"Kamahl! Are you okay?" 

The barbarian waved Chainer off and dropped 
the rest of the way down to the ground, trying to evade 
the pollen. With his face half-buried in mulch, Kamahl 
coughed the pollen out and tried to suck clear forest 
air in. 

Chainer hesitated. He didn't want to leave 
Kamahl in the dirt, and he didn't want to face the 
grendelkin without support. The huge monster took a 
step forward and casually snapped the top off another 
tree. It used the tree as a crude club, and it shambled 
for-ward, slamming into the ground and other trees 
with each step. "Poison," Kamahl choked. His eyes 
were wet, but he had stopped coughing and was 
struggling back to his feet. "There aren't any poisonous 
plants in this part of Krosan, Chainer. We're being set 
up." 


Scott McGough 

PROLOGUE 


Just outside the walls of Cabal City, far from the 
crushing waves of people and the ringing shouts in the 
marketplace, the young man pressed on. He called 
himself Chainer, and for the first time in a long, busy 
day he was unscheduled. He picked his way through 
the dwindling foot traffic, moving against the flow of 
people headed into the city. As he navigated around 
the last pedestrians in his path, he relished the rare 
gifts of free time and solitude. Without a training 
exercise to complete, an incantation to memorize, or a 
schedule to keep, Chainer was determined not to be 
found. He was a member of the Cabal by choice, ritual, 
and oath, and the Cabal demanded much from its 
initiates. His superiors would pounce on an idle boy 
proclaiming, "Nothing to do? I can fix that." Chainer 
hated being rewarded for good work with more work. 
Rather than waiting for that inevitable hammer to fall, 
Chainer ducked down an alley when no one was 
looking and headed for the gates. 

His pace slowed once he was clear of the city. It 
had been so long since he'd had any time to himself 
that he had all but forgotten how to enjoy it. He 
wondered what other people did when they weren't 
serving their own masters. More to the point, what did 
they do when they weren't trying their best simply to 
stay alive? 

As he wandered and pondered, Chainer walked 
through the squatters' shacks outside the city and into 
the salt flats toward the sparse, dying forest beyond. 

1 



Chainer’s Torment 

He ignored the sullen glares from the squatters 
themselves. If his membership in the Cabal didn't 
protect him from starving civilians, his own skills 
could. He was more alert for any of the dangerous wild 
beasts that lurked on the edges of this and every other 
settlement. Large predators were rare this close to the 
well-lit city gates and its armed guards, but the first 
thing the Cabal taught its members was to be careful 
with the Cabal's equipment, which included their own 
bodies. 

He altered his course and scanned the path 
through the marshy flats. Chainer moved along by 
choosing which parts of the muddy path to avoid 
rather than which ones he wanted to take. He grew 
lost in the rhythm and the repetition of trekking 
through the flats, unaware and unconcerned about 
how far he had traveled. He hiked until his shadow 
grew long before him, until a soft, insistent whisper 
broke through his reverie. 

It wasn't a voice, but it called directly to him. It 
wasn't a song, but the melody gave him chills. It 
wasn't an alarm, but it commanded his attention with 
an urgency that was soft but undeniable. He cupped a 
hand around his ear to help pinpoint the sound. The 
remains of a residential district sat to the southeast, 
and the sound was coming from there. 

Chainer listened for a moment, then started off 
toward the largest house on the ruined block. Its 
immediate neighbors had been bombed and burned 
flat. The ruined mansion with the caved-in roof and 
exposed frame stood tall, a broken but defiant veteran 
of a barely remembered war. 

Chainer paused at the bottom of the front porch 

2 



Scott McGough 

steps. Except for the beckoning sound, the mansion 
was completely silent and still. Chainer expertly drew 
his knuckle dagger, clenched it blade-down and ready 
at his hip, and went carefully up the rickety porch. He 
doubted there was any live danger inside the mansion, 
but then again, he didn't want the Cabal's equipment 
to be damaged either. 

The interior of the mansion was in worse shape 
than the exterior. The main floor was more hole than 
floor, with the basement level clearly visible from the 
front doorway. An ornate metal banister led up to the 
second floor, but the staircase itself was gone, a pile of 
broken wood and carpet scraps in the basement below. 
Chainer looked closer and saw what appeared to be 
bones among the wreckage of the staircase. At least 
three complete humans, one of whom was very small. 

Chainer took one tentative step onto the 
threadbare floor, but before he could put his full 
weight down the ancient boards split and fell away. He 
stepped back onto the porch, which shuddered and 
swayed beneath him. Chainer grunted and scouted the 
entire first floor for a safe route down into the 
basement. 

Finding none, he sheathed his knuckle dagger 
and took his weapon and tool of choice—a ten-foot 
length of black metal chain—from his belt. He looped 
the hard, polished chain around the broken base of a 
statue that guarded the front doorway, and with the 
simplest spell he knew, connected the chain to itself. 

"Link," he whispered, and the spot he was staring 
at shimmered, then coalesced into a new link that was 
indistinguishable from the rest of the chain. Chainer 
leaned backward to cinch up the metal noose and test 

3 



Chainer’s Torment 

its strength. Then he lowered himself down into the 
still, musty debris. 

It was incredibly dark, the kind of darkness that 
caused him to wonder if his eyes were still open. He 
listened for any other movement and waited in vain for 
his eyes to adjust. The sound continued to call him, 
growing higher and more excited as he got closer. 
Methodically, he made his way across the basement 
toward the sound, testing the stone floor before 
putting any weight on it. 

By a pile of moth-eaten fabric and random junk, 
he lit one of his flare candles and immediately noticed 
the sphere. In a small bubble of bright light, Chainer 
stared in naked wonder at the treasure, hovering a 
clear foot off the ground, that had called to him across 
the salt flats. 

The smooth, flawless black ball somehow seemed 
to radiate darkness like fire radiates light. Chainer's 
flare only showed it in relief, for the sphere defined 
itself with its own anti-light. The edges of the sphere's 
dark field crackled and sparked as they rippled and 
undulated outward. 

Half-hypnotized by the black light and the 
triumphant crescendo of sound, Chainer had a vision 
of his future. The world around him dropped away, 
and in a flash of black light and silence he saw, felt, 
and knew the triumphant course his destiny would 
take. He would be a man of importance, of success, 
honored and obeyed as one of the true masters of the 
world. People and monsters alike would bow down 
before him, and at his pleasure they would live or die. 
He would be the Cabal's champion, its ambassador, its 
paragon, and he would spread its influence over the 

4 



Scott McGough 

entire world. 

The light from Chainer's flare began to sputter 
and die. He could still hear the sphere's call, still feel 
its power vibrating in his skull. His course was clear. 
It was the most important thing in the world and as 
such fit only for the most important person in the 
world. 

"For the First," Chainer whispered. He firmly 
grabbed the glowing-black sphere, dropped it into his 
satchel, and pulled the leather drawstring tight. 

The First was undisputed lord and master of the 
entire Cabal, patriarch and protector of its members, 
supreme controller of its political and magical power. 
He managed the Cabal and all its assets from his 
manor inside the city walls, and he needed to see the 
treasure Chainer had uncovered right away. He alone 
deserved it. 

Chainer's eyes narrowed as he considered the trip 
back to Cabal City. It was one thing to walk without 
fear when one's pack was empty. Now that he had 
something worth stealing, opportunist vermin would 
swarm around it like maggots around a corpse. The 
shame and sin of losing the sphere before he had a 
chance to present it to the First would be unbearable. 

Chainer's flare went out, and he stood for a 
moment in the darkness. He quickly retraced his steps 
across the basement and found his chain where it still 
hung from above. He patted the precious cargo at his 
hip, smiled, and began to go hand-over-hand up the 
chain. 

Soon he would be back inside the city. He would 
petition for an audience with the First. And when the 
First laid hands on the black sphere, he would know 

5 



Chainer’s Torment 

what Chainer knew: that Chainer wanted nothing 
more than for his fate and his fortune to be forever tied 
to that of the Cabal. 

6 



Scott McGough 

PART ONE: 


Cabalist 

7 



Chainer’s Torment 

CHAPTER 1 


The sun was setting by the time Chainer 
returned to the salt flats outside the city. He welcomed 
the sight of his home but did not relax. 

A small armed party stood on the path between 
Chainer and the city gates. Chainer recognized one of 
the shapes as human and another as an aven bird 
warrior, but the other two were indistinct. All Chainer 
could tell from a distance was that one was tall and 
the other was short or crouching. The human and the 
aven were dressed in the brilliant white robes of the 
Order. Chainer slowed his pace but did not stop. The 
Order were a passel of militant moral fanatics who 
sought to impose their rules on all the citizens of 
Otaria. They considered all Cabalists criminals and 
the Cabal itself to be a blight on society, despite the 
fact that it thrived all across the continent. Civilized 
Otarians everywhere did business with the Cabal. 
They willingly and repeatedly attended Cabal 
spectacles, borrowed Cabal money, and begged for 
Cabal protection. As far as Chainer was concerned, the 
Order only offered the possibility of a nebulous 
spiritual reward, and even that was contingent upon 
obedience to their childish concept of justice. The 
Cabal was far more concrete and pragmatic. It 
provided food, shelter, and education for anyone 
willing to work for it. 

Chainer resumed his pace, quickly eliminating 
the distance between himself and the Order party. If 
he turned or otherwise tried to avoid them, they would 

8 



Scott McGough 

surely follow. Best to confront them now. 

"Greetings, traveler," the human soldier called. 
"On your way to the city?" Judging by the wrap of the 
Order members' robes and the insignias on their 
shoulders, Chainer made the aven as an officer and 
the human as a foot soldier. Beside the officer squatted 
an ugly, even more birdlike creature with a long neck, 
jagged beak, and vicious sharp talons. The other, taller 
figure kept its back to Chainer, but he could see that it 
was one of the Nantuko, a tribe of intelligent 
mantislike creatures from the Krosan forest. Chainer 
was uneasy. The bug-men rarely came this close to the 
Cabal's city. "1. live there," Chainer said, "and I'm on 
my way home." "Have you seen the light of justice, my 
friend?" Chainer was now close enough, so they could 
speak without shouting. "I have. I found it wanting. 
Let me pass." 

"At ease, trooper," the aven officer said quietly. 
His voice was surprisingly human, but his beak 
clacked together at the end of each sentence. "This one 
is Cabal. Look at his eyes. They have that feral, 
vermin look about them." 

"Let me pass," Chainer repeated. 

The officer stepped forward. "I'm right, aren't I? 
You are Cabal. And according to the truce between 
your patriarch and our commander, we have the right 
to inspect any and all travelers on the road between 
here and the Krosan forest." 

"Bosh," Chainer snarled and gestured angrily. 
"The First never agreed to that." 

"Take it easy, son. Trooper Baankis?" The foot 
soldier drew his sword and stood at attention. To 
Chainer, the officer said, "We just need to search you 

9 



Chainer’s Torment 

to make sure you haven't smuggled anything out of the 
forest preserve." 

Trooper Baankis stepped forward, and Chainer 
looked over his shoulder at the city. If he could get 
past them, he knew he could outrun the man and the 
aven, at least until he was safe inside the gates. He 
wasn't sure about the ugly little bird, though. Or the 
Nantuko. 

Chainer waited until the trooper was right in 
front of him. When the trooper reached out to take 
Chainer's dagger, Chainer dropped down and kicked 
the man's feet out from under him with a wide sweep 
of his leg. He drew his dagger and fell across the 
trooper's neck and shoulders, the point of his blade 
poised over the trooper's eye. He stared defiantly at 
the officer. 

"Get stuffed. You're not touching me." 

The officer opened his beak in a cruel aven 
smiled. "You're hostile, even for a criminal. And now 
that you've attacked us, we have every right to take 
you down. Luckily, I think you're young enough to be 
successfully rehabilitated." He drew his own sword, 
and the bird at his feet croaked ominously. 

Chainer knew that when members of the Order 
spoke of rehabilitation they really meant 
brainwashing. As he prepared to fight and run, 
Chainer reached down to check the satchel at his side. 
As soon as his fingers made contact through the tough 
leather, the Nantuko suddenly exploded into violent 
motion. The mantis rose up and shrieked a trilling, 
high-pitched alarm. It flailed its forelimbs wildly as it 
tried to strike at Chainer, and it accidentally knocked 
the officer into the bird. 

10 



Scott McGough 

Chainer nimbly dove over the mantis's sharp-
hooked appendage and rolled onto his feet. He began 
to run, but the mantis sprang into the air and landed 
well ahead of him on the path. It was still chit-tering 
and swinging wildly. 

Chainer had never fought a Nantuko before and 
wasn't sure where he should aim his chain. He 
hesitated, and in that moment noticed that the mantis 
wasn't trying to strike him any more. In fact, it seemed 
to be trying its level best to avoid touching him at all, 
while putting on a loud display to drive Chainer away 
from the city. Was the enormous bug actually afraid of 
him? 

On a hunch, Chainer took his satchel from his 
waist and held it out at the mantis. The Nantuko 
keened and fell back, seemingly terrified of the 
satchel's contents. Chainer lunged forward, and the 
Nantuko sprang away. 

Chainer didn't waste the opportunity. He 
sprinted away from the Order party at top speed. He 
heard the officer ordering trooper Baankis to pursue 
and the frantic trilling of the Nantuko. He risked one 
last glance over his shoulder and saw the bug had 
turned and was calling into a small, swampy, wooded 
area of the salt flats. From within the stunted glade, 
something roared in reply. Chainer felt the ground 
nimble beneath his running feet and heard the earsplitting 
crack of live timber being splintered as 
something very large came forward to answer the 
Nantuko's call. 

Chainer fixed his eyes back on the city and 
concentrated on running as fast as he could. 

11 



Chainer’s Torment 

* * * * * 

Roup's tavern was on a lonely side street well off 
the main road that led to the city center and the Cabal 
seat of power. Chainer thought the term "tavern" was 
actually too generous. Roup's was a single room with a 
single door and a single foul-tasting grog on the menu. 

It was a welcome sight to Chainer, however. 
People didn't come to Roup's for the fare or the decor 
or the atmosphere. They came to be seen and heard at 
the very edge of the Cabal's web of influence. Or, as in 
Chainer's case, to escape from the Cabal's enemies. 

"The Cabal is here," Chainer greeted Roup 
through gritted teeth. 

"And everywhere," Roup replied. 

"I need your help, big brother." 

"Ask, little brother, and I shall answer." 

Chainer struggled to remain patient. Roup was 
technically his superior, but there was a clingy 
desperation to his manner that made Chainer's knife 
hand itch. He was flabby and slow, and Chainer 
thought he dressed like a molting parrot dunked in 
bile. Roup also tried to make every conversation last as 
long as possible, which made Chainer and everyone 
else try to cut them short. It was the general opinion of 
Cabalists everywhere that Roup deserved to be 
forgotten at the edge of the city. But the Cabal was, in 
fact, everywhere, and Roup was the Cabal's man in 
this sector. He also had the only means of direct 
communication to the organization's headquarters in 
the heart of the city. 

"I need to use the grapevine," Chainer said. "It's 
important." 

12 



Scott McGough 

Roup laughed jovially and poured himself a half-
goblet of noxious green liquid. "It's always important 
with you young ones. 'Oh, I've lost the message I was 
supposed to deliver. Oh, a mean elder stole my 
package. Woe is me, I stubbed my toe.' Relax, little 
brother. You'll live longer." 

Chainer patted the satchel at his side. "I have a 
delivery for the First. I need you to contact—" 

"The First is only twelve blocks away," Roup 
smirked. "Did you forget the way? Go out the front 
door, turn left . . ." Roup trailed off, waiting for 
Chainer to join him in a smirk. 

"I know where the manor is," Chainer said. "The 
problem isn't the path, it's—" 

"Now that you mention it," Roup went on, "I'll bet 
you a silver marker that if you stood on my doorstep 
and shouted, the First would hear—" 

"Big brother," Chainer snapped. "The Order is 
waiting outside." 

"You led them here?" 

"I had no choice. 'Here' is directly between the 
First and where they tried to grab me." 

"How many are there?" "Two. Plus—" 

Roup sipped thoughtfully. "Only two? 1 would 
have thought a clever and—" he gestured with his 
goblet at Chainer's belt— "well armed little brother 
like yourself could handle a meager pair of toy 
soldiers." He slid the decanter of green liquid toward 
Chainer. "Drink?" Chainer ignored the decanter and 
stared fixedly at Roup. "No thank you, big brother. 
And the toy soldiers are also armed. Heavily. They 
have one of those bug-boys with them as well, and I 
think something big from Krosan. They met me 

13 



Chainer’s Torment 

coming into the city and tried to arrest me. They 
chased me here, and they're waiting for me now, out 
there. I need an escort to reach the First." 

Roup chuckled. "An escort, little brother? We're 
very important all of a sudden, aren't we? Why don't I 
get on the grapevine and order the First himself to 
come here and save you the trip?" He snorted an ugly 
little laugh at his own cleverness. 

"All I want," Chainer said evenly, "is to deliver 
this package to the First. To do that, I need to get in 
touch with my mentor. His name is Skellum." Chainer 
watched Roup digest this new bit of information. 
Master Skellum's name carried some weight, even 
here. "Well, little brother," Roup said finally, "if this 
package for the First is so important, why don't you 
just leave it with me? I can have an armed escort here 
by sunrise, and then I'll take it to him myself when I 
deliver my tally tomorrow. In the meantime, you can 
hide in my cellar and stay out of my way." 

"It cannot wait for tomorrow," Chainer said 
stiffly. "And I will not surrender it to anyone but the 
First." 

Roup raised an eyebrow, obviously slighted. 
"Present the package, little brother. I will decide who 
gives it to the First." 

Reluctantly, Chainer took the satchel off his belt. 
Slowly, mechanically, he extended it out to arm's 
length and placed it in the center of the table. He kept 
his eyes fixed and his arm extended as Roup leaned 
forward. 

When Roup's hand touched the drawstring, 
Chainer struck. He whipped his dagger out of its 
shoulder sheath and slammed the point deep into the 

14 



Scott McGough 

table, through the sleeve of Roup's garish robe. 
Without pausing, he looped his chain under Roup's 
chin and sprang up, flipping his body over Roup's head 
and rolling down the tavern keeper's back like a 
hedgehog down a hill. Chainer's full weight pulled the 
chain close around Roup's throat, and as the young 
man came to his feet, he twisted the chain even 
tighter. With the same whispered spell he had used in 
the ruined mansion, he linked the chain to itself, 
creating a choking collar that didn't kill Roup outright 
but did make it difficult for the old windbag to breathe. 

Roup struggled feebly and clawed at his throat 
with his free hand. 

"Big brother," Chainer hissed in his ear, "I am 
going to show you the package now. I want us to be 
completely clear on one point, however—it is mine to 
deliver. Mine. I found it. I fought for it, and I will kill 
anyone who tries to keep me from giving it to the First 
with my own hands." 

Roup gagged and choked, and the sleeve of his 
robe began to tear. 

"Are we clear, big brother?" 

Roup's head jerked up and down. He banged his 
chin on the table, spilling both the goblet and the 
decanter. Chainer touched the link that was keeping 
the collar tight. 

"Break," he whispered, and it shimmered away 
into nothing. He allowed Roup enough slack to gasp 
and cough, but he kept the chain firmly around the 
tavern keeper's neck. Roup was the only one who could 
use the grapevine from this location, so Chainer 
needed him alive and conscious. 

"With your free hand," Chainer said, "open the 

15 



Chainer’s Torment 

package. But don't touch what's inside. Clear?" 

Roup sucked in a few more wheezing gulps of air 
and shot Chainer a murderous look over his shoulder. 
Chainer could see the dire threats of retribution 
forming in Roup's mind, but the chatty old bore was 
smart enough not to challenge Chainer's advantage. 
Chainer suspected that Roup had often been held 
hostage and was probably used to it by now. Besides, 
his natural greed and curiosity were piqued. Slowly, 
carefully, he undid the drawstring. 

For several long minutes there was no sound 
other than Roup's ragged breathing as he stared at 
Chainer's sphere. Chainer himself waited patiently, 
resting just enough weight on Roup's back to keep him 
still and just enough tension on his throat to keep him 
obedient. 

Roup's voice was a hoarse, painful whisper. "You 
win, little brother. What do you need?" 

"Get on the grapevine," Chainer said 
immediately. "Contact the proving grounds and inform 
Skellum that his pupil Chainer is waiting for him 
here. Tell him it's an emergency. Tell him to come 
now." 

Chainer released Roup's throat and spun lightly 
around the table. As he passed Roup's pinned sleeve, 
Chainer retrieved his dagger. 

"And tell him to come heavy." 

* * * * * 

Less than an hour later, Chainer walked out of 
Roup's tavern. Skellum said he would meet Chainer 
outside, and that Chainer was to distract the Order's 
bully boys until he arrived. 

16 



Scott McGough 

The sun had recently set, and the night was dark, 
cold, and clear. Oil-burning street lamps flickered. His 
enemies were waiting for him in the street. 

The two Order soldiers stood rigid and humorless, 
watching Roup's doorway. The small bird-thing 
squatted beside the aven officer, and it croaked 
unpleasantly as Chainer came out. There was no sign 
of the mantis or its beast. There was likewise no sign 
of Skellum. 

"That's far enough," the officer called. "This is fair 
warning, boy. 

If you run again, we will be forced to injure you. If 
you retreat back into that den of filth, we will burn it 
down." 

Chainer glared at him, but did not speak. 
"Distract them," Skellum had said, but the mere sight 
of these fake do-gooders in their gleaming white robes 
galled Chainer like an abscess. He had fought many 
Order soldiers, both on the streets and in the Cabal's 
fighting pits, and he was always eager to take on 
another. He wondered if Skellum would consider 
crippling stab wounds enough of a distraction. 

"I am Major Teroh," the aven said. "In the name 
of the Order, I hereby claim you and that satchel at 
your waist. If you come with us now, you will not be 
harmed. You'll spend a night as a guest on a warm, 
safe bedroll. You might even get a hot meal out of it. 

"We don't want to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in 
fact. But whatever it is you're carrying," he paused, 
searching for the right words, "belongs with us. It's 
simply too dangerous for the likes of you." 

Chainer made no effort to hide his disgust. "You 
don't even know what you're talking about, do you?" 

17 



Chainer’s Torment 

"Not as such," Teroh bristled at Chainer's scorn. 
"But if I saw a book of spells written in a foreign 
language, I still wouldn't let a child read from it." 

"Go find a child with a book, then," Chainer said. 
"I'm on Cabal business. I don't need an Order librarian 
wasting my time." 

Major Teroh scowled. "I won't ask you again." 

"Suits me. Then I won't have to ignore you again." 

"Trooper Baankis," the major said loudly, and the 
foot soldier snapped to an even more rigid state of 
attention. 

"Yes, Major!" 

"Relieve this willful young man of his burden. If 
he resists . . . subdue him. No permanent damage." 

"Yes, sir!" Baankis started forward, and Chainer 
drew his knuckle dagger. He held it expertly out in 
front of him in his left hand. His right hand was balled 
into a fist at his side, and he stood lightly on his toes 
with his weight evenly balanced. 

"At ease, trooper." Baankis halted. The major 
scowled again, and shook his head in frustration. He 
called out to Chainer, "You're going to make this 
difficult, aren't you?" When Chainer didn't reply, 
Teroh shook his head. "Baankis, stand down." 

"Sir!" 

Teroh jerked the bird-thing's leash, and it spread 
its wings and shook itself. The major turned to 
Baankis and said, "Stand by to collect one bad-
mannered boy and one mysterious satchel." 

"Yes, sir!" 

Major Teroh dropped the bird's leash and pointed 
at Chainer. "Subdue," he said, and the bird took flight. 

Chainer watched it bearing down on him, its 

18 



Scott McGough 

wingspan as wide as he was tall. It swerved so as to 
avoid the dagger clutched tight in his left hand. 
Chainer knew that with its speed and its long neck it 
could disarm him, knock him over, or pin him down 
before his blade could even touch it. Grimly, he waited. 

When the bird was ten feet away, Chainer lashed 
out with his right hand. The length of chain he had 
been concealing snapped out, screaming directly 
toward the oncoming bird. Chainer's aim was 
excellent. The sharpened weight at the end of the 
chain smashed clean through the bird's skull, killing it 
instantly. Chainer caught the still-twitching corpse as 
it crashed into his chest and let it drop heavily to the 
ground. 

"Callda!" Major Teroh shouted. 

Chainer held onto the chain, now threaded 
through the ruined skull of the bird, and sneered at 
Teroh. "Callda, was it? Friend of yours, Major, or a 
distant cousin? Don't worry, it didn't die in vain." 
Chainer scornfully nudged the carcass. "I'll light a 
candle for it when I get home." He put his knuckle 
dagger back into the quick-release sheath on his 
shoulder. 

