"Well, we've done it, Talbot," said Laquatas into his mirror. "The first two parts of my plan are in motion. The Cabal will flush the barbarian into the lowlands where the Citadel forces will bring the holy might of the Order down upon them and take the Mirari back to the Citadel."

"But how does that help us, my lord?" asked Talbot.

"Look at this map, Talbot," said Laquatas as he pointed the mirror down at the map on his table. "The Order forces will follow the same route home that they took when they last had the Mirari. All we need to do is prepare an ambush for them here at the edge of the Krosan forest. We take the orb from the Order, but they get the blame for its loss by the Cabal. Then, when we are done with it, we can use it to buy our way back into the First's good graces."

"Brilliant, sire," said Talbot. "Shall I return to the trench to marshal our forces?"

"No. I need you to stay in Aphetto and maintain your watch on the lovely Veza," said Laquatas, looking into the mirror once again. "We can't afford any interference from Llawan. Have you made contact? Does that despicable girl know anything about our machinations?"

"I have met with Veza several times as you ordered, sire," replied Talbot as he wiped a wet sponge across his brow to moisten his scales. "As you suspected, she has tried to win me over to the empress's side, and I have been able to provide her with much false information. As far as the empress knows, you are bartering for mercenaries for a direct assault on the capital."

"Be careful what you tell her, Talbot," said Laquatas. "We may do just that once we have the Mirari in our hands and can destroy that interminable portal. But that is as good a lie as any for now. You are sure Veza knows nothing about our plans to retrieve the Mirari?"

"Absolutely, sire," said Talbot, wiping his brow with the sponge once again.

"Good. I will leave for the trench in a day or two to muster our forces. I will be in contact again before we leave for the forest's edge. Update me at that time about Llawan's plans. I don't want any surprises."

CHAPTER 8

"This is no way to choose a leader!" yelled Jeska. "You cannot unite the tribes by fighting each tribe's champion. All this will do is drive a spike between you and the rest of the warriors."

Kamahl had been listening to this argument all week and knew that nothing he said would sway his sister's mind, so he merely continued to gnaw on the leg bone in his hand.

"She's a stubborn one, eh, Kamahl?" asked Balthor, adding more fuel to this ever-burning fire.

"And you," bellowed Jeska at Balthor. "You condone this competition just to prove that your boy is the strongest of the strong." Jeska threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "But you can't lose, old man. Every one of those warriors was trained by you or trained by one of your 'boys.' What will this barbaric tournament prove, anyway?"

Before Balthor could answer and make things even worse, Kamahl stood up, grabbed his sister by the shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes.

"It is what we are, dear Sister. If this tournament is barbaric, it is because we are barbarians." He sat her down in front of her untouched plate of food and knelt beside her. "You know the only thing barbarians respect is strength in battle. That is why the challenge battles came to be. In the old days, before the great war, entire tribes fought over nothing more than the right to drink from a mountain stream. The challenge battles changed all that. Now, there is honor in battle. Honor and glory. The champion of a tribe is the leader of the tribe. And the more battles a champion wins, the more power and prestige is bestowed upon that tribe."

"And the Auror tribe has been among the elite for three generations," added Balthor in between bites.

"Is that what this is all about?" asked Jeska. "You're returning to take your rightful place leading the Elite Eight?"

"I left because there were no more challenges for me here, no more battles to win," said Kamahl. "But now I see there is one more challenge. The challenge to change the tribes forever. If the tribes cannot come together under a single leader, we will all die, separate and alone. And, if anyone is to lead our proud people, he must earn every warrior's respect in battle because that is still who we are. That is what this tournament is for-to prove to the champions that I am fit to lead them all in battle."

"All it will prove is that they fear the power of the Mirari," countered Jeska.

Kamahl slammed the floor with his fist and stood up again, towering over his sister. "If that is what it takes to band my people together to face the storm that is so surely coming, then so be it!" raged Kamahl, his face purple with anger, his hand raised as if to strike his sister.

"Look at you," said Jeska calmly in the face of her brother's rage. "Any mention of the Mirari and you lose yourself in anger. With every passing day, these outbursts come more frequently. I fear you will not be able to control its power when pressed in battle."

She grabbed his hand, which still quivered in the air beside her face. "And if you kill a fellow tribesmen in this tournament, who will respect you then? If you truly wish to win their respect, Brother, then fight without the orb."

"I cannot risk losing," he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet and dropping back into his chair. "I must wield my sword if I am to win."

"Then promise me you will rest between battles to regain your strength and control," pleaded Jeska. "I am worried about you Kamahl."

"Bah, woman!" growled Balthor. "Save your tender mercies for the weak, the women, and the children. A warrior never backs down from a challenge."

"Who is my first challenge?" Kamahl asked Balthor as he swung his sword in an arc in front of him, practicing his moves.

"Some young upstart by the name of Murk," replied Balthor. "He's made a bit of a name for himself in the last few years, while ye were out gallivanting about the continent. He's not that strong yet, but he thinks he's ready to challenge the Elite Eight."

Kamahl stopped his sword practice and looked at Balthor. "So, the Eight convinced him to test his mettle against me to see if he was ready and to see just how powerful I have become, eh?"

"Aye, lad," replied Balthor. "Talon plays this game well. I'm sure he'll be picking all your fights if ye let him."

"No matter. I will win every battle Talon throws at me, and then I will tear him apart like a rag doll in front of his precious Elite Eight." Kamahl sheathed his sword and stalked off to the arena.

Kamahl surveyed the arena. It was set in Balthor's obstacle course, but most of the walls and stone tunnels had been removed to provide a large open space for the battles. A few obstacles remained in strategic points around the arena to provide cover or higher ground. The walls of the Judgment course were lined with warriors and villagers who had come to watch the spectacle.

Murk was a tall, lanky warrior with a shock of black, spiky hair on top of his head and what he obviously thought was a severe looking goatee on his chin. He jumped and wove around one comer of the arena as Kamahl entered, tossing taunts at the much larger barbarian.

"Big Kamahl and his monster sword. You gonna throw your weight around, big man? Well, if you want to hit me, you'll have to catch me first."

"If all you can do is bounce and bray, little man, this will be a short battle," replied Kamahl. Then looking up at Talon, who stood in the watch tower, he said, "Is this the best you could get to face me today, Talon?"