room with the hum of conversation. I scanned their faces and let out a small sigh of relief when I saw that Borus was not among them. Still, I knew better than to let down my guard. Just because the big dog wasn’t here didn’t mean another one of his pack wouldn’t try to take a swipe at me if I gave them the chance. I caught sight of the orc Cael had called Nataka exchanging quiet words with a large bearded man and the dwarf Magnus on the far side of the room, but I saw no sign of the halfling.

No one paid either Alleron or myself much notice as we entered. Probably because they all kept one eye on the only other door I could see. Its heavy frame, iron bands, and lack of a handle all told me that it led out to the guards’ quarters and offices I’d passed through on my way in yesterday.

Then the room echoed with the rasp of an iron bar being drawn back and the squeak of protesting hinges as the door swung open to reveal Cael’s tall form standing on the other side. The shadow of a smile that had played at the corners of his mouth yesterday was nowhere to be seen. In fact, if I didn’t know better, it looked to me like he wanted to hit someone, and he didn’t much care who it was.

He walked into the room without acknowledging anyone. I noticed that he carried a sheet of paper in one hand and a small hammer and spike in the other. He crossed to the large wooden column that supported the ceiling in the center of the room, pressed the paper to it, and drove the spike into it with one solid strike of the hammer.

Everyone crowded forward to get a look at the page he had nailed to the column as Cael turned and marched back the way he had come. I kept my eyes on Cael’s back as he shoved his way to the door. He seemed in a hurry to leave, but he paused as he reached the door to look back over the crowd. I was surprised when his gaze found mine and stopped there. He stared at me for a moment, his face so still and cold that I couldn’t begin to guess at what he was thinking. Then he frowned, shook his head, and turned to leave, drawing the heavy door closed behind him with a crash. The look on his face as he’d turned away left a cold, queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was the kind of look a man wears to a friend’s funeral.

The crowd was pressed in tight around the column, but one by one they pushed their way free and headed out of the room after they’d had their chance to look at the page, so Alleron and I just waited at the back for things to thin out a bit. I noticed that more than a few of those who left cast glances of their own in my direction as they passed by. None of them were friendly.

“Nervous?” Alleron asked as a little half-smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Of course not,” I lied. “Are you?”

“Hardly. I won my last match, after all. There’s no reason for you to worry, either. Trebonious always gives winners and new blood alike a break from the games to get their feet back under them.”

That might have made me feel better if I’d had a chance to take it in, but Alleron spotted a gap in the crowd and dove into it, pulling me along behind him. After a short scuffle he managed to force his way to the front and stopped to read the page, blocking my view with a curtain of golden hair.

“Oh my…well, this is unexpected.”

“Damn it, Alleron. Let me through!”

I managed to elbow him aside far enough to get a look at the page. As I’d expected, it was a list of names paired together; the schedule of who would be facing off against each other in today’s games. I scanned the list, picking my way through a lot of names I didn’t recognize until I found one that I did.

My own, right beside Borus the Kinslayer in the final match of the day.

* * *