"Baankis," Teroh growled and drew his sword. 
"Advance. If this murderous little worm survives, he is 
going to spend the next three years in a rehabilitation 
work camp." 

Baankis was wide-eyed but resolute. "Yes, sir." 
Chainer was pleased to hear that his replies were no 
longer so crisp and regimental. 

"Hold on, Major," Chainer said. "If you liked that, 
you're going to love this." Without waiting, Chainer 
dropped to his knees by Callda's body, clenched the 

19 



Chainer’s Torment 

end of his chain tighter, and reached out to the corpse 
with his mind as Master Skellum had taught him. 

The bird's heart had only recently stopped 
beating. Robbed of any vital impetus, its blood gave in 
to gravity and began to pool in its torso. Its muscles 
drained and deflated, its body temperature dropped, 
and its joints started to stiffen. Chainer took hold of 
the energy being released by the bird's transition from 
life to death and channeled it up and into his chain. 

"The Cabal is here," he whispered, and then he 
cried out as a jolting rush of energy leaped up the 
chain and into his own body. He felt his consciousness 
expand, he felt his arms and legs grow stronger and 
more responsive, he felt his thoughts clarify. He stood 
and jerked the chain free from Callda's skull. He began 
to twirl it around his head, letting out more and more 
of it as it spun. Chainer was ferocious in his joy. This 
was going better than he could have imagined. 
Perhaps he wouldn't need Skellum's help after all. 

"Keep your distance, Bunkus," he said to the foot 
soldier, and he could hear the confidence in his voice 
as it echoed off the street's paving stones. Charged by 
the death of Callda, Chainer was flush with the arcane 
darkness that was the source of the Cabal's power. He 
felt immovable, invincible. With the barest thought, he 
magically added another six feet to his chain and 
created another sharpened weight for the end in his 
hand. Soon he had two lethal missiles dancing a 
complicated minuet around every inch of his body. The 
chain automatically increased or decreased in length 
as it flew, according to its master's will. Young as he 
was, Chainer was an expert with the long chain, and 
he even dared to mock Teroh from the safety of its 

20 



Scott McGough 

whirling radius. 

"Your move, Major," he called. "There's a hot 
meal and a safe bed waiting for me at the Cabal, too. If 
you let me pass, maybe we'll both sleep well tonight." 

Teroh's eyes were wild, and his voice was tight in 
his throat. With a visible effort of will, he swallowed 
his fury and barked, "Reseda!" 

Chainer heard a buzz and saw a blur. A sudden 
impact on his chest knocked him backward so hard 
that Roup's door rattled on its hinges. His chain 
snarled and tangled around him clumsily, and one of 
the weighted ends gashed painfully into his shin. 
Dazed, he looked up. 

The mantis-man stood over him, chittering in its 
incomprehensible insect language. It jammed one of its 
pointed forelimbs into the solid stone beside Chainer's 
head and hissed at him. There was another buzz, 
another blur, and the mantis disappeared back into 
the alley behind Major Teroh. 

"Reseda hates this city," Teroh said, "but he hates 
that thing in your satchel even more." 

Chainer coughed and tasted blood. He had bitten 
his tongue and split his lip. His ears were still ringing, 
and his vision was tilted sideways. At least his ribs 
weren't broken, he thought. He could still breathe, 
albeit painfully. 

"Now then, Cabalist," Teroh continued, spitting 
the last word out like poison. "You will surrender. 
Trooper Baankis and I are going to bind your hands. If 
you behave, we will even bind your wounds. Then you 
will accompany us back to our citadel where you will 
offer apologies and make restitution for Callda. And 
then, you will be rehabilitated." 

21 



Chainer’s Torment 

Chainer grunted. "Die first. And haunt you 
forever." 

"I don't think so." Teroh waved his hand in front 
of him, whispering, and the razor edges of both his and 
Baankis's swords began to glow brightly. "Baankis?" 

"Sir!" Trooper Baankis had regained his gusto. 

"Forward." The two soldiers advanced in step 
with their swords drawn and radiant. Chainer 
struggled to get to his feet but slumped back against 
the door of the tavern. 

"My goodness," came a silky, sinuous voice. "Now 
this is simply unacceptable. Chainer, what have you 
been up to?" 

The speaker stepped out from around the corner 
of the building into the light. He was a small, neat 
man, elegant in his manner and graceful in his 
movements. He was dressed in form-fitting snakeskin 
died midnight black, and he wore a waterproof cape 
with a bright red collar and black fur lining. His head 
was completely concealed by a bell-shaped hat made of 
grayish paper stretched tight between stiff wire ribs. 
The hat hung loosely from a hook that sprouted up 
from a wire rig attached to his shoulders. It had gaps 
between every second panel that allowed him to see, 
but each gap was only a few inches wide. 

One of the gaps was now positioned directly in 
front of his face. He had clear blue eyes, an elegant 
beard, and a neat mustache. Beside him stood a huge 
black dog whose head was as big as a pony's. The dog's 
shoulder came up to the man's elbow, and she clearly 
outweighed him. Her eyes glowed dusky red in the 
shadow of her brow. 

"My name is Skellum, and I wear a silly hat." The 

22 



Scott McGough 

newcomer spoke brightly, as if introducing himself to a 
dinner party full of children. "Is there a problem, 
officer?" 

23 



Chainer’s Torment 

CHAPTER 2 


"Azza, old girl," Skellum said, and the massive 
dog beside him pricked up her ears. "Check on young 
Chainer, will you?" Despite his pain, Chainer was 
thrilled. Only the Cabal elite had access to the 
hellhounds, and Chainer had never seen one so close. 
Major Teroh regarded the new arrivals suspiciously. 
Chainer watched his eyes dart from Skellum to the dog 
to the doorway of Roup's tavern. Chainer knew all of 
the Order's toy soldiers prided themselves on their 
ability to control every situation they encountered. 
Teroh was clearly weighing the odds as Azza came 
closer. 

"Stop right there," Teroh said. Azza paused, then 
growled at Teroh so deeply that Chainer felt it in his 
spine twenty feet away. "This boy—" Teroh began. 

"Chainer," Skellum corrected him gently. "He is 
called Chainer." "This boy," Teroh repeated, "is 
transporting contraband. When we tried to examine it, 
he lashed out at Trooper Baankis and ran. When we 
caught up to him, he killed one of my best crusat birds. 
He is coming with us." 

"Oh dear," Skellum said. "That is a problem. Are 
you sure we can't come to some sort of arrangement?" 
He smiled. 

"We don't make deals with the likes of you," 
Teroh said. 

"Everyone does business with the Cabal," 
Skellum said cheerfully. "This is our city, after all. It's 
merely a question of what you want and what you're 

24 



Scott McGough 

willing to give." 

Teroh's voice rose. "If that dog takes one more 
step toward that boy, I'll give it the flat of my blade. 
Call off your dog, and leave us to our duty." 

"Well now, that raises another problem. I can't 
'call her off.' Azza here has been in the Cabal longer 
than I have, so technically she outranks me." As 
Skellum prattled on, Chainer stood and gathered up 
his tangled chain as inconspicuously as he could. 
Where Roup talked too much because he was lonely 
and pathetic, Skellum talked too much to defuse the 
situation and give Chainer time to recover. 

"I could suggest to her that she back off, but if she 
doesn't want to ... Hang on. Chainer? Are you 
bleeding?" 

"Yes, Mentor." Then he hissed to Azza, who was 
closest to him, "There's a big bug in that alley. And 
something else, I—" 

"She knows," Skellum called. "Officer . . . Sorry, I 
didn't catch your name." 

"I am Major Teroh, and this conversation is over." 

Skellum stroked his well-trimmed beard. "Major, 
officer, officer, major. What's the difference?" He 
looked at Chainer. "A major is an officer, isn't it?" 

"This major is an ass," spat Chainer. 

Teroh stiffened, and Skellum sighed. 

"Anyway. Major Teroh. Was it you who damaged 
my pupil?" 

Teroh sneered. "I had him damaged, yes. Because 
he resisted, just like you're resisting now. And if you 
don't want to be damaged, I suggest. . ." Teroh's voice 
trailed off. 

As soon as the word "yes" passed Teroh's lips, 

25 



Chainer’s Torment 

Skellum changed. His calm demeanor grew darker, 
and his voice hardened. The happy gleam in his eyes 
became a cold, penetrating glare. Little knots of 
muscle formed in his cheeks, and he spoke through 
clenched teeth. 

"The Cabal is here, Major, and everywhere. 
Chainer is Cabal, and more, he is under my protection. 
Whatever Chainer has done to you, you in turn owe us 
for his injury. Now we have to come to an 
arrangement. No one walks away from a Cabal debt. 
No one." 

"True gods," Teroh snapped in exasperation. "Do 
any of you bog-wallowers live in this world? We are the 
Order. We are the law. And we have you outnumbered. 
Reseda!" 

Chainer was ready for the blur this time. As the 
mantis sprang out of the alley toward Skellum, 
Chainer tried simultaneously to shout a warning and 
draw back his chain. He needn't have bothered. 

Fast as Reseda was, Azza was even faster, and 
her center of gravity was far lower. Reseda's thorax 
crashed into Azza's driving shoulder, and even 
Chainer winced as he heard the insect's exoskeleton 
crack. Six hundred pounds of magically bred and 
enhanced canine reared up and slammed her powerful 
head into Reseda's shoulder and throat. The crippled 
mantis spun painfully onto the paving stones, and the 
hellhound clamped onto him, gripping Reseda's 
shoulder joint and half of his face with her massive 
jaws. Azza bit down to immobilize the mantis, but she 
did not injure Reseda further. She let out a single, 
explosive bark, and Reseda screamed in his eerie, alien 
tongue. Teroh and Baankis were wide-eyed and 

26 



Scott McGough 

speechless. 

"Now, Major," Skellum said coldly, "about that 
arrangement." 

Teroh recovered first. He pointed his still-glowing 
sword and said, "Turn my ally loose, Skellum. Your 
dog is impressive, but you've just overplayed your 
hand." 

"Have I?" He walked over to Azza and Reseda, 
who was hissing and chittering out a steady stream of 
mantis talk. Chainer didn't understand a word of it, 
but he guessed it was either a prayer or a curse. 

"It seems to me," Skellum continued, "that we 
have the advantage. Granted, I'm not a military man 
like yourself, but still. . . ." Casually, he reached up 
and gave the brim of his hat a push. The yoke-andhook 
rig he wore was designed to let the hat spin 
freely, and it did, revealing Skellum's face in brief 
flashes as the gaps went round and round. 

A secret, electric thrill ran through Chainer as he 
watched Teroh's face. The major had no idea what 
Master Skellum was doing—or how dangerous it was. 

"You're through, Major," Chainer called out. "And 
you don't even know it." 

Azza growled at Chainer, and the next flashes of 
Skellum's face showed an angry glare directed at his 
pupil. He gave his hat another spin and refocused on 
the matter at hand. Baankis looked at Chainer in 
confusion. Teroh ignored them all. Instead, he 
concentrated on the words pouring out of Reseda and 
nodded to himself. Reseda had been repeating the 
same syllable over and over, his clicking voice growing 
louder and more shrill with each repetition. "What's he 
saying?" Skellum asked. Teroh actually smiled, 

27 



Chainer’s Torment 

cruelly. "He's saying 'kill.'" "Oh, it's not that bad." 
Skellum's voice was becoming distant, almost sleepy, 
and the strobe flashes of his face revealed eyes rolled 
back and jaw hanging slack. "A few herbs, some bed 
rest, maybe some time in the hot springs ..." 

"He's issuing a command, not a request. I am a 
military man, Mr. Skellum, and we military men know 
enough to keep some forces in reserve." From deep 
within the alley Reseda had occupied came a rumbling, 
trumpeting roar. Trooper Baankis side-stepped away 
from the entrance, and Major Teroh waited confidently 
for his reserve forces to appear. Skellum gave his hat 
another spin. 

Something huge was dragging itself down the 
alley. Chainer stole a glance at Skellum, who was 
starting to weave and list from side to side as his hat 
continued to whirl. Chainer nervously wound his chain 
around one hand, then the other. He hadn't had a real 
look at the mantis's associate, but he knew neither his 
weapons nor his skills would be enough to stop it. He 
was relying on Master Skellum to meet this new 
challenge. 

The monster lurched heavily out of the alley and 
cracked the stones beneath it. Its skin was hairy and 
warty green, and it had natural armored plates across 
its chest and shoulders. It dragged itself forward on 
tree-trunk-thick arms that were taller than a person. 
Its huge, round head sat directly on its boulder-sized 
torso, which tapered off at the waist down to two 
spindly legs that dragged uselessly behind it. Chainer 
thought it looked like a cross between a tadpole in 
mid-metamorphosis and a whale. 

"Oooh," Skellum said dreamily. "A grendelkin. I 

28 



Scott McGough 

haven't seen one of those since I was a boy. Pity about 
its hind legs, though. Was it born stunted, or did 
someone cripple it?" 

The grendelkin opened its mouth and roared, 
displaying triple rows of gnarled molars. 

"Take a good look," Teroh said grimly. "You'll 
never see another." He waved a hand to catch the 
grendelkin's attention, and then pointed at Azza, 
Reseda, and Skellum. Reseda was still screeching, 
"kill, kill," over and over. Azza shook him once, 
roughly, and the forest dweller finally passed out. 

The sudden silence seemed to drive the 
grendelkin over the edge. It roared again and stomped 
angrily toward Azza. Teroh said something to Baankis 
that Chainer couldn't hear, and the two soldiers moved 
toward Chainer once more. Chainer started his chain 
whirling. He hoped to slam the weighted end into one 
of Teroh's softer parts and then cut Baankis's 
hamstring with his dagger before Teroh recovered. 

Even as he prepared to fight for his life, Chainer 
kept an eye on 

Skellum. He was the only one in the street to see 
his mentor reach up with both hands and decisively 
stop the brim of his hat with a gap directly in front of 
his face. 

Master Skellum's entire head was gone. In its 
place was a whirling vortex of black smoke and purple 
light. There was a muffled boom from deep inside the 
hat, and a solid nugget of smoke leaped out through 
the gap, trailing charnel gas and soot. The nugget 
expanded at soon as it was clear of Skellum's hat, 
exploding into a full-fledged creature straight out of a 
madman's nightmare. 

29 



Chainer’s Torment 

It was still smoking and burned from its journey. 
It was exactly as big as the grendelkin. In fact, it 
looked a great deal like the grendelkin, except its 
lower half narrowed into a muscular serpent's tail 
complete with rattle. Its eyes bulged out of its skull 
and looked independently in all directions. It had no 
armor plating, but it did have a long, barbed tongue 
that flashed out between its jagged teeth. 

"Did I mention I had seen one as a boy?" Skellum 
asked. His voice sounded exactly as it had when 
Skellum first arrived, except it seemed to be coming 
from inside Chainer's head. Skellum's silky tone was 
as calm and measured as a man lighting his pipe. "I 
may have gotten a few details wrong, and I've always 
been partial to rattler tails. . . ." 

Skellum's nightmare grendelkin caught sight of 
its shrivel-waisted counterpart and screeched like a 
stooping eagle. The forest brute roared in reply. Both 
monsters simultaneously launched forward, coming 
together with a titanic crunch that partially flattened 
their torsos against one another. They tore at each 
other with their claws. 

"Azza?" Skellum said, and the big dog grunted in 
agreement. She tossed Reseda's unconscious body at 
the soldiers. Baankis yelped and stepped backward 
while Teroh dropped his guard and threw himself in 
front of the flying mantis, trying to minimize Reseda's 
impact on the hard stone. 

Chainer seized the opportunity and sent the 
weighted end of his chain screaming across Baankis's 
forehead. The deep slash began to bleed before 
Chainer could reel his weapon back in, and the hapless 
foot soldier fell to his knees, momentarily blinded. 

30 



Scott McGough 

Skellum's vortex-head boomed again, and two 
more smoking comets leaped out. One transformed 
into a scaly humanoid horror with long, dragging arms 
that ended in harpoonlike spikes. The other, smaller 
one seemed to be composed entirely of wings and legs. 
The harpoon-handed thing began to stalk the tangled 
heap that was Teroh and Reseda, and the flying thing 
howled like a wolf and took off into the air. It shot 
down the street and, still howling, disappeared around 
the comer. 

Azza padded up to Chainer. 

"Get on," Skellum called. "My other new friend 
has gone ahead to clear your path. I'll be along 
directly." 

Chainer took one last look at the melee. The two 
grendelkin were locked in a brutal stalemate while 
sword and harpoon clashed, and Baankis groped along 
the ground for his weapon. 

Azza urged him out of his reverie with a scolding 
bark. Chainer slung himself onto her back and took 
firm hold of the extra skin around her neck and 
shoulders. 

"To the manor, please," he said, and Azza 
bounded off, fast as a small horse and ten times more 
dangerous. Chainer threw one last look over his 
shoulder as Azza followed the winged thing's path 
down the street. 

Major Teroh had managed to hack off one of the 
harpooner's arms at the elbow, but it was still pressing 
its attack. The officer had planted his feet, refusing to 
abandon the unconscious mantis. Chainer was mildly 
impressed, but such bravery could well cost Teroh his 
life. Baankis was trying to clear his eyes with water 

31 



Chainer’s Torment 

from his canteen. Skellum's grendelkin had its tail 
wrapped tightly around the space where its double's 
throat would have been if it had a neck. They rolled 
over and over, crunching paving stones and flattening 
storefronts in their wake. 

The last thing he saw before Azza turned the 
corner was Skellum whipping his cape around himself 
with a flourish, his face smiling and normal, as he 
backed calmly into the shadows he'd come from. 

Rescued by his mentor, safe on Azza's back, and 
en route to the First with his package intact, Chainer 
allowed himself a single, short burst of joyous 
laughter. Then he hunkered down to make sure he 
stayed on long enough to enjoy the ride. 

32 



Scott McGough 

CHAPTER 3 


Skellum's howling, flying thing had done its job. 
There was no one on the streets to observe Azza and 
Chainer as they galloped toward the manor. He saw 
several frightened faces peeking out through windows 
or from behind cracked doors, but no one was foolish 
enough to risk interfering with Azza's progress. 

They raced past the initiates' dormitories, where 
Chainer lived after Skellum started training him. 
Beyond the dorms was the largest port on the 
continent, its docks wholly owed and operated by the 
Cabal. Between the docks and the dorms was the city's 
main arena, the bloody pits where Chainer had fought 
for and earned a place in the Cabal's hierarchy. Azza 
bounded though a sharp left turn, and there it was: the 
manor, where the First lived and lorded, where all the 
world came to bow and beg for the Cabal's favor. 

Chainer had only been inside once before for his 
initiation, but he remembered every detail. It was a 
huge structure, ten stories high and two city blocks 
wide. The thick stone walls had been carved and set by 
the finest dwarf masons and further reinforced with 
magic and metal. It would take the destruction of the 
entire city and a half-mile of the bedrock below to put 
a dent in the First's home. The gleaming silver 
cathedral dome at the top was polished to a high shine, 
so that it reflected whatever was in the sky above it 
like a great convex mirror. At the very end of Manor 
Way, where Azza and Chainer were, the dome and the 
toothed drawbridge gate combined with the huge 

33 



Chainer’s Torment 

observation towers in front of it all to give the viewer 
an impression of a huge, grinning, metallic skull with 
horns. 

Home at last, Chainer thought, but his good 
humor was already fading. Passersby this close to the 
manor were more used to screeching monsters than 
the people in Roup's neighborhood. Skellum's winged 
thing had only caused this foot traffic to clear a path 
rather than vanish behind locked doors. The sparse 
crowds gave Chainer and Azza plenty of space but 
eyed them suspiciously as they passed. Chainer 
touched his dagger and the satchel at his hip, mentally 
preparing himself for the next challenge he would face. 
Getting to the manor was only the first step. He would 
have to get inside and then convince layer upon layer 
of armed guards and petty bureaucrats that what he 
carried was for the First alone. Azza seemed to pick up 
on his concern, and she slowed to a trot. Chainer 
anxiously prodded her with his heels, but she stopped 
him with a menacing growl. 

"Sorry," he said. "I'm a little nervous. Will you 
help me get inside, or are you just taking me to the 
gate?" 

Azza craned her head around and regarded 
Chainer with one red smoldering eye. She coughed, 
unimpressed, and then sprang forward at full gallop 
once more. Chainer hung on, smiling slightly. 

The guard on the gate was a six-foot-tall woman 
with three yellow eyes and vivid purple hair cropped 
close to her head. She was burly and broad-shouldered, 
with long serrated fingernails painted to match her 
hair. Unlike most of the guards Chainer had met in his 
life, she seemed neither bored nor bullying. 

34 



Scott McGough 

"Who goes?" she called. The top eye in the middle 
of her forehead squinted in the dusky gloom. 

"The Cabal is here," Chainer said. 

"And everywhere," the guard replied. All three 
eyes now squinted. "Azza, old girl, is that you?" 

Azza coughed again, then reared up, almost 
tossing Chainer off her back. 

The left eye winked at Azza while the other two 
oriented on Chainer. "And you must be Skellum's boy." 

"I am Chainer. I seek an audience with the First. 
I have urgent—" 

The guard held up her hands. "Easy, little 
brother." She grinned, and Chainer saw that her teeth 
were serrated, like her nails, and they too matched the 
color of her hair. 

"We've been expecting you." The guard stepped 
aside and waved the mounted pair in. "Proceed to the 
Great Hall. You will be met there and escorted to the 
First. Azza," she added, "don't let him wander off on 
his own." 

Azza growled, more annoyed than angry, and the 
guard laughed. As the great dog padded into the 
manor, the guard winked at Chainer with all three of 
her eyes in succession. 

Unlike the offices in the administration building, 
the interior of the manor was decidedly still and silent. 
The First used the manor primarily for advanced 
rituals and to receive important guests. All of the 
Cabal's actual work was conducted in the streets, in 
the homes and offices of syndicate executives, or in the 
arena. Apart from a handful of visible guards, there 
were very few people between the entranceway and 
the Great Hall. Chainer gazed around as Azza bore 

35 



Chainer’s Torment 

him on, taking in the ornate decoration, the trophy 
displays of wealth and prestige, and the simple, sheer 
power humming from the gemstone chandelier. 
Overwhelmed, Chainer lowered his eyes and focused 
on Azza's muscular neck. He was being admitted to the 
manor, escorted into the presence of the First, and, he 
reminded himself, he carried the finest treasure yet at 
his side. 

"Eyes up, little brother." Skellum waited for them 
near the fireplace at the center of the Great Hall. 
Before Chainer could hail his mentor, Azza sat down 
and tossed him off with a short shrug of her shoulders. 
She bounded up to Skellum. 

"Of course I'm fine," Skellum held his hand out, 
and Azza sniffed it. She quickly sniffed the air around 
him and then barked happily. "No problems, I take it?" 
Skellum nuzzled Azza behind the ears, but he raised 
his voice to address Chainer as well. 

"None, mentor—" Azza interrupted Chainer with 
a long, low, warning growl. When he quickly fell silent, 
she tossed her head under Skellum's hand and 
prodded him gently with her muzzle. She looked back 
at Chainer and barked once, angrily. 

"I'll get to that," Skellum said. Azza barked again, 
and in three great thundering leaps, she was face-toface 
with Chainer. 

She let out another slow, deep growl. With his 
complete and utter attention, she stared into his eyes 
for a moment, coughed, and then kissed him sloppily 
once from chin to forehead. Chainer was only dimly 
aware of her bounding away, back out the front gate. 

"What was that all about?" 

Skellum had not moved, and he stared at Chainer 

36 



Scott McGough 

meaningfully. "She likes you. She's not usually that 
affectionate." "Before that. The barking. The growl." 

"She's also mad at you for opening your mouth in 
front of that Order officer." 

"She what? But—" 

"As am I, little brother," Skellum said. "Or were 
you simply unaware of how carefully I had put things 
together in order to help you? Did you think it was 
easy to arrange for an interview with the First on 
short notice? So easy that you could taunt an enemy 
before he was defeated? Is it a simple matter to 
arrange safe passage through half the city while 
simultaneously mustering enough tooth and claw to 
back down an Order officer and his entourage? Did you 
think of these things when you opened your mouth? 
Did any of this cross your mind at any time, little 
brother?" 

"No, Master." 

Skellum's eyes sparkled when he smiled. He 
double checked to make sure Azza was gone. "Me, 
neither. That's how I'm able to perform such miracles, 
my boy. I don't know what's impossible." 

Chainer laughed in relief, but caught himself. 
"Master, I regret taunting the toy soldier before he was 
beaten. I will do better." 

"And better still," Skellum said, his silky voice 
gone cold again. "You killed that warty little bird." 

"Yes, Master." 

"You killed it." 

"Yes." 

"Killed it." Skellum's voice was fading, and 
Chainer waited a moment before clearing his throat. 

