Laquatus's gaze narrowed. "No. But I will tell you as soon as they have."

"Thank you, Laquatus." Veza ducked under the glowing disk and swam to the edge of the marble. "I must get back to my duties now." She took her robe from poolside. "Can your transport get me back to Breaker Bay?"

"Certainly. In this case, that's what it's for." Laquatus waved his hands and the two disks disappeared. He quickly traced another onto the surface of the pool and turned to Veza. "The other portal should be on the surface of Breaker Bay, just outside your cottage." Veza swam back to Laquatus, and he stopped her with a raised hand.

"I hope," he said, "that you don't feel this trip was for nothing."

"Not at all. But I am unused to reporting directly to the empress, and I do not want to disappoint her."

"Impossible," Laquatus said, flashing his most winning grin. Veza nodded. "Long live the empire." "Until we meet again."

Laquatus watched Veza dive into the portal and disappear. Damn the little land crawler anyway. Her mind was tight and ordered and clear, but it was also as hard as ice. He could see it, touch it, test it, but he could neither take hold of it nor gain access to it. Like many sea creatures, Veza was immune to all but the most invasive of the ambassador's telepathic probes.

Laquatus switched back to his legged form and climbed out of the pool. He was not overly concerned. He had cracked tougher minds than Veza's in his time, and she already seemed enamored of his ability to change shape so easily. The more they interacted, the more receptive she would become. If he was careful, he could cultivate her as a political ally and as a scapegoat should anything go wrong.

For now, he thought, Veza and Llawan both could keep. He put on his robe and mentally signaled Turg. The games were about to start, and it was time for the eventual winning team to scout the competition.

CHAPTER 9

Chainer helped Kamahl find the location of the barbarian's first bout, then disappeared into the crowd. Kamahl was slowly warming to Chainer's presence, but Chainer took the first opportunity he could to break away.

He wanted to watch Kamahl fight from a clear vantage point, to see how good the mountain warrior really was. Chainer also wanted to avoid the centaur Kamahl had been given as a partner. Chainer didn't like centaurs, and he didn't trust himself to treat the man-horse as tactfully as the First required.

So he stood in the spot with the best view he knew, up against the railing in the mezzanine. When Kamahl and the centaur teamed up against a Cabal dementia caster, Chainer was honestly impressed. Kamahl was much more careful in his application of force than any barbarians Chainer had heard about. He was devastating in combat, but he was also in control. The centaur seemed competent enough, but it was Kamahl who finished off their opponent with some kind of exploding axe. It was marvelous.

Chainer gladly joined in the cheers for the victor. As he'd expected, the fixers had put long odds on the unknown warrior from the mountains, and anyone smart enough to put a bet down on Kamahl more than quadrupled their money. Chainer himself earned a tidy sum.

Until the moment Kamahl's bout started, he hadn't felt the rush of being in the pits again, hadn't recaptured the simple joy of combat. No wonder he'd felt uninvolved. The games had been lackluster, he was on an important assignment from the First, and he was unarmed except for a thrice-damned ornamental dagger. Watching Kamahl brought it all back for him. The elegant simplicity of the contest, the concrete rewards of developing one's skills, the pride of a well-fought victory, these things were missing from an apprentice's life.

Chainer picked his way through the crowd back to Kamahl's side and congratulated him personally. The centaur had trotted off to comb the nettles out of its tail or some such thing. Chainer was only glad it was gone.

Chainer and Kamahl were watching Turg tear apart a Krosan dragonette when the alarm sounded. The barbarian reacted a split second before the Cabalist, but both were up before the sentries blew a second warning.

"Something big is coming," Chainer said. "That's the full-on alert klaxon."

Kamahl grunted and unsheathed one of his throwing axes. "Come on, then. Let's go kill something big."

Chainer paused, trying to sort out competing priorities. The First had told him to stick with Kamahl, but the Cabal was under attack.

Chainer watched a pitiful few Cabalists standing firm against the crush of warriors and spectators trying to escape. The Master of the Games had lost all control.

"You go," Chainer said to Kamahl. "I can do more good in here." Kamahl nodded, and without a second glance charged off into the bedlam.

Chainer watched him go with a kind of jealousy. The barbarians had it good, he thought. All they needed was something to fight and their path became clear. Chainer didn't know what Kamahl was running off to confront, but then neither did Kamahl, and Chainer longed for that kind of abandon. Perhaps he should have been born in the mountains.

Chainer pulled the ceremonial dagger from his hip, tucked it into his shirt, and sprinted back toward his quarters. He would never throw away anything the First had given him, but he would be damned if he were going to wear it one second longer than he had to.

And while he could not stop the First from simply giving the Mirari away, Chainer vowed that he would stop anyone who tried to steal it from the prize cache.

Very few people took notice of a single, determined, unarmed young man as he dodged panicky civilians and hurdled slow-moving monsters. Two who did notice sat in a darkened room, deep inside the First's manor, staring into a scrying pool.

"He's going to get his weapons. His chain and dagger," Skellum said.

"Yes," the First answered.

"I should go to him. He's at a very dangerous stage of his training right now. A small error in judgment could cost him his life- and the Cabal a lot more." "And yet," the First said, "if he displays sound judgment, he'll take a great leap forward. He and the Cabal would both profit."

"Very true, Pater." Skellum waited for a moment. "May I go to him?"

"Stay with me a while longer," the First said. "Let us roll the bones with your young pupil there. You can't properly evaluate a student if his mentor never stops mentoring."

"The First is wise." Skellum anxiously watched Chainer in the scrying pool. He hadn't thought of it before, but the First usually watched the games from his private box that floated high above the arena, or he didn't watch them at all. The only reason to call Skellum in to join him for a private viewing was to keep him away from Chainer.

The First also watched Chainer in the scrying pool, ignoring Skellum for the moment. Then, he said, "Everything is working out perfectly."

Skellum knew that the next few minutes would either make his pupil great or break him down into a gibbering husk. Barred from action, Skellum's mind raced through all the potential outcomes of Chainer's impromptu trial by fire. And though he swam on the shores of nightmare and kept the creatures he found there in his pocket, Skellum realized he was afraid.

Chainer ran toward the prize vault with renewed confidence. With his chain and his dagger, he felt fully dressed again. A tiny seed of inspiration had also led him to grab the censer and a few discs of Dragon's Blood.