"You understand this, Rialus Leagueman?" Devoth asked.

"Not in the slightest," Rialus admitted.

The Auldek laughed. "Ah, I forget your ignorance. So much to learn."

"Those soldiers, they are not Auldek?"

"Of course, not!" someone in the row behind Rialus exclaimed. "Auldek do not draw Auldek blood. What do you think us?"

Devoth explained, "It was agreed that we would not kill our own. That is why our ultimate punishment is banishment, not death. We fight among ourselves, yes." He grinned, making the statement seem an admission of a guilty pleasure. "But in something like this-a matter to be decided in blood-we let our slaves represent us. It is an honor for them. These are special slaves, selected to be divine children. They are elevated above other slaves. Before you are totem warriors of the eight clans of the Auldek. Here. See over there?"

He leaned across Rialus, pointing first toward groups of warriors who had feline facial tattoos, and then the others as he named them. "The Shivith, the spotted cats. Those over there are the Kern, the blue cranes. They look slim, yes? Delicate? Don't be fooled. They're deadly. The Anet clan worships the hooded snake. The Kulish Kra-those with their backs to us-black crows. Those gray ones-Antoks. The wolves represent the Wrathic from beyond the Sky Mount. The Fru Nithexek are brothers of the sky bear, but they are weak, few in number. The Numrek… have no totem."

"And there"-Devoth drew back so that Rialus could see past him to the last group-"are the snow lions, the Lvin. Those are mine. My lions. My totem." He timed this announcement perfectly, for the Lvin were the last to enter. Though Rialus had no idea what a snow lion was, there was no mistaking the impact of the slaves so named. They came roaring like some beast of the Talayan plains. Most of them had white faces, sometimes tattooed or painted down across their torsos. In the center were the largest men, several of whom sported tresses as white as snow. As they marched and yelled and smacked life into those around them, their locks danced about them like snakes writhing.

"There are other totems in the land," Devoth continued, his voice low and filled with pride, "but they are small. Ants. These are the eight clans. We are the ones who decide the future; and today, we fight for the honor of being the spear point. None of your race has seen this. None other ever will. Enjoy and feel privileged."

Both enjoyment and feelings of privilege lived somewhere far from Rialus's present state of mind. He had yet to sort out the intricacies of Auldek social and political life. He doubted he would understand it all even if he spent years in Ushen Brae, which he prayed to the Giver that he would not. Over the last few days, Rialus had seen enough of the slaves to know that they were often tattooed, adorned with jewelry, and physically modified. But the changes were minor on the household servants. These warriors were monstrosities. Yet they were the Auldek's own creations. Why do that to them? Why not do it themselves if the Auldek found such things attractive?

Perhaps it was evidence of his compromised mental state, because before he could censor himself, Rialus heard this question escape his lips. "Why is it the slaves who are so adorned?"

The group answered him with incredulous silence.

"I would have thought that-" Rialus stopped, unsure what he might have thought. He changed tack. "I mean, why not yourselves? Since the animals are your totems-"

Mulat murmured a curse under his breath, and then added, "Stupid piss pot of a man. The totems are not animals. They are gods who live in the animals!"

Several Auldek faces continued to stare at him. Words came from his mouth, unbidden. "Very interesting that they-just slaves, I mean-decide this spear-point thing."

"That is what the slaves are for!" Calrach barked over his shoulder. "It is a blood test, you fool!"

"I see," Rialus said. "That explains it, then."

Devoth studied Rialus, making him unsure whether he was about to reach out and smash him across the nose or-

"Have a glass of juice," the Auldek said, motioning that a passing tray should be held for the Acacian's consideration.

Rialus obliged. He took the glass of red liquid in both hands, clenching it tightly to keep his hands from trembling.

"Calrach is correct," Devoth said. "This is the way it is. Our slaves are our children. Their fate is inseparable from ours. The changes to their bodies are called 'belonging.' We don't make all the belonging changes to them ourselves. Some they make themselves. Some things only the Lothan Aklun had the magic for. That, it seems, has come to an end because of the league. We will have to be repaid for this. Very much so."

And that closed the subject. A relief, for Rialus. They turned their attention to the spectacle before them. To begin with, individual warriors from the different groups taunted others into single combat. Listening to the banter they threw around, the way they laughed and swore and taunted, put Rialus in mind of the children who dove for oysters at the docks of Acacia's western harbor. Those suntanned, shirtless youths had the same easy competitive air about them. But the divers did not strike blows that severed a crow woman's arm at the shoulder or split a cat man's head so that the crown down to below the eyes went spinning end over end, or that smashed a lovely crane woman's knee between two war hammers.

Rialus really, really felt he was going to be sick. He motioned as much with the fingers of one hand, vaguely calling for attention. It was the type of gesture that would have brought a servant to his side in Acacia. It was ignored here. A hot sweat broke out on his forehead and spread throughout his body. Saliva surged into his mouth and stayed there, no matter how much he swallowed. What was wrong with these people? Looking about him, he could not match the merriment on their faces with the scenes of carnage that evoked it. Before long he sat with his eyes closed, "watching" only with his ears, which he would have stuffed with wax if he thought he could get away with it and had any.

Thus he passed what seemed like several hours. The clash of weapons, the cheers of pleasure and the boasting and the occasional screams of agony went on interminably. He had begun to think they would never end, and he was rather surprised when they stopped. A great ovation took over the arena for a time, and when it finally died the sound faded to a low murmur of conversation and movement.

Rialus opened his eyes. "Is it… over?"

"No, no, not at all," Devoth said. "The cleaners will tend the field for a time, and then we have the melee. That is where matters are truly decided."

The cleaners? As quickly as he thought the question he got the answer. Several other doors, different from the ones the slaves had entered by, had also been opened. From them emerged the monsters Rialus knew by description, though he had not seen their work on the plains of Talay Antoks. There was no mistaking the swinish enormity of them. Nor was there anything hiding the fact that they brought their crosshatched horrors of mouths down on the slain warriors with voracious enthusiasm. Rialus looked away, holding back the convulsions building in his stomach.

Devoth sat back in his seat again, relaxed once more. "So," he said, as if he were asking how he liked the weather or the view, "Rialus Leagueman, will you do as we wish?"

"May I ask what you intend? Just so that I can better answer your question."

Devoth thought about this for a time. He shrugged. Gesturing toward the garish units preparing for the next battle, he said, "See those? They fight for privilege. See how we honor our slaves? At times they decide our futures. The clan that wins here today will lead the invasion. They determine which clan will be the initial spear thrust."