"Yes, Master. I killed it." 

37 



Chainer’s Torment 

Skellum shook his head. "Very bad. I'll have to 
explain why, but you'll have to explain first." He 
looked up brightly. "Ha, ha. You'll have to explain . . . 
first!" He shook his head, smiling. 

Chainer had seen Skellum fade out before, but it 
was usually much later in the evening, when his 
thoughts were not so ordered and his control began to 
slip. He gently took his master's hand and pulled him 
a step forward, spinning his hat so that a gap was by 
Skellum's ear. 

"Master Skellum," he said evenly, "we are meant 
to see the First now. You have to take me to him." 

"Don't touch my hat!" Skellum flinched. "Hm? 
Chainer! There you are." Skellum yanked his hand 
free and quickly reoriented his hat so he could see out 
of both eyes. "Right you are. We're to see the First. 
You've got the . . . er. What is it you've got again?" 

"A fabulous treasure." 

"And you've got this fabulous treasure with you?" 

"Right here." 

"Keep it handy. You remember the most 
important rule?" 

"No one may touch the First." 

"Very good. And tonight, young Chainer, there is 
something else. The First is very interested in what 
you have to show him. In what you have to say, but 
that just means he'll be even more difficult to impress. 
If you had passed him at a formal dinner and said, 
'Hey, look at this fabulous treasure,' it would have 
been an easy sell. But we've asked for a special 
audience, a great inconvenience to a busy man like 
him. We must tread lightly. 

"Do not speak to the First unless he speaks to 

38 



Scott McGough 

you. If he approaches you, stand perfectly still. Don't 
do anything that might annoy him, and for Kuberr's 
sake, don't flail around or duck away from him. The 
last man to do that was killed, reanimated, and 
propped up in the smoking lounge for five years, so 
guests could put their cigars out on his forehead. You 
may want to spend the next half-decade as a zombie 
ashtray, but I don't. For both our sakes, stand still and 
listen." 

"All right, Skellum, all right," Chainer sputtered. 

Skellum's eyes went cold again. " 'Master.' You 
call me 'Master.' What do you call me?" 

Chainer was taller than his mentor, but Skellum 
had a way of peering up from the gaps in his hat with 
his cold, angry eyes that was ten times more 
threatening than sheer size. 

"Master. I'm sorry, Master." 

"I'm serious, Chainer. One slip and we both go 
down. Currently, the First thinks very highly of me, 
and I'd like to keep it that way." 

"I understand, Master Skellum." 

Skellum smiled and gave his hat a spin. He 
stopped it, unhooked it, and tucked it under his arm 
with a flourish. 

"Then let's go." 

* * * * * 

They were admitted to the antechamber outside 
the First's study. They were not searched or magically 
bound from doing their host harm, as an outsider 
would have been. There were nonetheless a dozen 
armed humans and monsters standing ready in the 
First's private chambers. 

39 



Chainer’s Torment 

The room was dark, lit only by black candles atop 
tall silver poles. The First stood with his arms behind 
his back at the far end of the room, under a massive oil 
painting of himself in formal robes. Four human men 
and four human women in matching blouses moved 
constantly around him, translating his commands and 
his movements into a complicated dance. His 
attendants were the only ones allowed to approach 
him, and even they maintained a safe distance at all 
times to keep from brushing against him. Two of the 
eight had the outline of a skull etched in bone-white on 
the front of their black blouses. The other six had a 
yellow skeletal hand. The First raised his arms high 
and wide, and his attendants spread out beside him, 
then moved forward to interact with his guests. 

"Master Skellum," the First said formally. 
"Whose secret name is Cybariss. Welcome." 

"The Cabal is here, Pater." 

"And everywhere." 

Chainer's life froze when the First turned and 
met his eyes. He had seen the First once before, but he 
had not seen him in such detail or in such raiment. He 
was dressed now in black hide, cured and tanned until 
it was as stiff as glass. His clothing seemed coated in a 
thin film of oil, especially at the elbows and shoulders. 
In this simple businesslike robe, head unadorned, he 
seemed somehow more intimidating than he did in full 
headdress and regalia. 

"Apprentice Chainer. Whose secret name is 
Mazeura. Welcome." The First was old, but not 
wizened. His skin was gray and smooth as stone. 

Chainer heard a voice from very far away mutter, 
"The Cabal is here, Pater," and then realized it was his 

40 



Scott McGough 

own. 

"And everywhere." The First's eyes were milky 
white, but this indicated an increased facility rather 
than a diminished one. It was said that the First could 
see through a person's soul as easily as he could 
through walls. The gray-white orbs darted and focused 
around the room. 

"I understand you have something for me." From 
the far end of the room, the First stretched out his 
hand, palm up, and one of his attendants bearing the 
skeletal hand standard approached Chainer. "I will 
have it now, Mazeura." 

The attendant's eyes were blank and glassy as 
the man waited to receive Chainer's package. Chainer 
hesitated only long enough to glance at Skellum. He 
had been determined to put the sphere directly into 
the First's hands, but it seemed these people were his 
hands. Chainer untied the drawstring on his satchel 
and held the sphere at arm's length, so that it hovered 
six inches above his hand. The sphere floated from 
over Chainer's hand to the hand-attendant's. Numbly, 
the man turned and carried the sphere to the First. 

Chainer did not breathe while the First examined 
the sphere. 

"Remarkable," he said at last. Balancing it over 
his right hand, the First gestured with his left. Two 
more of the hand-attendants came forward, bearing a 
sturdy black box with runes engraved in a band 
around its lid. The First placed the sphere inside the 
box, closed the lid, and muttered a few words. The lock 
flashed, the seam between the lid and the box 
disappeared, and the attendants carried the sealed 
cube away. 

41 



Chainer’s Torment 

The First turned to face Chainer. "Remarkable," 
he repeated. He regarded the younger man, a finger 
tapping his upper lip. "You call yourself Chainer." 

"Yes, Pater." 

"Chainer. You have my thanks. Such a treasure, 
freely given. Do you have any idea what it is?" 

"No, Pater." 

The First touched his temple, and one of the 
skull-standard attendants stepped forward. "I think I 
might." 

To the attendant, he said, "Make a note. I want 
Chainer summoned to me again when we've 
determined exactly what his treasure is. I want him to 
know as soon as we do." The attendant nodded, bowed, 
and stepped back. 

The First glanced over at Skellum, and then 
stared hard at Chainer. 

"I wonder, Chainer," he said, "if you would have 
beaten such a path to my study if you'd known exactly 
how powerful that sphere is. Either you are very loyal 
or very unobservant." 

Chainer felt the back of his neck go cold. "I am 
your obedient child." 

The First stepped behind Chainer, his attendants 
trailing behind him. Some of the guards shifted their 
positions in response to the First's movement. 

"Or maybe," he continued, "you did know how 
powerful it was, and you knew that it was only a 
matter of time before it found its way to me. So you 
sought my favor by bringing it here directly." 

Chainer felt dizzy. He caught Skellum's warning 
stare and choked on silence. 

"Bringing it here directly," the First mused, "and 

42 



Scott McGough 

en route attacking one of my children, hijacking my 
communications network, and killing an officer of the 
Order to get it here. All this for something whose value 
you could not precisely estimate." 

The First left Chainer shaking and nauseated as 
he glided over to Skellum, surrounded by a silent 
swarm of attendants and guards. 

"Master Skellum. I hope that your apprentice's 
sphere is very valuable indeed. It may have already 
cost us a great deal." 

"In all fairness, Pater," Skellum's voice was as 
deep and as rich as molasses, "it was only an Order 
officer's pet he killed." 

The First scowled. "A pet." 

"Yes, Pater. I may have spoken imprecisely 
earlier. It was not the officer my apprentice killed, but 
his war bird." 

Chainer went freshly cold as the First turned and 
peered at him again. The First glared at him for a 
moment through cloudy eyes, then snapped the fingers 
on each hand twice and reached forward with his right 
hand toward Chainer. All six hand-attendants came 
forward and ushered Chainer forward. He offered no 
resistance as they led him forward, stopping just 
outside the Cabal lord's reach. 

The First towered over Chainer and took one step 
closer. His voice was calm, barely above a whisper. 
"You know what we do here, apprentice. You are at 
least familiar with how the Cabal operates." Close up, 
Chainer could feel the nauseous aura that surrounded 
the First. Standing in his presence was like standing 
on the edge of a bottomless pit. There was a sick odor 
about the First, as well. Not a foul smell, but the sour 

43 



Chainer’s Torment 

waft of ashes from a sickroom fireplace. 

"The Cabal, Apprentice." Chainer's eyes darted to 
Skellum, then back to the First. "Tell me now what the 
Cabal does." 

"We survive," Chainer answered immediately. 
Like every Cabal-ist, he had gone through the Cabal's 
cram indoctrination program and knew the routine of 
call-and-response by heart. 

The First took another step forward, and Chainer 
began to feel physically ill, and he knew it wasn't just 
his nerves. His throat and nostrils were becoming raw, 
as if he'd been breathing smoke. 

"We survive," the First echoed. "We feed, we 
gather, we absorb." He waited, and Chainer finished 
the list for him. "By the will of the First, we kill." 

"By my will," said the First, "and mine alone. And 
my will is to kill nothing unless there's a long-term 
benefit. The more people there are alive, the more 
people there are in the arenas and gambling houses. 
The more patrons there are for the moneylenders and 
the flesh mills. We have a thousand uses for people 
when they're alive. We have only one or two when 
they're dead." 

"It was an animal, Pater," Chainer said. "A bird 
of prey on a leash. He ordered it to attack me. I 
defended myself." 

"By my will alone," the First repeated. "And my 
will in all cases having to do with the Order is no 
killing. I am quite comfortable with the current 
relationship between their governing body and ours. 
They claim to be the law, while we are content to be all 
that is outside the law. Even as they recruit and 
convert warm bodies, our endeavors see higher and 

44 



Scott McGough 

higher profits. They suppress society's truest urges, 
and we release them. It is a delicate situation, one that 
I spent years creating. Do you understand, 
Apprentice?" 

"Yes, Pater." 

"If there is to be an escalation of hostilities, it will 
be according to my schedule and my agenda." 

"Yes, Pater." 

The First drifted back to his spot under the 
painting at the far end of the room. His attendants 
silently followed. 

Chainer exhaled, drawing fresher air into his 
lungs. He felt stronger with each step the First took 
away from him. 

"Skellum," the First sounded casual, almost 
conversational, "tells me that at least you didn't waste 
the death." 

"No, Pater. As he taught me, 1 captured the bird's 
essence." 

"Then this has not been a total loss. Chainer." 

"Yes, Pater?" 

"Come here." 

The First spread his arms out in a wide welcome, 
with his attendants keeping three feet of space 
between themselves and his person at all times. 
Chainer knew Skellum would be trying his utmost to 
will Chainer into a state of calm, but Chainer was 
overwhelmed beyond panic. He stood silent and still as 
a stone. If the First rewarded him here and now, or 
killed him outright, or burned out his brain and 
slapped a hand-standard blouse on his back, he didn't 
think he'd even flinch. 

The sickly odor hit Chainer again as the First 

45 



Chainer’s Torment 

brought both his arms together in front of him. In 
response, one of the hand-attendants stepped forward. 
The attendant hugged Chainer, fairly lifting him off 
his feet, then stepped back into the ranks. Two other 
hand attendants urged Chainer to his knees, tilted his 
head, and cupped their hands around his ear. 

"I said your sphere was remarkable," the First 
spoke in a conspiratorial stage whisper that was 
clearly meant for Chainer alone. "And so I remark 
upon it. 

"What you have done is a great service to the 
Cabal and a great honor to me. I offer you my hand in 
gratitude." One of the attendants came forward and 
held out his hand, palm-down. Chainer took the hand 
and pressed it into his forehead. 

"You will be fairly rewarded for your services 
tonight. And more, you will be remembered." The 
attendant pulled his hand away, and all of the 
attendants around Chainer stepped back to let him 
rise. "Go back to your quarters and wait. I would speak 
with Master Skellum about your future. He will tell 
you what we decide. But rest easy on the cushion of a 
job well done, Chainer. I see your future as one of 
wealth and power." The First crossed his arms behind 
his back, signifying that the interview was over. 

A human guard tapped Chainer on the shoulder 
and gestured with his pike. 

"The First is wise," Chainer said. "Long live the 
Cabal," the First replied. 

Chainer was led out, but he saw Skellum smiling. 
He was led all the way out of the building, past the 
sharp-nailed guard and out onto the street. 

When his escorts turned back, Chainer walked on 

46 



Scott McGough 

in a kind of daze. He touched his dagger, reassured 
himself that his satchel was finally empty, and broke 
off a three-foot length of chain with a whispered word 
and a shimmer of air. He began spinning the truncated 
chain around his fingers, one of the most basic 
dexterity exercises he knew. 

He felt drained, but his head was still buzzing. 
He couldn't feel his legs, yet knew he could walk for 
miles. He sauntered on, spinning the chain as he 
strolled, faster and faster. He smoothly transferred it 
from hand to hand as he walked, and he realized that 
he was happier than he'd ever been in his life. 

* * * * * 

"I think he is ready, Skellum. You may begin." 

"He is ready, Pater. But I would prefer to have 
another few months before—" 

"He is ready, but needs a few more months? 
Speak clearly, Skellum." 

"Pater. He is ready to begin his dementist 
training. I can have him back in the pits in six 
months." 

The First waited silently, then said, "You are 
being evasive, Skellum, something I taught you. 
Normally, I would be proud. Right now, I want you to 
get to the point." 

"Sorry, Pater. The point is, he would be going 
back to the pits. The ones who start out in the pits 
aren't usually fit for anything but guard duty or rough 
muscle. My method is to pick out the most promising 
candidates for my academy during the indoctrination 
cram, and most of them wind up in the pits as simple 
dementia casters. Chainer is capable of doing much 

47 



Chainer’s Torment 

more for the Cabal. He could be a full-fledged 
dementist." 

"Everything you are saying is known to me, 
Skellum." 

Skellum nodded. "We are pushing Chainer 
toward his strengths. I'm not questioning that. I am 
simply wondering if we're pushing too fast. Dementia 
training has snapped many a young mind beyond 
repair. We both have high hopes for Chainer. I don't 
want to lose such a valuable asset after investing so 
much time and effort." 

The First looked mildly amused, something 
Skellum had not seen before. "You make it sound so 
clinical, Master Skellum. Hard facts, hard values. This 
is your favorite pupil we're talking about." 

"Pater. I'm only trying to keep my personal 
attachment to the boy separate from my opinion of his 
ability." 

"Why would you want to do that? Business is 
business, but then again, family is family." "Yes, 
Pater." 

"So speak, Skellum. Tell me why you want to 
wait." "I want him to be a dementist, not just a pit 
caster. You know his history, you know his 
temperament as well as I do. If he masters dementia 
training and returns to the pits, I'm afraid he'll become 
unbalanced. Dangerous to himself. To others." 

"You have just described most of our current crop 
of dementia casters and all of the truly great ones. I 
fail to see your concern." 

"Despite what we made him recite, Pater, the 
Cabal is about control. We amass power, and we 
control it. Chainer has the potential to be extremely 

48 



Scott McGough 

powerful. That power will need to be carefully 
monitored and molded as it grows." 

"Master Skellum," the First said. "That is exactly 
what I am proposing you and I do for the boy." 

"Yes, Pater." Skellum knew when to abandon a 
failing argument. "Skellum," the First said, "listen to 
me carefully. I am aware of your concerns. I share 
them. The boy is too reactive, like all pit veterans. He 
assesses a threat, and he strikes. They have to be 
taught how to think before they act. 

"But that is what you and I will teach him, my 
child. Imagine the perfect blend of pit fighter, 
dementist, and caster. To have in one man the body of 
an athlete, the mind of an artist, and the instincts of a 
trained warrior. Imagine him as a pit boss, supplying 
an entire games with just the monsters in his mind. Or 
picture the spectacle he'll put on when he enters the 
pits himself. And if the Order declares crusat, and the 
death squads come calling again, imagine how hard he 
will fight to defend his home and family." 

"Pater?" Skellum hesitated, then blurted, "Are 
the death squads forming again? Has Captain Pianna 
violated the arrangement?" 

"No. But her grip on power is not absolute. And 
none of us are immortal." The First smiled patiently. 

"No, Pater." 

"Do not worry, Skellum. Begin the next stage of 
Chainer's training first thing tomorrow. We will not 
lose him. 

"And tonight," he went on, "I want you and him to 
join me in my private box for dinner and the main 
event." His face alive with showmanship, the First's 
voice rose with gentle anticipation. "We're having a 

49 



Chainer’s Torment 

quartet of cephalid deep-sea warriors fight to the 
death against four flying Nantuko bug people. The 
Master of the Games is going to enchant the arena— 
cancel gravity—to let them float around freely, so they 
can have a good and proper crack at each other." 

"We'll be there by the opening horn, Pater." 

"Outstanding." The First crossed his arms behind 
his back. 

"The First is wise." 

"Long live the Cabal." 

Skellum was escorted from the chamber and went 
off to tell Chainer the news. 

50 



Scott McGough 

CHAPTER 4 


The southern capital of Mer Emperor Aboshan's 
realm lay three hundred miles out from and four miles 
below Cabal City. Built into the luminescent coral at 
the bottom of an undersea canyon, Llawan City had 
been renamed after Aboshan's wife when she retired 
from public life and took up residence there. 

The empress's city consisted of only one actual 
building, but Llawan made it the grandest city ever 
contained in a single structure. The coral reef provided 
both light and natural forms for many of its residents 
and guests to inhabit. Llawan's servants had magically 
extended the natural growth of the coral into an 
elegant flow of knots and bulges that crawled halfway 
up the canyon walls. Her coralsmiths went on to 
hollow out and buttress the reef into a huge, 
interconnected series of rooms and hallways that 
served simultaneously as fortress, palace, and 
diplomatic retreat. Though any interior room could be 
warded and drained for use by air breathers, cephalids 
like Llawan lived in the submerged chambers 
constructed on the canyon walls. Guests from the 
surface stayed in the suites built specifically for them 
on the canyon floor. 

Llawan's architects had made full use of the odd 
space in an effort to achieve the sheer scope and scale 
demanded of them. The docks on the rim of the canyon 
were big enough to receive both undersea ships and 
creatures as large as whales. The Imperial Guards' 
barracks outside the city were capable of housing five 

51 



Chainer’s Torment 

hundred cephalids who could be mobilized for action in 
mere minutes. For the Empress's more diplomatic 
occasions, the palace could accommodate upward of a 
dozen visiting dignitaries and the formal dining room 
had a seating capacity of over one hundred. 

First daughter of a noble house, Llawan had been 
part of a power-sharing arrangement between 
Aboshan, her own father, and several other high-
ranking cephalids. Aboshan got the political and 
military clout he needed to cement his position as 
emperor, Llawan's father got the post of Imperial 
Treasurer, and the nobles got to avoid another 
financially disastrous civil war. Llawan, it was 
whispered, got her city-in-a-palace. 

Tonight, as Llawan swam around her private 
suite of chambers, she smiled. Gossips among her 
court in the south and Aboshan's in the north couldn't 
help but comment on her clear pattern of marriage, 
retirement, and relocation. The rumors describing her 
as a kept woman in a golden cage amused Llawan a 
great deal, almost as much as the ones describing her 
as a beaten, bitter exile. Indeed, she had started both 
stories to keep her name circulating around Aboshan's 
court, lest she be completely forgotten. 

Llawan was thinking of her husband the emperor 
as the strangers swam off the walls of her private 
corridor. She only thought for a moment, however, 
before she spun in place and jetted back the way she'd 
come. It didn't really matter if Aboshan had sent the 
three cephalids armed with tridents and the huge, 
yellow shark-man who were now pursuing her. What 
mattered was survival. 

Llawan propelled herself forward on a powerful 

52 



Scott McGough 

stream of water jetted from her octopod body. Her two 
forelimbs stretched out to pull herself along and to 
steer, while her six secondary limbs trailed out behind 
her. Her imperial crown was both ornament and 
helmet, protecting her soft skull while cleaving the 
water before her as she swam. Over short distances, 
there weren't many things in the sea faster than she 
was. The shark-man was capable of giving her a good 
chase, but he seemed to be held back by the others. 

The corridor was long, however, and every time 
Llawan stopped to draw in more water her pursuers 
gained on her. Two of the cephalids hurled their 
tridents, and Llawan froze while the spears buried 
themselves in the coral by her head. Before she could 
regain her momentum, the unleashed shark surged up 
and clamped down on one of her tentacles with its 
powerful, jagged teeth. 

Llawan did not cry out. She curled her forelimb 
around the tridents in the coral, and as the huge 
creature heaved its head back Llawan and her 
weapons were dragged off the wall and into the center 
of the corridor. After a whistled command from one of 
the cephalids, the shark turned Llawan loose and 
began to swim around her in a tight circle. 

"Your empress is under attack," she clicked as 
loudly as she could. "Assassins! Murder!" Then she 
drove her borrowed tridents into the shark-man's 
vacant, black eyes. His shriek of pain vibrated against 
Llawan's skin as it echoed and reechoed off the walls. 

Llawan jetted toward the nearest assassin as the 
blinded brute flailed and roared. Her offensive charge 
surprised her attacker, and Llawan wrapped her 
forelimbs around his soft cephalid skull. She gave the 

53 



Chainer’s Torment 

assassin's head a mighty squeeze, and he went limp. 

The stunned cephalid floated peacefully in 
Llawan's grip. The final two assassins looked at each 
other, then one loaded his trident into the other's 
crossbowlike launcher. 

The shooter sighted down the center prong of the 
trident, targeting Llawan's head. The empress paused 
momentarily, listening. She could hear her bodyguards 
and the Imperial Guard approaching, and the water 
around her began to whirl and churn. She clicked at 
the assassins in disdain. 

"Too slow, cretins," she said. The whirlpool 
around her solidified into a hard, transparent shell, 
complete with phantom eyes that blinked as the 
assassin's tridents bounced off their surface. Llawan's 
shield defenders had finally arrived. These strange 
creatures were pledged to put themselves between 
harm and their empress, and they were capable of 
transforming their bodies from flesh to water to a 
substance harder than polar ice. The assassins 
launched a second volley of tridents into the 
unyielding barrier around Llawan, and the empress 
turned her back on them just as a dozen lean, savage 
bodies exploded out of the corridor behind her. The 
vicious fish tore into the cephalid assassin's arm before 
he could pull the trigger again, and the forgotten 
trident fell straight to the coral floor. 

Each of the empress's barracuda was three feet of 
tooth and muscle and killer instinct looking for a 
target to maul. They had been trained to tear huge, 
bloody scraps off of anything that she ordered them to 
attack or threatened her. Llawan watched impassively 
behind her shield defenders as her more aggressive 

54 



Scott McGough 

bodyguards reduced the remaining assassins to chum 
and clouds of inky blood. 

The survivor in her tentacle shuddered as he 
woke. Llawan brought him close to her face, with her 
harp beak a short lunge from his eyes. 

"What do you want?" she said. She didn't expect 
an answer from a professional assassin, but if he was a 
zealot or a deluded patriot.... 

She shook her captive. Behind her, she could hear 
the palace guard darting up the corridor. Her 
barracuda continued to squabble over scraps of the 
still-heaving shark-man. 

"Answer us." 

The assassin's eyes fluttered. He struggled for 
focus, recognized Llawan, and his face fell. 

"We asked you a question." Llawan tightened her 
grip. "Tell us." 

The assassin sneered. In a series of clicks and 
calls, he said, "You and Laquatus both shall fall." And 
then he flicked his tongue at Llawan in the undersea 
equivalent of a spit in the eye. 

Llawan squeezed his brain again and watched his 
eyes roll back. As the captain of the Guard swam onto 
the scene, she clicked, and the transparent shell in 
front of her dissolved and began to reform itself into 
her servant's bodies. Llawan slung the unconscious 
assassin at the captain of the Guard like a stone. 

"He probably won't say much," Llawan said, "but 
ask him in earnest. Just in case." 

"Empress," the captain struggled to salute and 
control the assassin's limp body simultaneously, "are 
you all right?" 

"We endure. But there will be a serious inquiry 

55 



Chainer’s Torment 

into this episode. Fools will be punished." 

"Yes, Empress." 

Llawan clicked for her barracuda, and they 
obediently fell in alongside her as she swam for her 
throne room. Her evening's rest was ruined, now that 
she had business that wouldn't wait until morning. 

She maintained whatever power she had by 
staying on top of situations that involved her. Her own 
subjects were trying to kill her, and Ambassador 
Laquatus had been mentioned by name. If Laquatus 
was involved, Aboshan was involved. If Aboshan was 
involved, she could not miss an opportunity to slap 
him back into line like the egotistical child he was. 
Aboshan and Laquatus had made three attempts on 
her life since her retirement, all of them half-hearted 
affairs like this one. Some husbands send gifts to their 
wives. Hers sent killers. Still, she regarded the 
attempts more as reminders to stay alert and informed 
rather than actual death threats. 

