One of the hand servants waved away Phage's defense. "It is not the killing, but the blood. There is too much blood for families. It is merely an aesthetic concern."

"I will charge the mages to use magic skin spells to keep the blood in."

"Precisely," said the First, turning at last. A servant motioned Phage to stand. "There has to be some, or the deaths will not seem real, but not gallons this way."

"Not gallons," she echoed as she rose.

The First approached, his own hands spread wide. He embraced no one unless he planned to slay-no one except Phage. His killing aura surrounded her, and hers surrounded him. He crushed her to him.

"You have done well, Daughter. I am more pleased than I can express."

She sighed. Those were the words she had longed to hear.

He broke the embrace almost too soon and turned his eyes back to the match. All the Invaders, including the demon, lay dead. Most of the Dominarians also had been destroyed. Just now, the two Dominarian gladiators fought each other. The crowd screamed its approval, and the First's hand servants clapped.

"How will you top today's offerings?" the First asked quietly.

Phage began to respond, but a rattling clamor came behind her. Someone arrived, a very certain someone.

Braids bounded in. No sooner had she arrived than she bowed, not in reverence but nausea. She vomited unceremoniously on the floor but lifted a grinning face. "Like the show?"

"Very much," the First responded regally. He did not look to the vomit, seeming to consider it an offering of obeisance.

"The rug will be replaced, of course," Phage said.

"Of course."

As if she had heard the First's question, Braids said, "You should see what we have planned for the future! Grudge matches!"

The First still did not turn toward her, but an eyebrow lifted, a sign of intense interest. "Grudge matches?"

Braids draped herself over a nearby chair and said, "Yeah. What's more entertaining than watching a fight between people who hate each other? When we can, we'll get famous feuds, but it'll also work to have theme days-cuckold fights, cat fights, holy wars, vendettas, revenge. We'll offer the combatants their choice of weapons, staging, and lethality."

"Good," said the First. "Very good."

Braids fiddled idly with her hair. "It's the first step toward your vision, making the arena a judicial system." She cupped her hands, using her barker's voice. "Don't fight in the streets like dogs! Come to the arena. You'll get justice, fame, and valuable prizes!" Dropping her hands, she said, "The fights will teach morality. When there is a draw, the citizens themselves can decide who wins and who loses, who lives and who dies. We can even make people feel it is their civic duty to attend such matches, to make certain justice is done."

The First nodded very slowly. "Let's not use the word 'duty' in conjunction with the coliseum. We want folk to think of pleasure and fun, not of duty. We want to lure them, not drag them in."

Braids was suddenly out of the chair, kneeling low in sick worship. "Forgive me."

The First watched the distant fight, seeing the Dominarian warrior decapitate the mage. "There is nothing to forgive." While the crowd roared, the First glanced toward Phage. "I have the perfect such match in mind for you. I have spent the last few months arranging it."

"Only say the word, and it is done," Phage said.

The First smiled. "You will fight your brother Kamahl. He is on his way. You will fight in a month."

Phage bowed. "Eagerly, Master."

"Forgive me," Braids snickered, bounding away. "I must announce the next match." Her voice faded as she withdrew through chamber and antechamber. By the time she got outside, the sound rose again. "Behold, young and old," she barked, leaping up the stands, "the miracle coliseum brings you none other than the miracle workers who built it. Behold!"

While giant lizards dragged away the remains of the armies, doors swung wide. A trudging platoon of dwarves emerged. Behind them came gigantipithicus apes and shorn rhinos, goblins and mule men. They were armed with the tools of their trades-hammers, chisels, ropes, wedges, chains. All had the sweat and grit of months of labor on them. Their faces were grim despite the glad shouts of the crowd.

The First watched in amazement. "Who could they possibly fight?"

From beyond the luxury box, the voice of Braids belted out. "A thousand slaves, kept in line by a hundred whips. Behold their foes, the taskmasters!"

More doors opened, disgorging a motley group of creatures in black leather suits and spiked helms. Magic scourges cracked in their hands. Hisses and boos greeted the taskmasters, but they only whirled their whips more viciously.

The First smiled.

"They've been at war all this time," commented Phage quietly. "The wreckage of their war is this new coliseum. While they built, I forbade them to kill each other. Now they have permission, and all have agreed to it. It is a sort of prelude to the grudge matches."

Braids' voice intruded, ringing throughout the stands: "And at the head of the taskmasters will fight their own masters-Braids and Phage of the Cabal!"

The resultant ovation was deafening.

"I must go," Phage said, gesturing toward the door.

"Win, Daughter," the First said. "I will place a hundred thousand gold on you."

Phage bowed her head. "That is too dear a price."

"If you lose," the First said, "I will have paid a far dearer one."

Phage and Braids walked side by side across the sand. The roar of the crowd heaped on their shoulders. It was a perfect moment: blue sky above, red sands below, taskmasters behind, and slaves before.

The two sides rushed into battle. Oh, so many scores would be settled today. Best of all, though, the world was watching.

The First was watching too.

"They've strength, but no magic and little speed," Braids said, bouncing gladly as the lines neared. "I say we strike with speed and magic Kicking up her feet, she hurtled across the sandy no-man's land. Braids flashed into and out of being, running half the distance in dementia space. It was as if she ran through an invisible forest. In a heartbeat, she reached the slave contingent, leapt, and darted across their heads. Spike heels dropped dwarves and goblins in their ranks. Braids ran up the chest of a gigantipithicus, kicked its massive chin, and flipped over backward as it fell. She gave a ululating cry and cartwheeled away over the heads of the goblins. In mere moments, she bounded back to her army.

"Sounds fine," Phage answered.

«_»

Braids grinned avidly and fell in step. "That was the quick bit. Here's the magic."

Her face blanched. She gripped her stomach and wretched. Her mouth stretched violently wide, and from between ragged teeth, she spat a huge creature. The thing was all sliding triangles of black carapace and claws. It squeezed past distended jaws and thumped down on the ground.

As it rose, the hulking beast dripped saliva. A pair of bug eyes lolled in its bristly forehead. Teeth splayed in a false smile, and it galloped out across the sand.

"A brotal," explained Braid. "Saw it in dementia space and swallowed it to bring it here."

"Very nice," Phage said quietly as the monster tore into the front ranks of the slaves. Its claws were the length of sling blades, and they cut apart the dwarf vanguard. It seemed to be hungry for goblin.

Still more slaves came on, their weapons clutched tightly.

Impassive, Phage raised her hand and signaled her forces to launch their ranged attacks.

Grinning eagerly, the taskmasters complied. They brought their scourges hissing and snapping before them. From each metal-tipped thong spun vicious magic, the sorceries they had used on the slaves all along.