The empress needed more information, and she 
needed to know the extent of Laquatus's involvement. 
As one of the only merfolk on or around Otaria, 
Laquatus was not tied to the empire by family or 
tradition. Indeed, his human features reflected a 
decidedly human character. He was a consummate 
politician, a notorious opportunist, and ambitious to 
the point of lunacy. 

Llawan needed to talk to someone with a better 
understanding of how he thought. 

* * * * * 

The Mer empire encircled the entire continent of 
Otaria and stretched far out into the depths of the 

56 



Scott McGough 

ocean. The coastal waters around Otaria itself were 
called the shallows, and Director Rillu Veza lived there 
on the coast in an area called Breaker Bay. 

Veza acted on behalf of the empire as 
combination negotiator, harbormaster, and customs 
inspector for all commerce between the Cabal's 
northern stronghold and the empire's southern 
quarter. It was not a prominent position to hold. Most 
of the trade between Otaria and Mer was routed 
through ports and storage depots further north, along 
shipping lanes that were better protected. In Veza's 
opinion, she had been confined to such a remote weigh 
station for not being a staunch supporter of the 
emperor's faction. She also believed she was in charge 
of Breaker Bay depot because she was qualified to run 
it. Her comfortable bayside cottage with access to the 
sea and the main road into town were proof of the 
emperor's partial approval. After all, he could have put 
her in charge of a bare piece of rock completely off the 
trade routes and without any other inhabitants. 

Veza slept in a sunken tub filled with sea water. 
This morning, she was awakened by an insistent 
knocking at the cottage's front door. She shook 
drowsiness and salt water from her eyes, submerged 
for one last gulp of gill-filtered air, then climbed out of 
her tub. 

Veza's hair was soft and greenish blue. After a 
quick wringing to squeeze out excess water, she let her 
unbound locks fall down to the small of her back. She 
grabbed a waterproof dressing gown from a hook. 
Though she was covered from head to toe in glistening 
blue scales, she respected the customs of her land-
bound clients and wore unnecessary clothing whenever 

57 



Chainer’s Torment 

she might encounter them. 

She was still adjusting the robe and her dripping 
hair when she got to the door. She opened it and found 
a small human boy looking nervously up at her. 

"Missus Mermaid?" the boy said. 

"Yes." She did not reach out to the boy. He 
seemed spooked enough by her huge black eyes and 
scaled skin. She didn't want to see him panic when 
confronted by her long, webbed fingers. 

"There's a guy waiting for you in the water out 
there." He gestured vaguely to the bay behind him. "A 
fish guy. He says he can't come up on the land." 

"Thank you," Veza said. "Did he say what he'd 
give you if you helped him?" 

"No. He just said I should help him." Veza could 
see that even this scared little boy knew a raw deal 
when he saw it. 

"Well, I think you helped him just right. How 
would you like to swim on my private beach today? If 
you come back after lunch, I'll make sure the 
groundskeeper lets you in." 

"Thank you," the boy said glumly. Of course, Veza 
thought, he lives on the shore. A swim in the ocean 
probably isn't all that exciting for him. 

Veza took a small notebook and an ornate quill 
pen from the hallway table. "So let's say later today, 
sometime after noon? I'll tell the groundskeeper to 
expect two of you, so you can bring a friend. Oh, and 
remember, the spell only lasts for an hour, so be sure 
not to get too far from shore." 

The boy looked confused. "Spell?" 

Veza smiled. "Yes, the enhancement spell. It 
wouldn't be much fun to swim in the ocean if you 

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Scott McGough 

couldn't breathe and see underwater, now would it?" 

The boy's face lit up. "No, ma'am." 

"After lunch, then." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"And bring a friend." 

"Yes, ma'am." The boy ran happily off, fairly 
skipping back down the road into town. 

Veza put the pad and quill back on the table. 
There was no groundskeeper, so there was no need for 
a note, but there was always a need to keep up the 
dignity of the empire. She would receive the boy and 
his friend herself, show them the sights only visible 
beneath the bay, and introduce them to some of the 
residents. 

Now, for her other mystery guest. Veza closed the 
front door and backtracked into the cottage. The 
waters of her bay lapped gently against her living 
room floor, and she dropped her robe and dove in. She 
swam under her own floorboards and out into the sea. 

The cephalid male was waiting for her a hundred 
yards from shore. He wore an imperial seal on his 
skullcap and a curved sword in his belt. His limbs 
twitched impatiently as he tread water waiting for 
Veza. 

"Is that the fastest you can swim, land crawler?" 
he sneered, glancing at her legs. "I've been waiting 
forever." 

"My door is always open," Veza said coolly. "And I 
can accommodate all callers. If you'd been braver, we 
could have started this discussion when you arrived." 

The cephalid snarled. "It's not my bravery that's 
suspect, it's your loyalty. Last night our empress was 
attacked, and she barely escaped alive." 

59 



Chainer’s Torment 

"Long live the empress," Veza said automatically. 
Llawan may live in exile, but she was still a member of 
the royal bloodline, and there were formalities to 
observe. "Our lady is well?" 

The cephalid twitched uncomfortably. "She 
endures. I bring an inquiry from her to you." 

"I'm ready to hear it." 

The cephalid arranged his arms around him to 
float more comfortably. "You are Veza, director of this 
depot?" 

"I am." 

"Her majesty the Empress Llawan wishes to 
inquire if you still maintain the ability to transform 
between a human's legs and a fish's tail." 

Now it was Veza who squirmed. "Yes," she said 
finally. "Tell the empress that I do." Just as long as I 
have plenty of warning and a half-hour to recover, she 
added privately. 

"Very well." The cephalid took a small crystal 
gem from his courier's pouch. He turned his back on 
Veza, raised the globe over his head, and crushed it in 
his forelimb. 

A high-pitched whistle blasted out of the gem, 
and a blue-white arc of energy radiated outward, away 
from the shoreline behind them. Veza watched the arc 
advance, growing smaller and fainter until it 
disappeared entirely. 

The cephalid turned back to her. "The empress 
will contact you shortly." He handed her a small hand 
mirror made of tinted blue glass. "Keep this by your 
side until you hear our lady's voice. She has urgent 
issues to discuss with you." He looked Veza over once 
more, lingering again on her legs. "Do not keep her 

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waiting." 

In a flurry of bubbles and powerful strokes he 
was gone. Before she could stop herself, Veza cursed 
him out loud like the air breathers she spent so much 
time with. Underwater, the effect was minimal and 
she was instantly ashamed of herself for trying. 

Angrily, she kicked her webbed feet and streaked 
back toward her cottage. 

* * * * * 

Three hours later, Veza sat dozing over a pile of 
paperwork. The seasonal winter storms had not taken 
the expected toll on shipping, but pirate activity was 
way up from last year. As much as the numbers 
fluctuated on the hundreds of reports she reviewed 
each week, the situation in Breaker Bay never really 
changed. 

From somewhere on her desk, a fanfare of horns 
began playing Llawan's imperial theme. 

"Director Rillu Veza, stand ready," a woman's 
voice sounded over the trumpets. "Your empress 
awaits." 

Veza shoved the papers out of her lap and picked 
up the mirror. "Long live the empress. I am at her 
disposal." Veza felt a curious detached anxiety as she 
waited for a reply. She was the same age as Llawan 
and had attended the same government career 
training schools, but they had never moved in the 
same circles. When Aboshan became emperor, Veza 
was packed off to the shallows and Llawan retired. 
Veza had only heard rumors regarding her former 
classmate ever since. 

The trumpet music finished with a flourish, and 

61 



Chainer’s Torment 

the woman's voice spoke again. "Behold, subject of 
Mer, your Empress Llawan." 

Llawan appeared in the mirror, and Veza bowed 
her head. She wondered again why the empress had 
reached out so far to such a desolate place, and if this 
latest assassination attempt was tied to Breaker Bay. 

"We are the Empress Llawan of Mer." The 
empress was obviously talking into a mirror like 
Veza's because only a small portion of her large face 
was visible. She seemed suspicious of the device and 
held it at limb's length. 

"Empress," Veza said, "I am Rillu Veza, director 
of Breaker Bay depot, and your humble servant." 

"We understand you are capable of walking on 
legs." Llawan's voice and image dissolved into static as 
she absently shook her mirror. The static cleared and 
Llawan's eye appeared in the glass, filling it from side 
to side. "Well?" 

Veza flushed. "Yes, my empress. That is true." 

"Excellent. Director Veza, you will now scan your 
chamber with the mirror." 

"What? Forgive me, my empress, I could not hear 
you clearly." 

"We do not repeat ourselves." 

Veza hesitated then carefully held the mirror 
face-out, slowly pointing it at every corner of the room. 
When she reached the small interior fountain on the 
east wall, Llawan called out, "Stop." Veza's arms 
began to tremble from holding the awkward position. 

The fountain stream froze in midair and the 
surface of its pool began to glow silver-white. The light 
was reflected in Veza's mirror and she could hear 
Empress Llawan in it, pronouncing the words to a 

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Scott McGough 

spell Veza didn't recognize. A soft, insistent whine rose 
behind the empress's voice. 

With a ripping crack, the surface of the pool 
became a three-dimensional disk of energy. The crest 
of Empress Llawan's skullcap broke the surface of the 
disk, and her large, round head continued to rise 
through the portal until it was physically in the room 
with Veza. 

The disoriented empress's eyes darted around the 
room until she spotted the bay waters lapping up on 
Veza's living room floor. Llawan threw herself out of 
the portal and into the water with a splash. She rolled 
over once, regaining her bearing and adjusting to the 
temperature and purity of the bay. Veza took one last 
look at the glowing portal in the corner, then joined 
her empress under the waves. 

"Greetings, loyal Veza. We must speak quickly 
and plainly, so listen well. You will contact the 
Ambassador Laquatus on our behalf. From time to 
time he makes use of a mirror similar to the one we 
gave you. We will provide you with the means to access 
his mirror. Something is stirring in the land to the 
north, Veza, and its effects are being felt down below, 
even in our city. News from the shores and shallows 
rarely filters down that far, which we would now 
remedy. The most recent assassination plot was 
conceived, planned, and launched nearby, where we 
would not discover it. 

"Rest easy," Llawan added, "we know that you 
are loyal to the empire and to us. But there are others 
to the north who are not so reliable. You have heard of 
Laquatus?" 

"Yes, Empress." 

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Chainer’s Torment 

"You are to learn what the ambassador is doing in 
Cabal City. We would also know how and to whom he 
is doing it. There is no point in trying to keep our 
interest in this from him, but you must disguise your 
true intent. Lead him to believe that we are inspecting 
the emperor's newly drawn trade routes, or that we 
are in hiding until the threat of assassination is 
removed. I recommend you introduce yourself as my 
agent and then present yourself as a disgruntled 
member of my court, persecuted and ignored as a 
'crawler. That will appeal to Laquatus's pride and also 
give him the illusion of something in you that he can 
exploit." 

Veza swallowed heavily. "Yes, Empress." 

"But you are to use every available method to 
discover what Laqua-tus is up to and how Aboshan is 
involved. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Empress." 

"No one knows I have come to you, or what I have 
said. If you fail or are found out, you are the only one 
who will suffer." 

"I understand, Empress." 

"Keep us informed. We expect regular 
communication from you from now until we are 
satisfied with what you discover." 

"It will be done, Empress." 

"You will be rewarded for your service, Veza." 

"Thank you, Empress." 

"This audience is over." Llawan held out her 
forelimb, and Veza kissed the tip. Llawan left a small, 
waterproof scroll with her seal on it in Veza's hand. 
"Read that account of recent events before you contact 
Laquatus. Access to his mirror is also inside." Veza 

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Scott McGough 

nodded and tucked the tiny scroll behind her ear. 
Llawan waved her tentacle carelessly over her 
shoulder. 

"You may conduct us back to our city." 

"Empress." Veza swam up and pulled herself out 
of the bay, standing between the empress and the 
fountain. The empress then shot up out of the water 
and landed in Veza's outstretched arms. 

Llawan's weight and soft body caused her to 
sprawl in a manner most undignified, but Veza 
averted her eyes and gently placed her empress in the 
portal head-first. Llawan disappeared into the portal 
like a stone down a well, and the glowing disk snapped 
shut behind her. 

"Do not fail us, Veza," said the empress's faint 
voice in the mirror. Then the mirror went dark as well 
and became an ordinary reflective surface. 

Veza went to her personal library to review the 
information on the scroll and anything else she had on 
Ambassador Laquatus. She knew him by his 
formidable reputation, but she needed to know a lot 
more if she was going to determine his motives and 
report them back to Llawan. She had many duties in 
Breaker Bay, and now she had one that was more 
important than all the rest combined. 

An angry knock sounded at her front door. Veza 
swore softly, startling her own ears. She retrieved her 
crumpled dressing gown from the floor and opened the 
door. An angry human woman stood on Veza's 
doorstep with the little boy who had knocked earlier 
clenched tight in her fist. * 

"Did you threaten to cast a spell on my son, you 
miserable sea hag?" 

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Chainer’s Torment 

Veza was caught off-guard, but she was becoming 
sadly accustomed to this level of discourse. 

"What? Of course not. He was very polite and 
helpful to a guest of mine, and I promised him a 
reward." 

The woman glared at Veza suspiciously. "You 
threatened to make him one of you." The boy at her 
side looked completely miserable. 

"I offered to let him swim unencumbered on my 
private beach." 

The human sneered. "Sure you did. Well, thanks 
but no thanks. He won't be coming by here again, and 
he doesn't need your kind of reward." 

"Sorry, lady," the boy muttered, and the human 
woman clipped him across the ear. 

"Shut up," she snapped. She turned and stomped 
down Veza's path, dragging the boy behind her. 

Veza stood in the open doorway for a full minute 
after they'd gone. Then, she shook her head, closed the 
door gently, and went back to her papers. 

66 



Scott McGough 

CHAPTER 5 


The First stood silently in a chamber no one but 
he and his attendants knew about. He was gazing into 
a detailed light model of Cabal City and its environs, a 
perfect miniature recreation. The First used it as an 
organizing tool, one of many he employed to keep 
thousands of Cabalists and millions of transactions 
working smoothly. 

He focused his thoughts on the model and spoke a 
few words under his breath. The background buildings 
in the projection faded slightly, leaving a series of 
stark, colored dots to represent the individuals he was 
interested in following. 

Two small, black dots waited in the proving 
grounds of Skellum's dementist academy, representing 
Chainer and Skellum himself. The 

First noted with some satisfaction that the pair 
were still training hard, even with the progress 
Chainer had already made. The boy was proving to be 
capable of everything the First had in mind for him. 

A small blue dot lurked around the shore just 
outside the city walls, where Ambassador Laquatus 
connived and plotted. The ambassador both interested 
and amused the First. Laquatus may have mastered 
the shifting tides of diplomacy, but his childish self-
interest made him woefully predictable. Also, the 
egotistical fool seemed to actually think he could keep 
secrets from the First in the heart of the Cabal's 
biggest city. 

A small cluster of white dots approached from the 

67 



Chainer’s Torment 

plains beyond the main gate. Lieutenant Kirtar of the 
Order coming to call, or perhaps Captain Pianna 
herself? Whichever of its noble heroes came, Chainer's 
found treasure spelled the end of the Cabal's relative 
tnice with the Order. The First thought of himself 
primarily as an entertainer. While he was pragmatic 
enough to accept a resumption of hostilities, the host 
in him mourned the loss of resources that would be 
spent on destructive conflict rather than constructive 
spectacle. Finally, and most interestingly, a single red 
dot was heading into his city from the Pardic 
mountains to the southeast. This dot glowed brightly 
when compared to the others. The First commanded 
the finest network of spies and informers on or around 
Otaria, bar none. He knew who this dot was, and what 
it represented to his plans for the Cabal. The First 
smiled. 

He compared relative distances between the 
various dots and the Cabal City pits. Within a day or 
two, all of the players would be assembled. He touched 
a smooth, gray finger to his temple and a skull-
attendant stepped forward out of the darkness. "Bring 
me Skellum and the boy," he said. Sometimes, the 
showman in him thought, the best thing to do with 
something everyone wants is to throw it up in the air 
and yell, "Catch." 

* * * * * 

After four months in it, Chainer grew to hate the 
room in Skellum's academy that was designed to 
recreate the pits. It wasn't anywhere near as large and 
there weren't hundreds of bloodthirsty spectators 
screaming for death and carnage, but it was as near


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Scott McGough 

perfect a recreation as possible. From the black stone 
floor to the fixed and inextinguishable torches to the 
spiked wooden barriers that protected the crowds, 
Chainer had to hand it to Skellum: the old man had an 
eye for detail. 

He'd had plenty of opportunity to examine those 
details. For endless weeks now Skellum had filled 
Chainer's days with breathing and meditation 
techniques, and extremely boring speeches about 
Cabal history and the dementists' role in it. After the 
first week Chainer had mouthed off to Skellum about 
the monotony of the routine. Skellum had spun his hat 
and left Chainer alone in the room with a two-headed 
harpy and a fifty-pound slug that seeped acid. Chainer 
hadn't complained since. 

Today, Chainer perked up because Skellum was 
carrying an eight-inch pewter cage. The cylinder-
shaped contraption was hinged in the middle and had 
a thick slot in the top. Chainer stared at it hungrily. It 
was the only new thing he had seen in weeks. Maybe 
Skellum would let him actually do something. 

"Big day today," Skellum said. He drew a thick 
charcoal coin and a match out of his satchel. He struck 
the match against his thumb, held it under the coin 
until the edge glowed red, and then dropped the 
charcoal disk into the slot on top of the cage. 

"Here,". Skellum flipped the cage over to Chainer. 
Chainer caught it gingerly and tossed it from hand to 
hand until he was sure it was cool to the touch. 

"Fasten it to your chain and set it on the floor," 
Skellum said. He spread his cape out with both arms 
and gracefully lowered himself into a cross-legged 
sitting position. 

69 



Chainer’s Torment 

Chainer broke off five feet of chain, held the end 
near to the cylinder-cage, and whispered, "Link." The 
air shimmered, and the pewter cage became attached 
to his black metal chain as if it had been forged there. 

"I've told you about we dementists," Skellum said. 
"We are the First's favorites. We work and sleep in 
places that would reduce lesser beings to babbling 
hysteria. We walk paths that would turn others' feet to 
ashes. We travel at will to the shores of nightmare, 
and not only do we return, but we return bearing 
captives. The Cabal serves Kuberr for a purpose, and 
no less than the First himself has confirmed—the 
dementists are part of that purpose." 

Chainer shrugged. "Yes. You have told me these 
things." 

"And I have told you about the paths we walk. 
How some bind their eyes and plug their ears in order 
to find a path. And others go without food, or water, or 
air until their feet find the way. And some turn to 
drink, or drugs, or the hypnotist's candle in order to 
leave this world behind and find the world within." 

"So you have said, Master Skellum." 

"But I haven't told you why I am the master. Why 
my service to the Cabal lies outside the pits. Why I am 
uniquely qualified to help you find your path." 

"There is no need," Chainer said carefully. He 
watched Skellum's impassive face. "You are my 
master. I am your pupil. Lead, and I will follow." 

Skellum smiled, gave his hat a playful spin, and 
caught a gap in front of his face after exactly one 
revolution. He reached into his satchel and took out a 
dusty red coin as thick as a finger. 

"Put this in the censer." He showed the red disc to 

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Scott McGough 

Chainer. "It's Dragon's Blood. Not the actual blood 
from a dragon's veins, mind you, but a resin we call 
Dragon's Blood." 

"Why?" 

"Mostly because it's red and stinky. Here." 

Chainer caught the disc and dropped it into the 
slot. There was a hiss and a sizzle, and then fragrant 
smoke began to pour out between the bars of the 
pewter cage. 

"Place it on a hot coal," Skellum said, "and it 
produces a strong scent and thick smoke. Quite a lot of 
thick smoke, actually." 

Chainer nodded, but the choking fog from the 
censer stung his eyes and clogged his lungs. 

"Can you still hear me, pupil?" Skellum's voice 
was clear, but Chainer couldn't quite pin down its 
direction. 

"Yes, Master." 

"Good. Spin the censer around on your chain. I'm 
about six feet away from you at ground level. Be sure 
not to hit me with it. When you've got a clear space 
around you that you can breathe in, say, 'Ready.' In 
the meantime, I'll tell you about Cateran." 

Chainer coughed. "I understand, Master." He 
picked up the censer, tossed it out into space, and 
started it whirling around his head. 

"Cateran," Skellum's voice now echoed out of the 
smoke from about two feet off the ground to Chainer's 
left, "was one of the greats. An extraordinary 
dementist. Before your time, before my time, maybe 
even before the First's time. The Cabal is here, 
Chainer, and some say it has always been. There are 
many more stories about its early days than you or I 

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Chainer’s Torment 

will ever hear." 

Chainer had the censer spinning easily, and he 
was slowly creating a miniature cyclone of Dragon's 
Blood smoke with himself at the center. 

"I'm still waiting to hear this one." 

Skellum sighed. "Loathsome boy." Chainer spun 
the censer a few more times, then yelped as Skellum 
hit him on the end of his nose with a spare charcoal 
disc. 

Skellum continued. "Cateran was a summoner. 
He was so good at it that he could threaten you with a 
monster, and make it appear between the letters in 
the last word he spoke." 

"What was he good at? Big, scary things, or lots of 
little sharp things?" 

"Both, and more besides. There's an old legend 
about him going into the pits alone on the eve of no 
moons and not coming out until the next one, a full 
month later. He must have been astounding. An 
inexhaustible roster of ferocity, size, variety, all at a 
moment's notice." 

"So what happened to this dementist hero? Did he 
finally meet someone better than he was?" 

"Of course not." 

"But that's the rule. That's how it works in the 
pits." 

"Cateran did not die in the pits." Skellum 
sounded hurt, almost offended. "Some say that Kuberr 
rewarded him, and he now sits by our god's side on a 
pile of gold and silver markers. Others say Kuberr 
rewarded Cateran with an entire world to infiltrate 
and colonize on behalf of the Cabal. And some among 
us dementists think he became too good, that he got so 

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comfortable in his own dementia space that he simply 
forgot to come back." 

"What do you think, Master?" Chainer took a 
deep breath. "I'm also ready, by the way." 

"Excellent." Skellum's voice now came from the 
floor to Chainer's right, but he hadn't heard his mentor 
move. Chainer wondered if the old man had been 
spinning his hat as he spoke. It was possible that 
Skellum was speaking from inside Chainer's head 
again. 

"I think," Skellum's voice said from directly in 
front of Chainer, "that Cabalists never get to lie 
around on big piles of money, even in paradise. And I 
think if you gave a dementist his own world, he would 
forget why you gave it to him and spend all of his time 
playing with it." 

Chainer kept spinning the censer and scanning 
the smoke for Skellum. "And what if he's lost in the 
place that you go to find monsters?" 

"That I don't know, Chainer. But together, maybe 
we can find out." Skellum's hand clamped over 
Chainer's eyes from behind and Chainer could feel 
whispered words hissing in his ear. "Let's go look." 

Chainer heard a deafening boom, and he fell 
forward onto his knee. He struggled to keep the censer 
spinning and away from Skellum, but the old man 
seemed weightless as he kept his hand pressed tightly 
over Chainer's eyes. Angled as it was, the swinging 
censer should have been slamming into the stone floor 
by now, but it continued to spin freely. 

"Keep your eyes closed. Stand up straight. Keep 
the censer spinning." 

Chainer straightened his back and got the censer 

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realigned. "I'm trying, damn it." 

"Don't talk back. And keep your eyes shut." 
Skellum's hand came away from Chainer's face, and 
the young pupil did as he was told. 

"What do you hear?" Skellum asked. 

Chainer listened. "It sounds like we're outside or 
in a really big room. An empty one. Are we in the 
pits?" 

"What do you smell?" 

Chainer sniffed. "Dragon's Blood. And . . . dead 
trees? Mulch. Lamp oil. I don't know, a lot of things." 

"What do you see? Keep your eyes closed." 

"How can I—" 

"Shut up, and tell me what you see. Now." 

"We're on the salt flats," Chainer said instantly. 
"It's the dry season, so the ground is hard. There's 
been a fire recently, and all the vegetation is burned 
and black." 

"What about the sky?" 

"It's about to storm. It's midday, but there's no 
sun. The clouds are thick and heavy and dark. They 
want to rain. They're bursting with it, but they can't. 
All they can do is flash and rumble." 

"Anyone here but us?" 

Chainer focused all of his available senses on the 
space around him. "No one," he said. 

"Keep the censer spinning. Open your eyes." 

The sky was just as Chainer imagined it, but the 
landscape was all gray and jagged stone instead of 
black and ruined marsh. Skellum sat cross-legged on 
the ground to his left. His hat was in motion, but 
slowing. The spinning censer created a ten-foot ring of 
scented smoke with Chainer and Skellum safe in its 

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center. 

Outside the ring were a thousand slavering 
horrors. They crowded and jostled each other for the 
chance to peer directly into the protected circle. They 
produced an unholy chorus of snarls, growls, and 
shrieks as they jockeyed for position. Occasionally, one 
would lash out at its neighbor, and a vicious skirmish 
would break out, but there were too many of them to 
get a good melee going. Besides, they were far too busy 
drooling and leering at Chainer. They ignored 
Skellum. 

"Welcome. These are my nightmares." Skellum 
said. 

Chainer cleared his throat. An insectoid whose 
head was all compound eye and razor mandible was 
eyeing him hungrily. 

"I've seen worse," he said. 

"But not all at once," Skellum said. "And not all 
waiting here, just for you." 

Chainer cleared his throat. "Okay. You've got me 
there." He spun the censer, and for the first time 
wondered how much longer he could keep it spinning. 

"Master Skellum?" 

"Yes, Chainer?" 

"Forgive me, but. . . what in the Nine Hells is this 
place?" 

Skellum smiled. "I just told you." 

"But how did we get here?" 

"I come here all the time." 

"Okay. How did I get here?" 

"I brought you. This is why I am Master Skellum. 
My path to this place is slow, but sure. I'm not very 
good in the pits without a partner, because I take too 

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long to get going. But the creatures I produce are 
exceptionally stable and strong. And detailed, if I do 
say so myself. Look, there's my grendelkin." Skellum 
waved playfully at the elephantine beast prowling the 
perimeter of the censer's circle. "Also," his voice went 
serious, "I can take others with me when I come here." 

"Other pupils." 

"On occasion. And sometimes, people I just don't 
like." 

Chainer was scanning the crush of monsters, 
picking out the ones he would most want beside him in 
the pits and least want to fight against. 

"Will I be able to produce such creatures?" 

Skellum laughed. "I expect so. But these are 
mine, created from my memories and my mind. Your 
dementia space is currently empty. Starting tomorrow, 
we begin to populate it." 

"Now," Chainer said. "Take me there now." 

Skellum scowled. "No. Tomorrow. It's dangerous 
enough in here, and I'm standing right next to you. If 
that chain stopped spinning, they'd attack us en masse 
without hesitation. I think I could make it out, but 
you'd be trapped here. Fighting forever in the darkest 
parts of my brain until I called you forth. And even 
then, you wouldn't be you. You'd be a shadow of the 
Chainer I knew and trained, real form without real 
substance. A puppet to my will." 

"Then take me out of your space and into mine. If 
it's empty, it can't be—" 

"Chainer," Skellum said sternly, "no. Trust your 
mentor, boy." He stood up, crouching to avoid the 
chain overhead, and moved behind his pupil. He 
covered the boy's eyes again. 

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"Close your eyes," he instructed, "and when I say 
so, start slowing the censer down and drawing it in. 
Ready?" 

"Ready." 

"Now." 

The boom and the internal wrench were softer on 
Chainer this time. The horror's noises suddenly 
stopped, and Chainer felt the pressure around him 
change. He knew he was back in the pit facsimile 
inside Skellum's academy. 

Skellum pulled his hand away. "Open your eyes 
and catch the censer." Chainer did, noting that the 
pewter cage was still cool to the touch, and that the 
smoke had tapered off to a few final wisps. 

"Tomorrow," Skellum promised, and he threw his 
arm up and over Chainer's shoulder. Chainer took one 
step forward, and his legs buckled. He felt cold, dizzy, 
and on the verge of vomiting. He fell heavily against 
Skellum, who laughed as he propped his student up. 

"It takes more out of you than you realize," 
Skellum said. "Especially at first." Skellum was 
physically stronger than he looked, Chainer thought, 
as his mentor half-dragged and half-carried him 
toward the door. 

Before they reached it, someone knocked loudly 
and forcefully. "Master Skellum," a voice called. 
Skellum stood Chainer up and held him there with one 
hand while he opened the door with the other. 

"Yes?" 

One of the First's skull attendants was in the 
hallway, with the woman warrior who had admitted 
Chainer and Azza to the manor four months ago. 

"Hello, Deidre," Skellum said to the woman. "Still 

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Chainer’s Torment 

on house duty, little sister?" 

"Yes, Master Skellum," Deidre said. Then, over 
his shoulder, "Chainer." 

Chainer feebly waved through half-lidded eyes 
and an exhausted smile. 

"The First requires Master Skellum and the pupil 
Chainer in his chambers." The skull attendant's eyes 
were unfocused, and he spoke in a pathetic monotone 
that irritated Chainer. "Immediately." 

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CHAPTER 6 


Ambassador Laquatus soaked himself in a hot 
bath. He enjoyed the steam and the bubbles, but he 
always kept one eye on the timer next to the tub. 
Ocean-dwellers like himself were built to survive in 
the extreme cold of deep water, but they were not 
normally required to cope with high temperatures. To 
Laquatus, the sensation of a hot spa was worth the 
risk of being cooked alive if he stayed in too long. He 
prided himself on enjoying as many of the surface's 
unique luxuries as he could, even when they were 
potentially harmful. 

He smiled, and corrected himself: especially when 
they were potentially harmful. In all the depths of the 
ocean and all the nations of the land, he was unique. 
There were no boundaries for one such as he, no limits 
except for the ones he himself imposed. In his legged 
form, Laquatus appeared remarkably human. He was 
six feet tall and handsome, with two small horns at his 
temples which he had capped in silver. He claimed the 
vestigial horns were a sign of his royal blood, as were 
his very light skin color and smooth, almost invisible 
scale texture. Without his ornate robes and his horns, 
Laquatus could easily pass for a normal air breather. 

On a whim, Laquatus switched from his legged 
form to his tailed one in a flurry of arcane blue light 
and sea spray . Now nearly nine feet long, he had to 
fold his lower half back over itself to fit in the spa. He 
gently flexed his muscles, his scales shimmering, and 
submerged for a difficult breath of hot water. Though 

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he spent almost all of his time walking and talking 
with humans, he still needed to keep his skin moist at 
all times and to spend a few hours a week in his 
seagoing form. 

The tub side timer went off. Laquatus shifted 
back to his legged form and signaled for his servants. 
Two sallow-faced humans in dreary peasant clothing 
stepped forward and helped him from the tub. One 
cooled him down with a huge, damp, purple towel, and 
the other draped a robe around the ambassador's 
shoulders. 

"Be gone," Laquatus said, and the humans 
shuffled out. 

Turg, the ambassador's bodyguard and champion, 
snored loudly on the floor of the next room. The huge 
amphibian had won four straight matches in the pits 
that afternoon and then gorged itself at the post-
games banquet. Between the mountain of food their 
Cabal hosts provided and the odd body part or two 
from his opponents, Turg's appetite was for once 
completely sated. Laquatus reached out with his mind, 
confirming that Turg was merely asleep and not 
comatose, and then let the sleeping giant lie. The 
slightest unfamiliar sound or smell, the merest 
whisper of thought from Laquatus, and Turg would be 
as awake and as dangerous as ever. Laquatus had 
spent years building and strengthening the 
master/thrall relationship with Turg, and though the 
great frog still retained far too much of its own 
primitive drives, it was unquestionably loyal and 
nearly perfect in its obedience. 

Laquatus heard an unfamiliar tone and a strange 
voice calling his name from elsewhere in the room. In a 

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flash, Turg responded to Laquatus's confusion and 
rolled onto his huge webbed feet, grumbling angrily. 
Laquatus waved his familiar away and bid him stand 
ready. He then went looking for the source of the 
sound. 

In a trunk bearing his formal attire, he found the 
imperial mirror Empress Llawan had given him. It 
played a lyrical fanfare to announce the rank and 
station of whoever was using it. For Llawan, it played 
the imperial theme. For Laquatus, it used a piece he 
himself had written. For this mysterious new person, 
it played a fairly unimpressive flute aria. 

". . . for Ambassador Laquatus. This is Rillu Veza, 
Director of the Breaker Bay depot for Ambassador 
Laquatus. Are you there, Ambassador?" 

"This is Laquatus," the ambassador spoke from 
several feet back, the mirror still hidden inside the 
trunk. It was a woman's voice, he noted. "And this is a 
private channel. Do not contact me again." 

"Ambassador? I have information, and a request, 
from Empress Llawan." 

Laquatus paused. Of course. If someone new was 
using Llawan's mirror, the empress must have given 
them instructions to do so. 

"How do I know Llawan sent you?" Laquatus took 
off his purple robe and rooted around in his wardrobe 
for a finer one. Turg menacingly sniffed the trunk with 
the mirror in it, and Laquatus brought him to heel 
with a thought. 

"Our lady gave me the access to your mirror, 
Ambassador." Veza said. "She is currently in hiding 
after another assassination attempt and has asked me 
to contact you on her behalf. Will you speak to me?" 

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Laquatus checked his reflection in the full-length 
mirror. He polished a spot of condensation off his silver 
horn cap, wrapped the 

final yard of blue silk around his waist, and tied 
it tight. Then he picked up the mirror. 

"Assassination attempt?" he said urgently. "Is the 
empress all right?" In the mirror, Veza of Breaker Bay 
jumped at his sudden appearance. 

"Yes, Ambassador. She endures. But she is very, 
very concerned." 

She ought to be, Laquatus thought. He had spent 
a lot of Aboshan's money to hire the assassins, though 
in truth they were hired to disfigure Llawan rather 
than kill her. Laquatus found the empress too useful 
to discard just yet, but he also wanted her frightened 
and focused on Aboshan. 

Veza was pretty, Laquatus thought, but not 
beautiful. She was an unknown quantity, however, 
and therefore interesting. Too far away to affect her 
thoughts, too unfamiliar to gauge her intent. Laquatus 
sniffed. Llawan must be desperate if she were reaching 
out to low-level functionaries to do her spying for her. 

"Who were the assassins? Did any of them 
escape?" Laquatus hoped they hadn't. Survivors would 
want to be paid the balance of the fee. 

"No. The empress's guard protected her." Veza's 
face clouded. "She is concerned about events on Otaria, 
however. Aboshan's new shipping lanes have not been 
well received by all. There are those in the depths and 
especially on the surface who feel cheated, and Llawan 
fears that she is being made a target for their 
frustration with the empire as a whole." The scenery 
behind Veza rolled dizzily as she sat with the mirror in 

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hand. "I've received a number of complaints even here 
in Breaker Bay." 

"Really." Veza was distracted and rooting for 
paperwork, so Laquatus was free to stare fixedly at 
her. "I was just discussing the shipping lanes with a 
syndicate of Cabal merchants. I have made great 
progress on behalf of the empire in the houses of both 
Cabal and Order. It would be a crime if my work on 
behalf of the empire was undone by a violent splinter 
group of intolerant cephalids at home." 

"Of course, Ambassador. It is precisely that kind 
of effort that Llawan needs." 

Laquatus's mind raced. She had just sat down— 
from a standing position! Veza had suddenly become 
far more interesting to him. 

"Director," Laquatus said, "allow me to 
congratulate you." 

"Ambassador?" 

"I know how hard it is for a non-cephalid to 
achieve any sort of advancement in Mer. They are an 
old-fashioned people, not given easily to change. You 
must be extremely adept at your position." 

Veza blinked. "Thank you, Ambassador. But I—" 

"I think we should meet in person, my dear. 
There is much we have to discuss, for the good of the 
empire." 

"Of course, Ambassador. When can we—" 

"I am always at the empress's service." He 
glanced at Turg. Growl, he thought. 

Turg let out a loud, rumbling half-roar that 
caused Laquatus to wince. 

"Excuse me, Director, but I have an appointment 
scheduled, and my guest has just arrived. Please 

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excuse this humble diplomat. By my oath, I will 
contact you as soon as 1 have arranged for our 
meeting." 

For the first time since he picked up the mirror, 
Veza's expression was less than polite. She seemed to 
be peering at him as if seeing him clearly for the first 
time, sizing him up as a potential ally or opponent. 

"Thank you, Ambassador. 

"Thank you, Director." 

"I hope I can count on you to assist me. We are 
both in a unique position to help the empress, the 
empire, and ourselves." 

"Nothing would please me more. I will make some 
inquiries and arrange for a time and place to share my 
findings with you." Provided, of course, Laquatus 
thought, that it serves my needs, and I 

haven't had you or the empress killed by then. 
"As I said before, for the good of the empire." 

"Long live the empire. I will await your notice, 
Ambassador. I can be reached any time, day or night, 
on this mirror." 

"Very well. I, on the other hand, will not be 
available. I will have to contact you. It could be a 
matter of hours, or a matter of days. But I will contact 
you." 

Veza scowled. "Agreed. Until then, Ambassador, 
you have my thanks and those of the empress." 

"Long live the empire," Laquatus said. He 
touched a gem on the mirror's handle, and the vision 
went blank. Turg belched loudly, and Laquatus 
muttered, "Go back to sleep," so the great frog rolled 
happily back onto its side. 

Laquatus put the mirror back into the trunk and 

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locked it up tight. He could sort out where to have a 
clandestine meeting with Veza and what kind of 
misinformation to feed the empress later. As intrigued 
as he was with the sight of another merfolk like 
himself, right now he needed to check in with his 
Cabal hosts and arrange for a meeting with the First. 

Laquatus's spies in the Cabal had told him that 
an artifact of immense power had been recovered and 
brought safely into the city. Laquatus had felt the 
presence of the artifact himself, but he had not been 
able to determine what, or exactly where, it was. 
According to his sources in the Order, however, high-
level adepts of every description were honing in on the 
artifact like sharks on a bleeding fish. 

Laquatus felt an opportunity growing and was 
determined to make the most of it. Powerful, 
functioning artifacts were nearly impossible to come by 
these days, and if this one was as impressive as it 
seemed, then Laquatus would claim it in Aboshan's 
name. The emperor would use it to solidify his grip on 
both the seas around Otaria and the continent itself. 
In turn, Laquatus would also use the artifact to 
strengthen his hold on Aboshan. He would continue as 

he had for the past several years, supplanting the 
churlish emperor one step at a time, bit by bit, until 
there would be no more need for Aboshan, his exiled 
wife, or any of her prying, spying, low-level 
functionaries. 

Laquatus stripped off the blue silken robe and 
began rooting around for something more dazzling. He 
would request an audience with the First, check on his 
hidden troops in the sea caves, and put Turg through 
his paces in the pits. Before he went to sleep that 

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night, he intended to have seen the mysterious device 
with his own eyes. 

He knew that once he had seen it and determined 
how to make use of it, there was nothing on land or in 
the seas that could stop him from acquiring it. 

* * * * * 

Chainer and Skellum were admitted to the First's 
study without fanfare. Deidre led them through the 
door, then began to skulk along the walls and shadows 
with the rest of the First's armed guards. The skull 
attendant returned to his post at the First's side. 
Master and pupil both waited for the First to hail 
them, but he simply stood staring at the pair calmly 
with his arms behind his back. 

"It is called the 'Mirari,' " the First said calmly. 
He stepped aside and presented the treasure to them 
with a wave of his robed arm. The First had Chainer's 
sphere set floating above a polished rune-silver base, 
which was in turn set into a small wooden stand. The 
entire apparatus was enclosed in a clear glass cover 
that fit snugly onto the stand. Lit by torches, the 
Mirari seemed to be floating above a floating stand 
inside a floating glass bubble. 

"Quite astonishing, Pater." 

Chainer simply gaped. "Mirari?" he said. 

"Mirari," the First confirmed. "It's an ancient 
word for a fantastic wish-granting artifact." 

Skellum stroked his thin beard. "Simply 
astonishing." 

"So it grants wishes?" Chainer couldn't quite pin 
down why that disappointed him. Perhaps because his 
vision had seemed so much grander than even his 

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wildest dreams. 

"It might," the First said. "Among other things. 
We haven't had enough time to fully determine all its 
uses, but simply possessing it has given me a clearer 
mind and more energy than I've had in years. I'm 
almost aglow with good ideas lately. 

"Even as we speak, mages are on their way here 
to find out what I have. I can feel them coming like 
moths flitting above a spider's web. They don't even 
know what it is, yet they want it. It is part of this 
object's nature. They simply can't help but want it. 

"But you," he said to Chainer. "You found it, and 
you brought it here. You put thoughts of the Cabal and 
of your First before thoughts of yourself. I must ask 
you to do so again." 

"We are yours to command, Pater," Skellum said. 

"I am speaking to Chainer." The First came 
within a foot of Chainer and looked down into his eyes. 

Chainer fought the weakness in his legs, 
redoubled by the proximity of the First. "I am your 
obedient child," he said. 

"My son." The First stepped back and gazed into 
the Mirari. "Tomorrow, the three-day lunar games 
begin. The Mirari shall be in the prize cache." 

"Pater?" Skellum jumped in to prevent Chainer 
from doing so, but the young man simply stared calmly 
at the First. 

"Yes, Master Skellum?" 

Still covering for Chainer, Skellum said, "Your 
wisdom is unquestioned. But my ignorance is vast. . . . 
What is the advantage of offering the device up to 
chance before we know what it can do?" 

The First stared stonily at Skellum for a long 

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moment. Then he smiled humorlessly. "You are young, 
Master Skellum, and impatient. I have led the Cabal 
for a very long time, and served it even longer. I have 
seen into the hearts of men, and I have owned items of 
power. And I say the quest for this thing, this Mirari, 
will destroy many who seek its power. When their 
schemes are all spent and they themselves lie undone, 
the Cabal will be there to claim the prize once more." 
He crossed his arms in front, and his attendants knelt 
in readiness beside him. "Master Skellum, Apprentice 
Chainer, believe in your First. Right now there is no 
one on Otaria who can control the Mirari. But in time 
it will show us the mettle of our rivals and distinguish 
the smart and the strong among them from the stupid 
and the dead. By then, I will be ready to use it for the 
glory of the Cabal, and there will be no one left to 
interfere." 

"Truly, you are wise, Pater." Skellum said. "Isn't 
he wise, Chainer." 

"The First is wise," Chainer agreed dully. 

"Outstanding. There is one more thing, before I 
dismiss you." 

"We stand ready, Pater." 

"Tomorrow, a warrior from the mountains will 
arrive in the pits. He is known to the Cabalists there 
by reputation and by first-hand observation. They say 
he is quite ferocious, a champion among his own 
violent people. He is here undoubtedly seeking the 
Mirari. Of all those who are coming for it, I think he 
may have the single best chance of winning it." 

"Is he that good, Pater?" Chainer asked. 

"He is easily capable of earning the right to 
choose his prize through combat. He is also 

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uncharacteristically intelligent for his kind and may 
recognize the Mirari's value among the rest of the 
dross. I want you," he said to Chainer, "to guide him 
through the competition." 

Chainer choked. "What?" 

"Introduce yourself. Help him get his bearings. 
Offer him some tips. I would rather he be an ally than 
an enemy. Besides, if he wins it in the pits, he'll lose it 
in the pits. In this, barbarians are exactly like the 
hollow-eyed gambling addicts in the casino. They have 
to take one more risk. Eventually, the house always 
wins." 

The First regarded Skellum for a moment, then 
turned back to Chainer. "I also want you to find out 
about him. Learn the measure of him. If he is a strong 
man, we would work with his strength, so that both he 
and the Cabal profit. If he is a coward or a fool, note 
exactly how, so that we can use it against him when 
the time comes. You are to study him, as you would 
study one of Master Skellum's lessons." 

The First's voice dropped. "Learn from this 
barbarian, Chainer. They look at things differently 
than we do. I know you're eager to fight once more on 
behalf of the Cabal. Look on this assignment as a 
gradual reintroduction to the pits. Watch this 
barbarian, study him, learn from him. Whether he 
wins or loses, gain from him." 

Chainer nodded. "I will do as you ask, Pater." 

"Master Skellum," the First said. "I have a special 
assignment for Chainer during this weekend's games. 
You will suspend your lessons starting two days from 
now and resume them after the games are over. 
During that time, he will be under my instruction." 

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"By your will, Pater." Skellum said. Chainer 
thought Skellum sounded grim, almost hurt. "We will 
make full use of the time we have. I would like to start 
as soon as possible." 

"Of course, of course. Chainer, report to my 
reception desk in two days, an hour before the first 
horn sounds." 

"By your will, Pater." The First crossed his arms 
behind his back, and Chainer and Skellum bowed out. 

In the hallway, Skellum was angrier than 
Chainer had ever seen. 

"He knew this would disrupt my regimen," 
Skellum hissed. "I've warned him about the danger, 
but he insists on meddling. ..." 

"Skellum, cut it out," Chainer said nervously. "It's 
not so bad. I'll follow a barbarian around and see how 
things are these days in the pits. Maybe he'll get killed 
in the first bout, and my special assignment will get 
cut short." 

"We should be so lucky," Skellum said, and 
grimaced. "I'm sure he's a very nice barbarian, but 
still. . . ." Chainer choked to keep from laughing in his 
mentor's face. 

"You shut it," Skellum said, but his rage was 
mellowing. "I'll be frank with you Chainer, this 
dementia training I'm guiding you through can really 
scramble your brains. A few of my ex-students are in 
there," he gestured back over his shoulder, "attending 
the First. And they don't have skulls etched on their 
shirts, either. Brains non-functional." 

"Well, then, I shouldn't have any trouble. The 
way you talk, I'm like that now." 

"You haven't heard me talk yet, little brother," 

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Skellum flicked Chainer's ear maliciously. "I wouldn't 
let you speak to a brain-dead flunky, much less become 
one. They're too good for you. Too efficient and tidy." 

Chainer laughed and ducked another of Skellum's 
flicks. 

"Ahh, to nine hells with you," Skellum said. "The 
First will have his way, and it will work out for the 
best, and you'll laugh at me all the while for being 
concerned. But do me one favor, my pupil." 

"Anything, Master." 

Skellum spun his hat and caught it with a gap in 
front of his face. 

"Watch and learn. Do not go into the pits. Don't 
pick or accept a quarrel so you can go into the pits. 
And don't burn any Dragon's Blood without me." 
Chainer didn't answer right away, and Skellum glared 
at him. "Do you understand?" 

Chainer wrinkled his nose. "Okay. But I want you 
to show me more before the games start." 

Skellum nodded. "A lot more. More smoke, more 
spinning, more meditation. Starting right now." 

Chainer tried to hide the secret thrill that ran up 
his spine. He could feel a whole horde of formidable pit 
fighters in his mind, just waiting for him to give them 
form. It would surely be worth a few days as the First's 
spy in order to stand at Skellum's side as a dementist 
in service to the Cabal. It was one more step toward 
the destiny that had been promised to him by the 
Mirari. 

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CHAPTER 7 


Chainer watched the big barbarian, Kamahl, 
come through the entrance gate. He was some kind of 
local hero among the tribes who lived high up in the 
mountains. Chainer had heard the upper reaches of 
the Pardic mountains were thick with dwarves, but 
the big, bald barbarian towered over even the half-troll 
door guard. 

The pit fighter in Chainer quickly surveyed the 
potential challenge. Kamahl had several ragged scars 
along his shoulders and chest, where the skin hadn't 
so much healed as it had closed and then puckered like 
wet leather. Chainer watched him stalk his way 
through the crowd, maneuvering his heavy weaponry 
around others' like an expert. He wasn't sure what to 
make of the warrior, but Chainer quickly determined 
to never take him lightly. 

He miserably patted his hip, where his black 
chain should have been, and his shoulder, which 
should have held a holstered knuckle dagger. The First 
had sent word early this morning via messenger. As 
his personal representative, Chainer was obliged to 
leave his fighting weapons in Skellum's care. The First 
did not wish to antagonize his guest, Kamahl the 
barbarian, and so Chainer was to leave his chain and 
his dagger behind as a gesture of hospitality. The note 
came with a long, ceremonial dagger for Chainer to 
wear on his hip. It was traditional, the note said. 

Chainer pointed out to Skellum that in addition 
to being ceremonial, the dagger was also too heavy, 

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had runes carved clean through its blade, and was 
entirely useless for anything but stirring gruel. The 
First had not offered any alternatives, however, and 
Chainer put on the dagger. 

So here he was, representing the First and the 
Cabal without his weapons and without any coherent 
instructions. As far as he understood, he was supposed 
to linger around Kamahl and make sure that the big 
hunk of meat didn't get lost on his way to winning the 
Mirari and taking it away with him. 

Chainer watched Kamahl a few moments as the 
barbarian took in one of the preliminary bouts. He was 
clearly not impressed, and Chainer couldn't blame 
him. The Master of the Games was either slipping, or 
he had been ordered to put on a dreary show. There 
was no other way such a clown act would be allowed to 
continue. As the First's representative, Chainer 
thought, I should step in here. I should steer the 
mighty muscle head away from the cheap seats and 
help him find the Master of the Games. 

"My job reeks," Chainer said out loud, but he 
approached the barbarian, stepping up to him just as 
the larger man was shaking his head. 

"Don't give up hope just yet, sir," Chainer tried to 
sound helpful, like one of the shills who roamed the 
casino floor. 

The barbarian looked Chainer over, much as 
Chainer had gauged Kamahl moments ago. He didn't 
seem to like what he saw. 

"The name is Chainer." He offered his hand. He 
motioned his head toward the awkward show in the 
nearby pit, "The pair are partners against Lieutenant 
Kirtar." Chainer wrinkled his nose. "A champion from 

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the northern Order." 

The barbarian brightened a little. Of course, 
Chainer thought. A wild warrior from the mountains 
would certainly share Chainer's dislike of the Order. 

"Kamahl, here to win the tournament." 

Chainer raised an eyebrow, but once more 
reminded himself that this was his mission. "You'll 
want to see the Master of the Games, then." 

Chainer exhaled and began to relax. Perhaps this 
wouldn't be so terrible after all. He led Kamahl to the 
Master of the Games through an admittedly confusing 
sprawl of practice pits, betting circles, impromptu 
grudge matches, and gawking yokels. He played tour 
guide by pointing out the Mer Ambassador Laquatus, 
who got an excellent barbarian grunt of disapproval, 
and Laquatus's bodyguard Turg. Kamahl looked at the 
big amphibian warily, but his face betrayed none of his 
thoughts. 

They paused to watch the end of the 
embarrassment that was Kirtar's match, then Chainer 
brought Kamahl to the Master of the Games. The 
master winked at Chainer and started giving Kamahl 
a hard time about letting the barbarian into the 
tournament. Kamahl didn't seem to notice he was 
being slighted. He was too busy staring at the Mirari. 

The Master of the Games reminded Chainer of 
Roup: thick, stupid, and clumsy. He didn't know if the 
master's wink had been a signal of the assumed 
camaraderie between Cabalists, or if it meant the 
master was hassling Kamahl on the First's order, just 
as Chainer was accompanying him around the games. 
He didn't like it in either case. 

Much to Chainer's delight, Kamahl didn't like the 

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master's attitude either. In fact, he didn't like it so 
much that he casually tossed what appeared to be a 
red-hot copper coin through a nearby wall with the 
force of an exploding cannonball. 

Chainer laughed at the master's bewildered face 
as the rubble smoked and the dust settled. Kamahl 
smiled mischievously at him. 

This, Chainer said to himself, will definitely be 
more fun than I thought. His excitement cooled as 
Kamahl advanced on him. 

"Look," the barbarian said, "what do you want? I 
appreciate your help, but I'm busy, and I don't need a 
sidekick." 

Chainer darkened. "Then it's just as well that you 
don't have one. I'm here on business." 

"We don't have any business. We just met." 

Chainer took a breath. "My friend, I have to 
admit, I don't understand the point of this any more 
than you do. But this is Cabal City, and things happen 
for a reason here. I can at least explain that." 

"Okay, Cabalist. Explain." 

"Do you have tribal elders up in Pardic?" 

"Elders? Sure." 

"And do you obey them?" 

Kamahl laughed harshly. "Only when it suits us, 
and only when they're right." He shrugged. 
"Sometimes not even then." 

"We revere our elders here. We've all sworn oaths 
to obey our superior Cabalists. And the First himself, 
the lord and master of the entire Cabal, wishes me to 
learn from you. I intend to respect his wishes." 

"I don't want a student." 

"And I've already got a mentor. I was hoping we 

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could teach each other something. As if we'd been 
randomly assigned as pit partners." Chainer locked 
eyes with Kamahl. "I can help you." 

Kamahl crossed his arms. "Go ahead then." 

"How much are you paying for your lodgings?" 

"Fifteen silver a night, but I'm only here for two 
nights, for the games." 

"You're being robbed. There are warrior's 
quarters right outside the arena that only charge five. 
I can take you there." 

Kamahl considered. "All right," he said finally. 
"You saved me twenty silver. Now what—" 

"Eighteen," Chainer corrected. "Finder's fee is two 
percent." 

"I knew it," Kamahl growled. "There's always an 
angle with you Cabalists." He turned to go. 

"Do you know how to bet on yourself?" Chainer 
said quickly. Kamahl stopped. "Do you know who to 
ask politely, and who to threaten? Do you understand 
that the Master of the Games has put you on the slow 
track because of your stunt with the coin back there?" 

Kamahl grunted angrily. "I don't understand half 
of what you just said." 

Chainer smiled. "Then I've made my point." 

"All that stuff," Kamahl shook his head, "betting, 
bragging, working the pairings. It's dreck. A warrior's 
skill determines victory." 

"In the pits," Chainer said. "But you're in the City 
now. The pits are the least of your worries." 

Kamahl glared at Chainer, then back at the 
Master of the Games' station. Slowly, he said. "All 
right, Chainer. What is a 'slow track?' " 

"Always remind yourself that this is a business. 

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The Master of the Games is responsible for getting the 

most out of the contestants. Did you bribe him at all?" 

"I paid a lump of gold to get in the gates." 

"That goes to the gatekeepers. Did you pay the 
Master of the Games anything?" 

Kamahl chuckled. "Just that coin." 

"Then he's got to make his money off you some 
other way. Most likely he'll put you in as many 
preliminary bouts as he can, against opponents that 
are no real challenge. He's got to display you, keep you 
working in front of the crowds, just to break even on 
your entrance fee. He's going to work you like an 
animal." 

"And how," Kamahl's voice was low and 
menacing, "do I get on the fast track?" 

"You need to pay proper respect to the master. 
Twenty-five silver should do it. How much tender have 
you got?" 

"Ten gold," Kamahl said immediately. 

"Sshhh!" Chainer hissed. He looked around 
nervously. "That was a joke. Never answer that 
question around here." 

"What? No one is going to take my money from 
me without a fight. No one would dare." 

"Sure they would. I know pickpockets who could 
steal the blade off your sword while it was still in the 
scabbard. If I can't teach you anything else, I can at 
least teach you one thing. Never announce how much 
you're carrying in this city." Chainer worked his 
fingers as he calculated. "Ten gold is about fifty silver. 
Twenty-five to the Master, ten for your lodgings... You 
won't have much left for food and frolic." 

"Food, I need. Frolic, not so much." 

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"Okay. The first thing we do after bribing the 
Master," Chainer said, "is bet. We'll get the best odds 
on your first fight, because you're an unknown. If we 
get you on the fast track, the odds get even better. 
Have you spoken to a fixer?" 

"No." 

"We'll do that next. Fixers set odds, take bets, 
and schedule matches. They make all the 
arrangements for civilians like you who want to do 
business with the Cabal." 

"I'm not a civilian, I'm a warrior." 

"In this town, you're either Cabal, Order, or a 
civilian. Come on. I did a little checking, and there's a 
match that you can help me handicap. And I can help 
you make some money." 

Kamahl finally looked interested. "What kind of 
match?" 

"Vampire against lavamancer. You know about 
lavamancers?" "Yes." 

"And I know about vampires. Between the two of 
us, we've got all the angles covered." 

* * * * * 

The stadium was divided into numerous circles, 
with the largest and innermost set aside for main 
events. It was surrounded by rows and rows of seats, 
and a dozen circular platforms floated silently above 
the arena floor, giving the important and the wealthy 
the best possible view. Chainer led Kamahl to the 
center pit and pointed out a fixer who was busily 
taking bets. 

"He'll do. What I don't understand," Chainer said 
to Kamahl, "is how anyone who bets on the 

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lavamancer thinks they're going to get their money 
back. The odds are good, but this is a vampire. And not 
just any vampire, it's a Sengir vampire." Chainer 
pointed to the huge, bald, manlike creature standing 
in the center of the pit. Its eyes were black and lifeless, 
and its teeth jutted out from between its lips. All of the 
teeth, not just the canines, were twisted and pointed 
like thorns, and the Sengir's filthy nails hung past its 
fingertips like talons. It sniffed the air like a wild dog, 
head darting as it oriented on each new scent, and it 
hissed at the crowd. Across the pit stood a dark-
skinned human in tanned animal hides. His hair was 
loose and wild, and he carried a short sword. 

Kamahl regarded the toothy brute and then 
continued to scan the entire arena, drinking it all in. 
"What's a Sengir?" 

"Ancient vampire lord," Chainer said. "Possibly a 
myth. Some vampires prey on villages, some on cities. 
They say Sengir preyed on entire continents." 

"And you've got an ancient vampire in the pit for 
the opening bout?" 

"Not Sengir himself. One of his minions." 

"Bet on the lavamancer," Kamahl said. "Bet it 
all." 

"You that sure?" 

"I am. Vampires burn, don't they?" 

"Some do. If you can hold them still long enough 
to set them on fire." Chainer pointed at the vampire's 
opponent. "So, lavamancers. Work with lava, do they? 
Flames and smoke and all that?" 

"Yeah. But lavamancer is a title, like champion or 
wizard. I say bet on him." 

"It's your money." Chainer held out his hand, and 

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Kamahl stared at it. "You're learning," Chainer 
laughed. He led Kamahl over to the fixer, showed him 
how to place a bet, and then the two settled on the rail 
to watch the bout. 

A horn sounded, and Chainer said, "That's the 
prep horn. It means the match is about to start, and 
the fighters have fifteen seconds to prepare." 

The lavamancer knelt and touched the arena 
floor, mouthing a silent incantation. The Sengir 
vampire continued to look around the arena and hiss 
at the audience. When the starting horn sounded, the 
vampire suddenly became much more focused on his 
opponent. Its eyes narrowed as it crouched and began 
stalking the lavamancer. Its pointed tongue lapped 
hungrily around his lips. The lavamancer stood his 
ground, still mouthing words that no one could hear. 

The vampire suddenly charged, and the 
lavamancer pointed his sword and released a red-hot 
ball of magma and ash from its tip. The vampire 
caught the missile full in the chest, and for a moment 
its entire body was engulfed in flames and smoke. 

The crowd's cheer became a collective gasp as the 
flaming vampire leaped into the air, soaring high over 
the arena floor. It swooped and dove, moving fast 
enough to extinguish the flames that were consuming 
its ragged robes. 

Chainer leaned over to Kamahl and said, "Did 
you know they could fly?" 

"No," Kamahl was impassive. "I assume they still 
drink blood?" 

Before Chainer could answer, the blackened 
vampire screeched and dropped down on the 
lavamancer. The Sengir was so much bigger and 

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broader than its wild-haired opponent that he seemed 
to swallow the lavamancer up whole. They grappled 
and rolled across the arena floor until the vampire 
pinned the lavamancer's arms and sank its sharp, 
twisted teeth into the man's neck. 

"One less lavamancer, one more Sengir," Chainer 
said. "Sorry, Kamahl, but this match is all but over." 

"Agreed." Kamahl said. But in the pit, it was the 
Sengir who shuddered and thrashed, not the human in 
its grip. With a roar, the vampire cast its intended 
victim aside and fell back, clutching at its face in 
agony. Flames poured from between its lips, and its 
lower jaw seemed to be melting. 

"Earth is the body, and lava is the blood," Kamahl 
said. "Lava-mancers believe that utterly. In mastering 
their craft, they embody that belief." 

The lavamancer's blood, red hot and steaming, 
continued to jet from the wound in his neck. While the 
vampire flailed, the lavamancer clapped a glowing 
hand over his wound and seared it shut. He drove the 
tip of his sword into the floor, raised his arms, and 
completed his incantation. 

A huge gout of molten rock exploded from the 
ground beneath his sword. The stream arced up and 
onto the vampire, totally covering him in thick, 
clinging lava. The outer layer of the covering quickly 
cooled and hardened, but the vampire continued to 
move. Step by agonizing step, it came closer to the 
lavamancer. The dark skinned man calmly let the 
Sengir approach, and when it was close enough, he 
struck its head from its body with a short, straight 
slash of his sword. 

The Sengir's stone-encrusted head and carcass 

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both fell and melted into ash. The lavamancer raised 
his arms in victory, and the crowd shook the walls 
with its cheering. 

Chainer bowed to Kamahl. "I stand corrected." He 
stood straight and clapped the barbarian on the 
shoulder. "And you stand enriched. The odds were five 
to one against the lavamancer. You just made enough 
to live like a king for at least a week." 

Kamahl smiled. "One less thing to worry about, 
that's all. I'm more concerned with winning my own 
matches." 

"Good point, good point. When's your first bout?" 

"Just before the lunch break." 

"Well, then, we'd better get you where you need to 
be. If you're as good a fighter as you are a handicapper, 
you might actually make good on that boast to win the 
tourney." 

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CHAPTER 8 


"Ambassador," the human servant said, "Director 
Veza has arrived." 

Veza caught Laquatus checking his reflection in a 
wall mirror as she entered the room. He was dressed 
in splendid robes, and he was taller than he appeared 
in Llawan's mirror. A huge, amphibious monstrosity 
sat sullenly on the floor, its feral glare fixed on Veza. 
The rest of the huge room was taken up by a green 
marble swimming pool, complete with fountain. 

"Ambassador Laquatus." "Veza," he said brightly. 
"Long live the empire." Laquatus came across the room 
and warmly kissed Veza's hand. "Servants!" He 
clapped. "Refreshments for our guest." The dull-eyed 
butler shambled out of the room. 

"Thank you, Ambassador." She eyed the beast on 
the floor and said, "May I ask . . ." 

"That is Turg, my bodyguard and champion. I'm 
afraid a man in my position cannot afford to take 
chances. Particularly this close to Cabal City." He 
leaned forward and whispered, "They're all a band of 
cutthroats and criminals. Without Turg by my side, I'd 
be afraid to leave the embassy." Turg made a 
grumbling noise in the back of his throat to punctuate 
Laquatus's comment. 

"I've dealt with Cabalists myself," Veza said. "I 
understand your caution." 

Laquatus had not released her and was staring at 
her intently. Veza gently pried her hand away. 
"Forgive my manners, Ambassador, but my time is 

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limited. You said you had something to tell me?" 

Laquatus smiled. "Of course. But first ..." A 
servant bearing a bottle of sparkling wine and two 
ornate crystal goblets shuffled in. He poured, left the 
glasses and the bottle, and exited without a word. 

"To the empire," Laquatus said. "And new 
friends." He waited patiently with his glass extended. 
Veza hesitated, then gently tapped her goblet against 
Laquatus's. Where Veza merely sipped, Laquatus 
drained his goblet dry. 

"An excellent vintage, if I do say so myself. I 
received a case of it from the Cabal First himself—" 

"Excuse me, Ambassador. To business?" 

Laquatus laughed. "Of course. Please forgive me. 
And you must call me Laquatus, my dear." He 
abruptly shucked his robe and dove into the pool. His 
legs shimmered and merged in mid air. By the time he 
hit the water, his tail was fully formed. 

"I prefer to conduct my interviews underwater," 
Laquatus called. "For security reasons. Would you care 
to join me, Director? Or would you prefer a chair?" 

Veza glanced at Turg, who was now dozing. She 
untied her sash, folded her robe, and stepped off the 
edge of the pool into the water. 

"Your mastery of the change is remarkable, 
Laquatus." 

The ambassador turned his head, as if 
embarrassed. "Thank you. 

But surely you also share the innate ability of our 
people?" 

"I do. But it takes considerably more time and 
effort for me." 

"Ah, that's merely a matter of practice. The 

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nature of our magic is change, you see. To be fluid in 
both mind and body. Our cephalid cousins sometimes 
treat it as a flaw, but I see our ability to straddle land 
and sea as a blessing." He motioned below the surface 
with his eyes, then dived down. Veza followed, and the 
two merfolk began streaming back and forth across the 
pool. 

"I've called you here," Laquatus said, "because I 
think I've got something for you. I believe that the 
assassins who attacked our lady were hired by the 
Cabal." 

Veza considered. "Do you know why?" 

Laquatus waved his hand dismissively. "Who 
knows? With animals such as these, it could be a 
simple matter of murder for hire." 

Veza stopped. "Ambassador. I hope you didn't 
bring me all the way here from Breaker Bay just to tell 
me that you suspect the Cabal may be involved." 

"Of course not, my dear." Laquatus put a 
comforting hand on her shoulder. "And please. Call me 
Laquatus." He pointed upward and surfaced. When 
Veza's head broke the surface of the pool, Laquatus 
said, "I wanted to meet you in person, and I wanted to 
show you something that will make it easier for us to 
do so again in the future." 

The ambassador reached a long arm out and 
traced a circle on the water's surface. He was 
whispering under his breath, and with each new circle 
he inscribed, Veza tingled as if the water were 
conveying a mild electric shock. There was a rip and a 
crack, and the circle drawn by Laquatus became a disk 
of energy floating on the pool's surface. 

"This," Laquatus said, "is a transport portal. With 

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it, you can travel from the surface of one body of water 
to the surface of another. It is one of the great imperial 
secrets, and in the name of the empire, I share it with 
you." Across the room, a similar disk of energy 
appeared in Laquatus's fountain. With a playful grin, 
he rose up and dove into the disk beside him, instantly 
coining out of the disk in the fountain. Veza noticed 
that he had changed back into his legged form in mid-
transfer in order to fit in the fountain's pool. 

"From now on," Laquatus called, "if I need to tell 
you something, or if you need me, we can be together 
in a matter of seconds. Simply call to me from your 
mirror, and I will join you or bring you here." 

"I'm flattered, Ambass—Laquatus. But I don't see 
how this is a significant improvement over the mirror 
itself." 

Laquatus stepped back into the portal and 
reemerged with his tail fully formed beside Veza once 
more. "That's because you limit your thoughts to the 
task at hand. The empire rewards those who go beyond 
the call of duty, who take risks. You should be more 
fluid, Veza. Expand to fill the space around you. It is 
your nature." 

Laquatus's penetrating eyes burrowed into hers. 
"I want us to be friends as well as loyal subjects. I 
want you to visit me as often as you can. I think we 
have much to offer one another, even beyond our duty 
to the empire." 

"Of course." Veza blinked. "Have any of your 
contacts in the Cabal told you who hired the 
assassins?" 

Laquatus's gaze narrowed. "No. But I will tell you 
as soon as they have." 

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Scott McGough 

"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 

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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. 

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Scott McGough 

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 

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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. 

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"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 

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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. 

He turned down the last long hallway that led to 

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the vault and narrowed his eyes. There was already a 
skirmish going on outside the vault. Two Cabalist 
humans were grappling with a pair of reptilian 
pirates, dressed for the sea, and a blue-robed 
illusionist. Chainer recognized Deidre, the long-nailed 
door guard, but the other, more simian Cabalist was 
unknown to him. 

The illusionist was bedeviling Chainer's brethren 
with the image of a small sea monster and a swarm of 
stinging faeries. Chainer guessed the illusions were as 
convincing as the real thing when looked at head on, 
but he could see straight through them. The mage 
must have cast the illusion so that it only affected the 
guards in front of her. 

Big mistake, Chainer thought. Without slowing, 
he broke out the full length of his chain and started 
spinning it overhead. When he was in range, he let out 
a whoop. The illusionist turned just in time to catch 
Chainer's rounded weight square in the temple. The 
sea monster and the faerie faded as the illusionist 
swooned and fell. 

"She's not dead," Chainer said to the pirates. He 
spoke extra loud, for the record the First would surely 
make of this incident. 

"You soon will be," one of the pirates hissed. 
Neither of the raiders looked comfortable with the 
sudden shift in the odds. As the pirate who spoke 
raised his short spear, the other continued to wrestle 
with the simian guard. 

The spear never flew. Once the pirate had raised 
it to his ear, Deidre's razor fingers exploded out of the 
center of his chest. Ice-blue blood poured from the 
wound, and the reptilian looked down stupidly at 

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Deidre's hand. She yanked it back with a rough jerk, 
and the pirate dropped to the now-slick floor beside the 
illusionist. 

Deidre smiled at Chainer. "That one's dead," she 
said, and then she turned and drove her nails into the 
remaining pirate's spine with a vicious thrust of her 
right hand. The simian Cabalist continued to wrestle 
with the lifeless reptile until he realized Deidre had 
ended his fun. He grunted in exasperation and cast the 
dead pirate aside. 

The unconscious illusionist groaned, and Chainer 
looked from her to her dead companions to Deidre's 
brutal smile. 

"You killed them," he said. 

"That's what I do, little brother." Deidre flicked a 
drop of blue blood off her index finger. 

The noises from other battles echoed down the 
long hallway, but Chainer was too annoyed to mind 
them. "I got chewed out by the First himself for killing 
a bird. A bird! And you butcher two pirates in the 
blink of an eye and stand there smiling? How fair is 
that?" 

Deidre laughed, and Chainer hadn't realized how 
disturbing it was to see a tall, beautiful woman smile 
when she had three eyes and blue blood dripping from 
both hands. 

"The First told us to kill anyone who tries to get 
through this door," she pointed at the entrance to the 
vault room. "And if the First says so, it's fair." 

Chainer considered. "Anyone?" 

"Anyone." 

"Including me?" 

"Including you, little brother. You're part of 

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anyone, aren't you?" 

Chainer spooled his chain around his wrist and 
took out the censer. "If you don't mind, big sister, I'll 
go back to the mouth of the corridor and make sure no 
one else comes down here to rush the vault." 

"Please yourself," Deidre said. She rapped the 
simian Cabalist with her knuckles and gestured to the 
door. "We'll be here as ordered, just on the off chance 
that someone gets past you. And little brother?" 

"Yes?" Chainer waited. 

"You can kill 'em if you want to." Deidre laughed 
a raucous, unpleasant laugh that made Chainer's 
blood run cold. As he retreated back down the corridor 
and the two guards retook their positions on either 
side of the door, Chainer reminded himself to stay on 
Deidre's good side. 

He lit a charcoal disc, then loaded the censer with 
Dragon's Blood. The thick smoke soon filled the 
narrow hallway, and 

Chainer began to swing the censer around his 
head, as Skellum had shown him. 

Shouts of battle and screams of pain were echoing 
throughout the arena, but Chainer focused on the 
spinning censer and the smoke. Skellum had told him 
that dementia summoning was all about vision. What 
you saw, when and how you saw it. If you could see 
beyond the world around you, you could leave it behind 
and take yourself to the new place you'd created. 

Chainer stared at the pewter cage as it flew and 
smoked, breathing evenly. There were a dozen ways to 
reach dementia space, and Skellum explained them all 
in detail. Breathing, stance, concentration, stamina, 
all of these things and more could affect the end result 

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of a dementia caster's work. Perhaps the old man 
thought he could give Chainer too much information, 
could confuse or discourage him from trying what he 
was about to try. Chainer grinned at the thought. He 
had an excellent memory, and while he didn't think he 
could produce a full-fledged dementia monster, he did 
remember enough of Skellum's lessons to defend the 
hallway. 

Chainer heard the booted tread of an armed party 
heading his way, but he couldn't see them for the 
smoke. Deidre and the simian were too far behind to 
offer advice, but Chainer knew of one sure way to 
determine friend from foe. 

"The Cabal is here," he called. 

"Not for long," came the gruff reply. "Swords." 
Chainer heard multiple blades scraping out of multiple 
scabbards. "For Kirtar. For the Order." There was a 
bright flash, and Chainer could make out three 
glowing blades just beyond the miniature fog bank he 
had created. Behind the advancing boots, Chainer 
heard something heavy dragging its feet across the 
floor. 

Chainer focused on the smoke, slowly becoming 
lost in its oily feel against his skin, the stifling odor, 
and the painful tears it brought to his eyes. He 
continued to breathe as Skellum had taught him, 
always fighting the impulse to cough. The marching 
feet drew closer. 

Above their rhythm Chainer heard the whistling 
of the chain as it slashed through the air. He reached 
higher above his head, even going up on his tip toes to 
elevate the censer as high as he could. 

Three members of the Order came slowly but 

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Scott McGough 

steadily through the smoke, their gleaming swords out 
in front of them like torches. Chainer was gratified to 
see that they were crouching slightly, on guard like 
good toy soldiers ought to be. It gave him more 
clearance above their heads. He let the chain out 
another two feet as it spun, so that the Order were 
inside its radius. 

"Who's there?" said the shortest of the three 
figures. He wore officer's robes and was the one with 
the gruff voice who had answered Chainer. "In the 
name of the Order, stand aside!" A tall, manlike figure 
loomed out of the smoke behind him. 

"I'll stand aside," Chainer called, "but you're 
coming with me." He closed his eyes and remembered 
the feel of the place Skellum had showed him. Light-
headed, he felt his balance evaporate. He might have 
been falling forward or backward, down or up. 

He remembered what Skellum had forced him to 
describe before he had ever seen it. The blasted 
landscape, the threatening skies. Chainer saw a whole 
world of his own that was just waiting for him to come 
and claim it. Yet it was tantalizingly out of reach, and 
all Chainer could do was imagine it. 

He felt his stomach drop and suffered an extreme 
wave of vertigo. He opened his eyes. The hallway, the 
vault, and the entire building were gone. Chainer 
stood in a circle of smoke on an endless black sand 
desert. Three soldiers and a huge limestone golem 
were with him. The sky above was an unbroken field of 
sickening mustard yellow, and a bruise-colored moon 
shone overhead. Opposite the moon was a hole in the 
sky, and from the jagged hole poured a blood-red river 
that was slowly creating an inland sea. 

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Chainer’s Torment 

Chainer and the Order soldiers alike stared 
upward, disoriented and hesitant. The limestone 
golem shuffled forward, oblivious to the change in 
location. It stood well over eight feet, so 

Chainer's censer was impeded. The cage clanged 
noisily off its cheek and bounced on the wall and floor 
several times before Chainer got it back under control. 
The world flickered around them, flashing between the 
vault hallway and the black desert. 

Once Chainer recovered the censer's momentum, 
the alien landscape returned and stayed. The 
interruption, however, snapped the officer with the 
gruff voice out of his awestruck daze. 

"Forward," he barked at the golem. He stepped 
behind the limestone man and began following it like a 
shield. "Fall in behind me," he said, and the other 
soldiers quickly lined up. Single file, the strange 
procession slowly made its way toward Chainer. 

Chainer felt the first stirrings of panic. He had 
been planning on a bigger advantage from the element 
of surprise, but he hadn't counted on having to 
surprise something that wasn't alive. He wasn't sure 
what to do next. He couldn't simultaneously spin the 
chain and defend himself, something Skellum had 
warned him about. If he abruptly stopped spinning to 
lash out at the Order, would they all be trapped in the 
black desert? Could they ever get out? Or would they 
just flash back to the hallway as if nothing had 
happened? 

Deidre sprang hissing over Chainer's shoulder 
before he could decide to stand or fight. She pounced 
on the golem, clung to its head like an insect, and 
began slashing and tearing at its face. 

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Scott McGough 

"You gonna stand there all day, little brother," 
she called, "or are you going to help me? Come on, 
they're all lined up for us." 

Chainer watched the strange world around them 
flicker back into a normal hallway as he reeled in the 
censer. He quickly whispered the spell that separated 
the cage from the chain and replaced the censer with a 
rounded weight. He then gathered the chain up in both 
hands and whipped the weighted end into the golem's 
kneecap. The limestone man's leg cracked, but held 
together. The golem himself didn't even notice. 

The soldiers started to spread out from behind 
the golem. 

Deidre's simian partner charged into them before 
they could separate and clumsily bore two of them to 
the ground. The officer still stood, however, and he 
looked first at Deidre attacking the golem, then back 
at the tangled knot of simian and soldier. He nodded, 
then prepared to drive the point of his glowing sword 
deep into the simian's back. 

Deidre wasn't faring much better. For all her 
effort, she was merely chipping away at the golem, 
doing cosmetic damage to its limestone head and 
throat. There were almost as many metallic shards of 
her fingernails as there were of the golem's face, 
however. 

Chainer's fighting instincts were coming back to 
him. The dementia trap hadn't worked, but he had 
spent two years in the pits before Skellum pulled him 
out, and to survive in the pits you strategized fast and 
acted faster. He sent the end of his chain smashing 
into the officer's hand. The officer squawked and 
dropped his blade, which stopped glowing as soon as it 

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Chainer’s Torment 

hit the floor. 

"Deidre," Chainer hollered, "get off him, you're 
not hurting him!" The simian cracked one of his 
opponent's arms at the elbow and then shoved the 
screaming man over the officer, who had bent down to 
retrieve his sword. 

Deidre had dropped off the golem and was now 
trading blows with it. Rather, she was striking off tiny 
chips from its chest and arms and in return, it was 
missing her entirely. She bobbed and weaved like the 
veteran fighter she was, avoiding each of its slow, 
heavy blows. 

"If I keep cracking you," she said through 
clenched razor teeth, "eventually you'll break." Deidre 
was dancing around so much that Chainer couldn't 
predict where she would be next, so he couldn't strike 
at the golem. 

The simian was doing better. He had the 
unwounded foot soldier in a headlock on one side and 
the officer's sword arm in a death grip on the other. 
The simian hooted, amused. 

Deidre turned a forward roll into a two-handed 
strike that landed square in the center of the 
limestone golem's chest. Her long nails dug in deep. 
For the briefest moment, she was held fast as she tried 
to reverse her momentum and pull herself free. In that 
moment, the golem brought his huge hands together in 
a wide, arcing clap with Deidre's broad shoulders in 
between. A sickening crunch followed. 

"Deidre!" Chainer said. "No!" The simian echoed 
Chainer's howl, shoved the officer back, and angrily 
snapped the headlocked foot soldier's neck. 

The golem let Deidre fall. The officer sprang 

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forward and ran the simian through with his good 
hand before the Cabalist could get clear of the soldier 
he had just killed. The simian dropped, choking and 
grunting and clutching at its wounded chest. 

The golem began to shuffle toward Chainer, and 
the officer fell in step beside it. His sword and the 
golem's hands were bloody. In the last few wisps of 
Dragon's Blood smoke, Chainer faced them alone. 

"Surrender, filth," the officer said. He held the 
hand Chainer had smashed at his side, but he seemed 
just as comfortable with the sword in his other hand. 

"You're robbing us, and we're filth?" Chainer 
knew he had to stop the golem first. It was too tough 
for his chain or his dagger. He needed something 
better, something more dangerous—something drastic. 

"Give it up, officer," he called. He feinted at the 
man's face with the weighted end of the chain, flicking 
it back and forth to keep him at bay. 

The golem was getting closer as the officer stayed 
back. Chainer kept up the pretense that he was 
focusing on the human officer and letting the 
limestone golem get close enough to grab him. 

Two more steps to go. Chainer reached out for the 
Mirari, fifty feet and a thick metal door away. This 
close to it, he could hear its call and feel its power 
responding to him. It knew him. It was waiting for 
him. 

One more step. Chainer moved slightly to his left. 
The golem was between himself and the officer. 

"Kill him," the officer said. 

Now. 

Skellum had not been Chainer's first master. A 
Cabalist warrior named Minat lost most of his sight in 

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the pit near Chainer's village in the salt flats. Chainer 
was alone, and Minat was bored. He showed Chainer 
the basics of pit fighting, gave him an unusual weapon 
to master, and amazed him with tales of the Cabal's 
power and influence. 

He also taught Chainer the death bloom spell. "As 
a last resort," he had told Chainer, "to be used only 
when it was absolutely necessary." Minat was long 
dead, but Chainer remembered him well. And there 
had never been a more necessary occasion for the 
death bloom. 

The golem reached out for Chainer's arm. 
Chainer crouched, pushed both arms out straight, and 
cocked his wrists back as far as they would go. With 
the Mirari behind him and the dark rage of Deidre's 
death still hot in his chest, Chainer spoke the words. 
He had never tried the death bloom on an artificial 
creature before, but it was his only hope. 

A beam of black energy exploded out of Chainer's 
hands and slammed into the golem's chest. The 
cracked limestone seemed to soak up the energy, 
drawing it in like a sponge draws water. Chainer 
maintained his stance and his focus, pouring more 
power into the spell. The golem's innards went black, 
and it started to shudder. 

With a roar, Chainer stepped forward and shoved 
the beam further into the golem's chest. The agonizing 
screech of ripping stone echoed down the hallway, and 
the golem exploded. 

Driven by the unrelenting power from Chainer's 
hands, the shards of limestone rocketed backward, 
away from the vault. At least a dozen embedded 
themselves in the officer's body like shaft-less arrows. 

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Scott McGough 

The officer staggered and fell backward. The energy 
from Chainer's hands withered, and he fell to his 
knees, blood streaming from his nose and ears. 

Chainer shook his head to clear it, wiped the 
blood from his nose, and stood. He could see that the 
simian had stopped breathing. One of the Order 
soldiers was dead and another unconscious with his 
elbow twisted completely in the wrong direction. The 
officer was moaning as he lay bleeding. Chainer 
painfully shuffled over to Deidre. 

She was mortally wounded, broken beyond 
repair. Her arms looked like bags of shattered bone, 
and she coughed blood. Her legs and her face were 
undamaged, however, and Chainer watched sadly as 
all three of her eyes rolled back and forth in her head. 

"Don't you dare," Deidre rasped. Dazed, numb, 
and mute, Chainer stepped forward. 

"Don't . . . waste," Deidre managed. She choked 
and coughed before continuing. "Don't waste . . . us." 
She tried to gesture with her mangled arm and then 
screamed in pain. 

"Don't waste us," she said again. Her eyes were 
wild, unfocused. She smiled one last time. 

Chainer understood. "I won't, big sister." 

"Don't . . ." 

Chainer waited for a few silent seconds and then 
closed Deidre's eyes. 

"The Cabal is here," he whispered, and the jolt 
sent him sprawling backward. Deidre had been so very 
much alive that converting her savage life into death 
almost finished Chainer off as well. 

He felt better as he picked himself up. Chainer 
caught his reflection in a mirrored hallway decoration. 

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Chainer’s Torment 

His tightly rolled braids were all undone and askew. 
His face was a smear of blood. His eyes were two black 
holes that glowed with an un-light very similar to the 
Mirari's. 

He glanced at the remaining bodies, and then 
walked past them to where the officer lay. He, too, was 
very near the end. 

"For Kirtar," he said. "For the Order." Then he 
died. 

"For the First," Chainer's voice was a bitter snarl. 
"For Deidre. For the Cabal." 

Chainer got out the censer and started another 
disc of incense burning. He left the cage at the mouth 
of the vault hallway so that the smoke would obscure 
the entrance. Then he went back and finished what he 
had promised to Deidre. 

* * * * * 

Skellum and the First watched the scrying pool. 
Chainer's smoke did not affect the spell that powered 
the pool, and his Cabal masters could see him clearly. 

"You have trained him well, Skellum." 

"I didn't teach him that, Pater," Skellum said. 
"It's bad enough that he abandoned the assignment 
you gave him, but—" 

"I have nothing but praise for your student's 
behavior. He showed initiative. He stood by his family 
and protected our property." 

"But the Order . . . the tournament. We were 
going to give the Mirari away as a trophy. Why should 
he kill to protect it?" 

"Because it is my will," the First said. "And you, 
his master, doubted his abilities. Look at him now." 

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Scott McGough 

Skellum was careful to keep his face neutral as 
he watched. Chainer was moving from body to body, 
standing over them, absorbing what he could of their 
dying energy. With each absorption, the black glow 
from his eyes grew stronger, and the more exaggerated 
and stylized his movements became. 

"He continues to impress," the First said. "He 
does everything properly and with enthusiasm." 

"He's a ghoul, Pater," Skellum said. "I know you 
think me overcautious, but what he's doing is exactly 
wrong for a dementist at his level." 

"Wrong?" the First asked witheringly. Skellum 
bowed his head. 

"Forgive me, Pater. You are wise and I see little. 
But I must—" 

"You must be silent," the First said. He sat 
watching Chainer for a few seconds. The youth was 
casting several chains at once, creating them out of 
thin air with the dying energies he had just absorbed. 
He used them to sound the edges of the space he was 
in, striking sparks off the stone walls and then 
drawing the chains back into his body. "How like a 
spider he is," the First muttered, "or a snake with a 
dozen flickering tongues." 

Skellum stood in silence. The figure of Chainer 
turned on some silent enemy, opened his mouth wide, 
and sent a barrage of chains lashing out from his 
fingers. He jerked the chains back and crossed his 
arms in satisfaction. Whomever or whatever he had 
been striking at had beat a hasty retreat. 

The First stood, and Skellum smoothly 
backpedaled to get out of his way. "When your student 
has bled off some of that energy he's holding onto," the 

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Chainer’s Torment 

First said, "I want you to collect him and take him 
home. By this time next week, I want him ready for 
the pits."' 

"In his mind, Pater, he's already there." Skellum 
kept his head bowed, anticipating a rebuke. But the 
First merely gestured, and one of his hand attendants 
stepped forward and put a comforting arm on 
Skellum's shoulder. 

"Your concerns have been noted. But you should 
be proud of what you have accomplished for the Cabal. 
And of what your student will yet accomplish." 

"I am proud, Pater, but I am also afraid." 

The First stared down at Skellum through his 
milky eyes. The barest hint of a smile played with the 
corners of his mouth. 

"Then you are no different from any other father. 
Come. I suspect the large dragon has been subdued by 
now, and I've yet to hear the final result of the 
tournament. 

"And then," he added, "we have to make sure the 
Mirari falls into the most deserving hands we can 
find." 

Both men fell silent as they continued to watch 
Chainer's lethal dance in the scrying pool, but only the 
First was smiling. Skellum's eyes were far away and 
his face slack, as if he were staring at something 
enormous that only he could see. 

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Scott McGough 

CHAPTER 10 


The empress's mirror had been silent for weeks, 
and Veza had quickly become desperate for anything of 
substance to report. Obtaining information from or 
about Laquatus was not a problem. He frequently 
called to flirt and chatter about Cabal doings. 
Obtaining useful information from or about Laquatus 
was another matter. Veza had exhausted her private 
library and her admittedly sparse network of contacts, 
and had even paid passing sailors and local hoodlums 
for any gossip or rumors about the ambassador. So far, 
the ambassador remained a cipher. 

There were those who claimed Laquatus was a 
staunch supporter of the emperor, but there were an 
equal number who claimed he was firmly but secretly 
in Llawan's camp. The most prevalent opinion was 
that he was simply following the tide, which currently 
favored Aboshan. It was rumored that he had vast 
mental powers, and could rewrite your memories as 
easily as he could sign his own name. Veza heard tales 
of the awesome creatures he had enslaved with the 
power of his mind and the darkest of spells, of the 
pirates he had betrayed and the rivals he'd had 
purged. None of it was reliable or novel enough to 
report to Llawan. 

To avoid submitting another rehash of conflicting 
hearsay about Laquatus, Veza had at last resorted to 
magic. She was not an expert in any one particular 
discipline, but she did have a solid command of waterto-
air breathing incantations and other basic seagoing 

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survival spells. She was extremely adept at research, 
however, and she soon discovered a spell that could 
help her. It was a knowledge immersion ritual 
practiced by some of the more contemplative cephalids 
in the empire. 

It was designed to expand one's capacity to 
process information. Properly prepared and cast, the 
spell allowed scholars to read and retain a library full 
of scrolls in the time it took a hot bath to cool. In a 
sense, you gathered your data and poured it into a 
small body of water. Then you climbed in to soak up 
that data with every pore. 

Veza had made all the preparations and readied 
herself to carry them out. If it worked, she'd have 
something of value to share with the empress. If not, 
she had lost nothing but some time. 

She choked down a vial of the briny potion and 
grimaced. She scattered a mixture of herblike 
seaweed, powdered pearl, and dried fish entrails over 
the surface of her sleeping tub, then pronounced the 
words to the immersion spell. She blew on the carved 
driftwood effigy of Laquatus in her palm, then lowered 
herself into the churning, bubbling water. As her eyes 
sank beneath the surface, she experienced the flash 
and crack of lightning in her mind, and her body went 
rigid as steel. 

She saw Laquatus in a giant Cabal arena, 
watching a huge frog fight. She heard the frog's 
bellowing roar, which nearly drowned out the 
continuous internal whine of the predator's natural 
bloodlust. 

Veza trembled in the churning bath, her eyes 
sightless, her mouth voiceless. 

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She saw the frog look at Laquatus, with the 
merman reflected in the beast's great eye. She saw 
Laquatus look at the frog, with the amphibian 
captured in Laquatus's stem glare. 

Another jolt of electricity slammed through Veza, 
and her paralysis broke. Still blind and mute she 
began to thrash, splashing even more water out of the 
tub. She was aware of her legs merging and melting 
together to form a tail, and the pain was as 
excruciating as ever. Her jaw locked, as it always did 
during these transformations, with her sharp teeth 
piercing her lower lip. 

She heard the frog's booming vocalization from 
Laquatus's point of view. She heard Laquatus's voice 
in the frog's head, issuing constant orders and 
demands for obedience. 

Veza found her voice and screamed just as a 
massive explosion of water and spray cast her 
completely out of the tub. Heavy, tailed, and clumsy on 
the wooden floor, she clawed painfully at the boards 
and then raised her torso with her arms. She heaved 
for breath and started to choke. During the shock-
transformation, she had inadvertently gone into her 
true deep-sea form. She couldn't breathe because her 
lungs were empty and flattened inside her chest. With 
a powerful flip of her tail, she rolled herself to the edge 
waters that lapped at her living room and dumped 
herself into the bay. 

Clear, cold sea water flowed over her gills, and 
she quickly began to regain her equilibrium. In the 
water, she was no longer clumsy and her increased 
body weight was supported by its own buoyancy. 
Exultant, she thrashed her tail again and shot out 

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under the walls of her cottage, out toward the open 
sea. 

Veza had the answer. She had seen something 
that would at last give Llawan direct access to 
Laquatus's schemes. Something to justify the imperial 
trust that had been placed in her. 

Laquatus controlled the frog. The frog obeyed 
Laquatus. There was a permanent, almost palpable 
link between them both, mind and body. And while 
Laquatus's mind was too well guarded to invade, and 
the frog's was too primitive to understand, the link 
between them was neither. To a practiced psychic, 
reading that link would be as simple as eavesdropping 
on a conversation between intimates. 

Laquatus's reliance on agents had just given 
them an opportunity to determine his loyalties once 
and for all. It wasn't much, Veza thought, but it was 
potentially the first drop in a deluge. She turned in 
mid-stroke, pleased at her grace underwater after so 
much time on land, and then she shot back toward her 
cottage and the empress's mirror. 

* * * * * 

"And you are certain this will work?" 

"Yes, my empress," Veza said. She was still in her 
tailed form, but she had reopened her airways in order 
to speak. It had been difficult retrieving the mirror 
without switching back to her legged form, but she had 
managed it. Now she floated comfortably in the bay, 
perched on the edge of her cottage floor while she 
spoke into the mirror. 

"And Laquatus will not know we are monitoring 
him?" 

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"Not if your psychics are careful, Empress." 

Llawan paused. "Are you psychic, Director Veza?" 

"No, Empress. I merely observed the existence of 
the link. I didn't attempt to examine it. To get the kind 
of information I think we can, we will need to employ 
an expert." 

"A very subtle and gifted expert, we should 
think," Llawan said. "Fortunately, we have the finest 
mind-rider in all the empire right here in our city." 
She turned and clicked a few curt commands to 
someone behind her. Then she regarded Veza with a 
suspicious eye. "Are you currently tailed, Director?" 

Veza flushed, giving her blue skin a purplish 
tone. "Yes, Empress. It was a side effect of the spell I 
cast." 

"We understand. You will resume your land-going 
form at once." "Empress?" 

"We are going to test this theory of yours. We are 
going to give you information to pass along to 
Laquatus. If he sees you changed as you are, he will 
assume you have been to the depths and are in league 
with someone to betray him. He might guess Aboshan 
and he might guess Llawan, but if he guesses at all, he 
will be on guard. And we would have him as 
unprepared as possible when we first attempt to 
monitor him." 

"Of course, Empress." Veza said a silent blessing 
for her luck. She was not sure she could change back 
on command, and at least now she would not have to 
try in front of the empress. 

Llawan sat silent for a moment, thinking. Then, 
she said, "I will send a courier with falsified 
documents that prove we are in hiding. You will show 

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them to Laquatus and offer to deliver them to him if 
he so wishes." She half-opened her beak in a sharp 
cephalid smile. "Laquatus will certainly pass the 
information on to Aboshan. Our imperial husband is 
always pleased to hear reports of our weakness, and 
Laquatus is always eager to please the emperor. 

"If our monitors pick up our planted information 
in the link you describe, we will know that it is truly a 
window into Laquatus's mind. And you, Director Veza, 
will have earned our gratitude and our love." 

"You honor me, Empress Llawan." 

"Not yet, Director. First, we will test your flash of 
inspiration. This audience is over." 

Llawan broke the connection, and Veza watched 
the mirror go dark. Then she carefully laid it down and 
pushed herself off the floor into the water. She felt 
calm and confident, but her exhilaration faded into 
fatigue as she floated in lazy circles around her tidal 
pool. 

She knew she'd been ignoring her regular duties 
as depot director, but she also knew that however 
things happened, she wouldn't have to worry about 
them for very much longer. Either her idea would bear 
fruit, Llawan would reward her, and Aboshan would 
declare her his enemy. Or, her idea would fail, and 
Llawan would punish her, and she'd be stuck in 
Breaker Bay forever, with plenty of time to catch up on 
her paperwork. 

In any case, she thought, she wasn't in any shape 
to do anything with the next few hours but take some 
well-earned time to herself in the gentle lapping waves 
of Breaker Bay. 

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Scott McGough 

CHAPTER 11 


Chainer awoke in his own private bedroom. He 
looked around to determine where he was, then 
checked himself for wounds. There were some minor 
cuts and bruises, and a few more serious injuries 
which had already been stitched up and bandaged 
over. His scanning eyes came to rest on his chain 
coiled around the bedpost by his foot, and he 
remembered everything that had happened to him 
outside the vault. 

Everything but how he got back to his own room, 
that is. He recalled Skellum leading him through the 
labyrinth of halls and down Manor Way to the 
academy, but such indistinct memories were quickly 
eclipsed by images of Deidre's death and the echo of 
the Mirari's call. Chainer lunged out of bed, but his 
legs failed, and he fell heavily to the floor. His muscles 
wouldn't flex, and he could hardly move. His head 
swam, and his eyes, ears, and throat were raw. 

It was only then that he noticed Skellum. His 
mentor was sitting in a large, wooden rocker with a 
vague look on his face. Without so much as a flicker of 
an eyelid, Skellum tossed a censer across the room to 
Chainer. "Catch." 

Chainer slapped his hands around the pewter 
cage before it hit him in the chest and then winced as 
his arms objected. 

"Skellum," he said through the pain, "they got 
Deidre. Did they get the Mirari?" 

"Catch," Skellum said, and he tossed Chainer's 

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knuckle dagger to him. Chainer was unable to get his 
fingers to work in time and had to roll out from under 
the dagger's point before it stuck in the floor. The 
abandoned censer rolled halfway back toward 
Skellum. "Skellum, what in nine hells—" 

"Catch." Chainer realized his mentor's hat had 
been spinning a split second before Skellum stopped a 
gap in front of his face. The vortex spat a small 
smoking comet toward Chainer. He yelped and 
reflexively snapped his hand out as if casting his 
chain. 

To his surprise, a black chain did leap out of his 
empty hand. Its sharp, weighted end intercepted 
Skellum's casting before it could fully form. There was 
a small pop, an oily flash, and a foul smell. 

Then Skellum was out of the chair and standing 
over him. Chainer had forgotten how fast the older 
man was. Chainer himself lie panting and helpless on 
the floor with his hands crossed defensively over his 
face. 

"I give, Master, I give," he said. "What's going on? 
Why won't you talk to me? Where's the Mirari?" 

"Kirtar of the Order has your precious Mirari," 
Skellum said. "A wild Krosan dragon came straight 
into the arena. There was a lot of noise and confusion. 
Kirtar and your barbarian friend stopped it, and the 
Master of the Games gave the Mirari to the bird-man 
as a reward." 

Chainer absorbed this. "Kamahl let him take it? 
Is he all right?" "Kamahl was buried under a half-ton 
of dead dragon," Skellum said. "By the time he dug 
himself out, Kirtar was gone, with that pretentious 
mer ambassador trailing behind him like a scavenger. 

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Scott McGough 

Do fish scavenge after birds, or is it the other way 
around? Never mind. Your barbarian friend was half a 
day behind. He took off after them as soon as we told 
him they had the sphere." 

"I wanted him to have it," Chainer said absently. 
"The First said he would have won it." 

"And he could well have, but now we'll never 
know. The Mirari is gone, the First is pleased, and we 
have work to do." He prodded Chainer roughly with 
the toe of his boot. "Get up." 

"Ow. Why? Don't I get to sleep in after protecting 
the vault? Deidre and that monkey guy were killed, 
you know." 

"I do know, and you did get to sleep after 
protecting the vault. You've been asleep since I 
brought you here three days ago." "Three days? It can't 
be." 

"It is. You've slept long enough." He offered 
Chainer his hand, but his face was still stem and 
impatient. 

Chainer carefully took Skellum's hand and stood 
unsteadily. "Master," he said, "have I done wrong?" 

"Wrong?" Skellum jerked his hand away and 
shoved Chainer back onto his bed. The younger man 
clawed helplessly at the air as he fell. He had never 
heard Skellum raise his voice in anger before. "You 
abandoned an assignment given to you by the First 
himself. You used the dementia exercise I expressly 
told you not to use. You killed three more members of 
the Order after the First and I both forbade you to do 
so, and you killed them using a spell that you never 
told your mentor you knew how to perform." 

Chainer waited. Skellum would often browbeat 

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him before praising him, but this was different. 
Chainer didn't think Skellum was going to break into a 
smile and laugh off these indiscretions any time soon. 

"This isn't a game, Chainer. Games take place in 
the pits. Games have rules, they have winners and 
losers. People watch games for amusement. What you 
did, what I do—what all dementists do—it's not like 
anything else. You can't dabble in it. You can't polish it 
and put it in your weapons rack at the end of the day. 
Dementia space is alive. It interacts with you, it 
changes you. It shapes you just as surely as you shape 
it." 

"Master—" 

"Be silent. The First thinks I'm too careful with 
you. I don't know what you think, and I don't much 
care." 

"Mast—" 

"Be silent! I have trained scores of casters and 
potential dementists. The vast majority—" he tapped 
his temple with all five fingers brought to a point— 
"are gone. They only appear to be here in Cabal City 
with the rest of us. In reality, they only visit us 
occasionally. The rest of their time is spent raving, or 
meditating, or drooling quietly in a darkened room 
while they run wild in their own dementia space. Do 
you understand me at all, Chainer? What we do breaks 
minds. And the sad fact is that a broken mind won't 
stop you from being an excellent dementia caster. In 
fact, it often helps." 

"But I," Skellum's voice softened slightly, "want 
you lucid. I want you to be a full-fledged dementist. 
There is far too much in this world to be enjoyed, and 
madness tends to water down some of life's strongest 

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flavors. I would rather have you here, in this world, 
sharing a good meal and a good show while we both 
serve the Cabal. Not lost in the world within, 
constantly building monsters so you can surround 
yourself with them." 

Skellum bent his face over Chainer's, and his 
voice dropped to a terse whisper. "The First also wants 
you lucid, for his own reasons. 

You and I both serve the First, we both serve the 
Cabal, but that doesn't mean we can't also serve 
ourselves." 

Chainer shut his eyes tightly, then reopened 
them. "I'm sorry, Master. I don't understand." 

Skellum's voice grew stern again. "That is why 
you should listen to me and follow my instructions." 

"I will, Master. I swear it." Chainer offered his 
hand up to Skel-lum. "Help me to succeed. Give me 
your instructions. I will not disappoint you again." 

Skellum continued to stare at Chainer, sighed, 
and finally took his pupil's hand. "I am not 
disappointed, Chainer. I am annoyed by your 
disobedience. And I am concerned for your safety." He 
pulled Chainer into a sitting position, took hold of his 
other hand, and hauled the younger man to his feet. 
"Now come with me. I told you before, we have a lot of 
work to do." 

Chainer stood, flexing his knees and ankles. The 
feeling was coming back into his extremities, and the 
pain was fading from his eyes and throat. 

"I think I'm ready, Master. Where are we going?" 

"To the pits. Gather your weapons." 

Chainer stiffly bent and gathered up the dagger 
and censer. "I may be slow on the staircase, but I think 

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Chainer’s Torment 

I can—" 

"We're not going to the pit mock-up in the 
basement. We are going to the pits in the arena." 

"Really? What for?" 

Skellum's eyes narrowed. "Because the First 
wishes it. And also, to prove a point." 

* * * * * 

Chainer stood in the empty pits, whirling the 
smoking censer around his head. As before, Skellum 
sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him with his 
hat also spinning. 

"Remember how you got there last time," Skellum 
said. "Without me, I might add. You must take us 
there. I'm visiting your dementia space this time, not 
the other way around." 

Chainer concentrated behind his closed eyes. The 
image was still there: the black sand, the endless 
desert, the red sea pouring from the mustard sky. 

"My eyes are closed, too." Skellum sounded 
petulant. "Are we there yet?" 

"Almost," Chainer said. He felt gravity shift 
beneath him, but he kept his balance. He opened his 
eyes. "We're here," he said. 

The scene was almost exactly as Chainer 
remembered it. The only major difference was that the 
inland sea was now half-full, and the rush of red from 
the hole in the sky had dropped off to a steady stream. 
He turned proudly to Skellum, but his mentor was 
staring wide eyed and open mouthed at the vista. 

"Kuberr's fortune," he whispered. "Chainer, is 
this what you saw in the hallway?" 

"Yes, Master." Chainer's body was still getting 

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Scott McGough 

used to swinging the censer, but he had already 
worked out the best stance to take while spinning it. 
He adjusted his footing and raised his chain arm 
higher, trying to minimize the tension on his shoulder. 

"Chainer?" 

"Yes, Master?" Now Chainer adjusted his grip on 
the chain. He would probably need to start wearing a 
thick leather glove again, as he had when he first 
started learning the weapon. Minat had told him to be 
careful about letting calluses get too thick or they 
could throw off the feel of the chain and make you lose 
your grip. 

"Chainer!" 

"Master?" 

"Something's coming, and it doesn't look friendly. 
What should we do?" 

"What? I mean . . . aren't you the expert here? 
Master?" 

"This is your playground, not mine," Skellum's 
voice was gradually becoming more hollow and singsong. 
"I'm just visiting." 

Chainer suddenly felt very cold. He was still 
recovering from protecting the vault, and the smell of 
Dragon's Blood wasn't helping. If Skellum faded out 
now, they might both die here. The figure Skellum had 
spotted was coming steadily closer. Chainer couldn't 
see it clearly, but it looked big. He squinted. Between 
the smoke and the featureless desert, it was 
impossible to put the thing on any kind of scale. 

"Master," he said, "what happens if I stop 
spinning the censer? Will we reappear in the pits, or— 
" 

"Don't stop spinning," Skellum said. "I forbid it." 

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His hat was also spinning, faster than Chainer had 
ever seen. Skellum was also twitching slightly at the 
shoulder, and every time he twitched, it spread across 
the rest of his body like a wave. "Master? Are you all 
right?" "Don't stop spinning. Not till I say." 

The thing was now close enough for Chainer to 
see its general shape. It was humanoid but much 
broader and taller. It had a long, triangular head with 
wide jaws. It opened its mouth and roared. It was an 
ugly, grating sound, but Chainer welcomed it. At least 
now he knew how far away the thing was. 

"Master, we don't have much time. Ten or twenty 
seconds. I don't think I can fight this thing, and I don't 
know how to get back to the pits if I can't stop the 
censer. Help me." 

Skellum rose smoothly to his feet. "I thought 
you'd never ask." At his full height, he was well below 
the arc of the chain, even with the hat. He glided up 
alongside Chainer and held his hand in front of his 
pupil's mouth, just below his eyes. 

"When I say," Skellum kept his eyes on the 
approaching monster, "stop spinning." 

Chainer didn't know if it was a trick of 
perspective or if the thing was picking up speed as it 
got closer, but it seemed to be coming at them much 
faster than before. It charged along the ground like an 
ape, bent forward on all fours. It was taller than 
Chainer, and it had a head like a snake. Its lower jaw 
was distended and open wide, exposing rows and rows 
of short, sharp teeth. It continued to roar as it charged. 

When it was ten yards away, Skellum said, "Stop 
spinning," and covered Chainer's eyes. Chainer 
brought the censer to rest in the sand. He heard the 

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implosive sound of Skellum producing a monster and 
felt another shift in his gut that told him they were 
now somewhere else. The creature's roar had 
vanished. 

"This is where you should have gone," Skellum 
said. "This is where you would have gone if you'd 
waited for me." He pulled his hand away, and Chainer 
blinked his eyes clear. 

They were surrounded by mist. Chainer sniffed it 
to make sure it wasn't just more Dragon's Blood, but 
the mist was odorless and felt the same as air in his 
lungs. He breathed in deeply and looked around, 
struggling to see anything through the thick fog. 

"Where you were just now," Skellum explained, 
"you just shouldn't have been able to get there without 
help. You're a gifted student, Chainer, but not that 
gifted." 

"But I was there, Master. You saw it. And I had 
no help." 

"Of course you did. Do you think it was a 
coincidence that you achieved this advanced state of 
dementia trance within a stone's throw of that artifact 
you found? The First said it was powerful. You had 
contact with it. Obviously you tapped into its power 
somehow, and that power catapulted you deeper into 
dementia space than you could have gone on your 
own." 

Chainer paused. "That would make sense." 

"And now, thanks to the First's meddling, the 
Mirari's power, and your willfulness, I have to do 
something I don't want to do." He looked meaningfully 
at Chainer, who waited for him to continue. 

"Do I want you to do it?" 

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"Of course not," Skellum snapped. "It's 
unpleasant and painful, and you're going to think me 
heartless. But if I don't do it, you'll never make it back 
here." 

"Never?" "Never." 

Chainer hung the censer from a loop on his vest. 
"Then do it." Skellum smiled sadly at his pupil. "I 
already have." He whispered a few words and waved. 
A strong wind whipped up and carried most of the fog 
away with it. The bare landscape left behind was as 
dull and gray as an unpolished stone. In the distance 
several figures walked, their feet still partially 
obscured by wisps of fog. 

Chainer watched them walk. He pointed. "Who 
are they?" 

"They are the reason I didn't want you killing 
things before your training was complete. I have a 
confession to make, Chainer. The First only dressed 
you down for killing that Order war bird because I 
asked him to. I didn't want you to kill because every 
one and every thing you kill winds up here. This is the 
first level of dementia. The creatures here are the 
creatures you've seen, fought against, and bested. The 
memory of them remains here, in your mind. If you 
want to get deeper, if you want to go beyond your 
physical experiences, you must go through here." 

Chainer brushed his dagger. "So I have to fight 
them." He recognized the crusat bird Callda flying over 
the other figures. Its silhouette was bent and ragged, 
and it didn't seem possible that it could fly. 

"In a manner of speaking. You have to control 
them. They are not as they actually were, they are as 
you remember them to be. If you recall them as 

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stronger than they were when you defeated them, they 
will be. If you believe they are still hostile to you, they 
will be." 

"Oh." Chainer's voice was tight. 

"It gets worse. You skipped this level and went 
right to one of the deepest reaches of your own 
dementia space. And when we went back there, 
something was waiting for us. Something that you've 
never actually faced but only imagined. There's no way 
that should have been possible, but there it is. You'll 
have to control that thing, too, along with these 
others." 

Chainer nodded. The distant figures were 
starting to notice him. 

The Callda shade set up a hideous squawking, as 
if trying to rally the others to an attack. 

"What happens if I can't?" 

"Let's not worry about that. You have to 
prepare—" 

"What happens, Skellum?" 

Skellum looked miserable. "If they don't tear you 
to pieces, you'll be trapped here forever, and they'll 
never stop hunting you. These things—" He waved— 
"aren't real to anyone but you Chainer, and they're not 
real anywhere but here. If you want to bring things 
out of this world, you need to be its master. You need 
to be the gateway they pass through, as well as the 
gatekeeper who lets them in or keeps them out." He 
gave his hat a discreet spin. 

"I am ready, Master." 

"That," Skellum said, "is what we are here to 
prove or disprove." The wind kicked up again, bringing 
a stream of mist with it. The mist swirled around 

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Skellum until it enveloped him from the ground to his 
chin. Before it covered him completely, an implosion 
sounded, and he sent a smoking comet shooting toward 
the milling creatures. Halfway between Chainer and 
the inhabitants of his mind, it crashed and exploded 
into the shape of the snake-thing that had been 
charging at them under the mustard sky. It roared, 
angrily pounded the ground, and then turned on 
Chainer. 

Skellum's body was fading away. His voice was 
distant. "Good luck, Chainer. Kuberr does not offer 
protection, but he does offer rewards. You must now 
earn yours." He looked quickly around, then added, 
"I'll be watching." Then he was gone. 

Chainer watched the approaching monsters. 
There were more of them than he first realized. He 
tried to remember how many people and beasts he had 
defeated in the pits, and how many of those he had 
claimed for the Cabal. 

They were following the aggressive lead of the 
snake-thing. He knew exactly where that had come 
from. Snakes were a constant danger in the flats, and 
he'd had bad dreams about them when he was a small 
boy, before he met Minat. 

Well, he thought, he had beaten them all at least 
once before. Skellum said it wasn't about beating 
them, though, it was about controlling them. Chainer 
didn't even know if they could be killed again. He 
wondered if they remembered how he defeated them 
the first time, and if he could rely on the same moves 
twice. 

In the last few moments he had, Chainer 
reviewed his assets. He had never been able to create 

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fighting chains so easily and so quickly before, but he 
still doubted his ability to subdue the creatures one at 
a time or in small groups before the larger mass 
overwhelmed him. He wasn't even sure if his dagger or 
the sharpened weight would penetrate the snakething's 
hide. He would just have to find out the hard 
way. 

The snake-thing tried to barrel straight into 
Chainer without slowing. Chainer sprang over it and 
stabbed with his dagger. He had been right, the beast's 
hide was too thick. 

Callda the crusat bird came next. It was even 
uglier and more misshapen than Chainer remembered. 
He would have to ask Skellum about that when he got 
back—if he got back. Happily, Callda's skin was no 
tougher than it had been in the street outside Roup's, 
and Chainer punctured one of its wings with his chain 
and guided it to the ground like a failing kite. 

The rest of the shambling horde would soon be 
upon him, and the snake thing was preparing for 
another attack. Think, Chainer commanded himself. 
How could he control a dozen-odd monsters at once? 
He could kill some of them with the death bloom, he 
could cripple some more with a dagger to the 
hamstrings, and he could bind a few with— 

The tip of the snake-thing's claw cut the air in 
front of Chainer's face. It was no longer charging him 
headlong, but instead slashed at him with its long 
arms. It feinted and slashed, but Chainer stayed just 
out of its reach. 

A half-rotted zombie bear reared up behind 
Chainer, roaring through its skeletal jaws. Chainer 
cracked his chain like a whip across its remaining eye, 

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and when the clumsy brute lunged at Chainer, it 
connected with the snake-thing. Enraged, the serpent 
ripped the bear's paw off in its teeth and then 
backhanded Chainer across the chest with its claws. 
Chainer nimbly rolled backward, pressing his shirt 
into the four razor lines bleeding beneath it. 

The wound was not serious, but it would force 
him to think and act faster before the loss of blood 
started to slow him down. The zombie bear and the 
serpent were tearing into each other, with the bear 
getting the worst of it. More creatures in the horde 
began to turn on each other, and Chainer wondered if 
he could let them reduce their own numbers and then 
conquer the survivors. 

Something small and ratlike clamped onto his 
calf muscle with a dozen tiny needle-sharp teeth. 
Chainer broke its back with his dagger and kicked the 
wretched thing off. The snake-thing finished with the 
last few ghastly parts of zombie bear and immediately 
began stalking Chainer again. A small swarm of 
glowing insects spat fire at Chainer, and he shielded 
his eyes from a cascade of sparks. A large pool of oily 
slime flowed over the dull stone ground, engulfing its 
fellow nightmares as it also homed in on Chainer. He 
backpedaled, keeping the horde in front of him with 
his arms spread wide and his hands empty. The 
creatures continued to advance, focused once more as a 
group on the stranger in their domain. 

Chainer exhaled. He thought he had the answer. 
It was an unfamiliar shape, and these were not ideal 
circumstances, but he had been making links and 
weights on his own for half his life. He'd been taught 
proficiency by an expert, then had become an expert on 

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his own. 

The snake-thing was slower, almost playful in its 
final approach. The other nightmares gave it a wide 
berth as it hissed and grinned and clawed the ground. 
It was trying to get him to run, to play the role of prey. 
Chainer smiled at it, playfully showing it his empty 
hands. 

"Come on," he taunted. He tilted his head back, 
exposing his throat. "You'll never get a better chance." 

The snake-thing lunged. It was lightning-fast, but 
Chainer's hand was faster. He cast a chain at its neck, 
unlike any chain he had ever created before. It was 
malleable in flight, solid enough only to give itself 
weight. When it collided with the snake-thing's throat, 
it folded itself completely around the beast's neck, 
joined itself around, and tightened. The snake-thing 
stumbled forward, clawing at the choking collar, and 
Chainer pulled it right off its feet by yanking down 
hard on his end of the chain. The brute went face-first 
into the ground and fought with the unyielding metal 
around its throat. 

Chainer cast another collar around the fallen 
bird. He held neither of the new leash-chains in his 
hands. Instead, the ends of each hovered an inch from 
his open palm, following the hand's movement as if 
they were attached to it. With his hands thus free, 
Chainer was able to send collar after collar into the 
pack of oncoming creatures. He nimbly dodged any 
who came close enough to strike, and he sank 
sharpened weights into the bodies of those who broke 
or avoided the collars. He caught the shapeless mass 
as it flowed over another, more solid body, collaring 
both creatures with the same cast. As he leashed each 

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monster, Chainer created a conduit through which he 
could drain its energy. He used this conduit to draw a 
portion of each thing's essence into himself, and the 
monsters invariably fell to their knees, fatigued, 
weakened, chastened. 

Chainer floated above the heads of the now-
submissive creatures, borne on a wave of their stolen 
energy. He no longer felt the pain of his wounds, new 
or old. He spread his arms wide, with dozens of chains 
radiating out from his hands, each connecting a 
monster to its new master. Chainer howled. 

With a final surge of power, Chainer dispelled all 
of the leash-chains with the screech of metal on metal 
and a deafening boom. Chainer dropped to the ground 
and crossed his arms over his chest. 

The newly released creatures growled and 
grumbled and eyed him angrily, but none dared 
attack. 

"Get going," Chainer said. He brought his arm up, 
and when he brought it down, a ten-foot length of whip 
chain cracked among the creatures. "I'll call you when 
I need you." 

The sullen, confused mass began to move away 
from him. Some ran headlong, terrified of being 
collared again. The snake-thing was the last to leave, 
flicking its forked tongue and clawing the ground in 
front of it. It hissed at Chainer, sounding almost 
plaintive. 

"Go on," Chainer said. "But not too far. I've got 
plans for you later." He smiled unpleasantly, lost in 
childhood memories. 

The creature grunted, turned, and loped off. 
When they were all distant and tiny, the mist 

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returned, gently swallowing Chainer from the ground 
up. Chainer loaded the censer, lit it, and began to 
whirl it around his head in short, slow circles. He had 
just earned the right to continue as Skellum's 
apprentice. He had faced down his oldest nightmare, 
and for the first time in his life, he felt like he had 
found a place that was entirely his own. 

He continued to casually spin the censer while he 
waited for Skellum to return and take him back to 
Cabal City. 

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PART TWO: 
CASTER 


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CHAPTER 12 


The next few months went very well for Chainer. 
He thought him-self happy when the First praised him 
for delivering the Mirari and ordered Skellum to step 
up his train-ing. He was even happier, however, when 
he had been allowed back in the pits. 

After spending years in the dementist academy, 
Chainer was oddly comforted to be back among people 
who lived and died by their skills rather than their 
ability to lie. There was also a strange camaraderie 
among the contestants that Chainer never got tired of. 
You could be standing in a group waiting for your next 
bout, and when the starting horn sounded, the people 
around you could be your allies as easily as your 
enemies. Unless you had been assigned or had 
petitioned for a grudge match, you really had no idea 
who or what you'd be facing, or what the stakes were. 
Chainer had not seen war, but he imagined the silent, 
grudging respect pit fighters had for one another was 
like the bond that formed between soldiers during 
combat. Only in the pits, there were no uniforms to 
distinguish friend from foe, and the person who 
watched your back today would probably stick a rusty 
spike in it tomorrow. 

The Cabal's house pit fighters weren't even sure 
if they were allowed to win. The Master of the Games 
plotted and paired the results every match with the 
fixers, on instructions from the First himself. The most 
important thing was to put on a good show, to make 
people come back either as contestants or as 

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spectators. If the Order were out in force and a string 
of humiliating Cabal defeats would lure them in, then 
the home team was instructed to embarrass 
themselves. When the First specified what kind of 
reaction he wanted from the crowd, the Master of the 
Games prepared it, and the Cabal fighters produced it. 

Chainer had never competed in the main pits 
before he met Skellum, so his matches were less 
structured, and he was free to fight as best as he could. 
His youth and his skill with the chain made him 
something of a novelty act, however, so he was often 
just outside the entrance in one of the show pits. At 
the time, Chainer had felt like he was fighting for his 
life, but he later realized he was only there to impress 
passing foot traffic. The Cabal had taken him in, 
trained him, housed him, and fed him, however, so he 
did his oath-bound duty and put on a show for the 
passersby. He took that time to master his technique, 
and before long he had amassed enough wins to 
impress the pit bosses, the Master of the Games, and, 
eventually, Skellum. 

His current return to the pits had been gradual 
but steady. In his first bout, an afternoon show that 
few spectators attended, he tore through a team of 
slow-moving zombie wildcats with just his chains and 
dagger. When the pit bosses released a maddened coal-
bellied razorback at an evening exhibition two days 
later, Chainer kept away from it and spun his censer 
until he produced the snake-thing he had mastered 
earlier. It tore the smoking, red-hot boar into little bits 
and then swallowed the pieces whole. The snake-thing 
turned on Chainer with murder in its eyes, but 
Chainer quickly collared it once more and brought it to 

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heel. 

With each match he was making a name for 
himself. People were starting to notice his eclectic 
style, and more and more people filed in to watch him 
fight. Most dementia casters in the pits were armed 
only to keep their creations in line. Even the ones who 
knew how to fight were casters first and warriors 
second. Chainer could engage his opponents directly 
from the outset and then surprise them with an 
unexpected monster, or he could send something nasty 
at them to test their abilities and then exploit any 
weaknesses with his chain and dagger. Word started 
to spread that the young dementia caster was 
undefeated since returning to the pits. The quality of 
Chainer's competition increased, and Chainer's control 
and winning streak increased tight along with them. 

When he wasn't in the pits he was with Skellum, 
meditating and breathing and mastering his own 
dementia space. Each creature he faced in the pits left 
an impression on his eyes, his ears, his memory. At 
night, those impressions churned and bubbled in 
Chainer's sleeping head, and when he awoke, there 
were more nightmare denizens of the world with the 
black sand and the hole in the sky. Some nights he 
would retire after dinner and lie in a deathlike state 
until midday, and others he spent in a fitful, restless 
state of agitation. No matter how long he slept or how 
deeply, he always dreamed of monsters. The largest of 
his pets was still only slightly larger than human, but 
Skellum was pleased with his creature's durability, 
detail, and speed. 

His mentor was also pleased that Chainer was 
following his instructions to the letter. Skellum 

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worked him hard to keep him grounded in the day-today 
events in Cabal City, and he seemed satisfied with 
Chainer's progress. The old man had not mentioned 
the mental strain of dementia casting in weeks. The 
only objection 

Skellum had to Chainer's success was that his 
pupil was obliged to abandon the designation 
"apprentice" in favor of "dementia caster." 

"I didn't train a mere caster. Casters work in the 
mud and the blood of the pits," he huffed. "I train 
dementists. Dementists do important, detailed work 
for the First. And we know all the best people." 

Chainer laughed at the old snob and tried to 
smear some of the dirt from the pits on his hat. 

"Let me be a caster for a few more months," he 
said. "I like it." 

Skellum blocked Chainer's grimy hand with his 
cape. "Don't touch me, you clod. I have a dinner 
engagement at the manor tonight." 

"With some of the best people, no doubt." 

"Indeed. And you'd do well to wipe that smirk off 
along with the dirt. You're invited, too." 

"Is it the First?" Chainer said, suddenly 
interested. "Is there news of the Mirari?" 

Skellum scowled. "No, then yes." When Chainer 
looked confused, he went on. "The Master of the 
Games wants a sit-down with you and me to plan for 
this weekend's event. Apparently, there's a couple of 
tough nuts coming in from the mountains, and he 
wants you to attend to them personally." 

Chainer wrinkled his nose. "Does that mean I 
have to baby-sit another barbarian?" His eyes 
brightened. "Or has Kamahl returned? I'd like to place 

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a few bets on him, make some extra silver." He tugged 
absently at his ragged clothing. "I could use a new 
suit." 

"That's my boy," Skellum said happily. "I'll take 
you along to my tailor. Never forget worldly delights, 
my boy. They should be the reason you fight so hard." 

"Master," Chainer said dramatically. "You mean 
that serving the Cabal isn't reward enough?" 

Skellum narrowed his eyes. "You have always 
had a smart mouth," he said. "And no, service is not its 
own reward. Neither the First nor Kuberr himself 
have ever said otherwise. We serve the 

Cabal, but the Cabal also serves you. That's how 
it works. That's why it works. Remember it." 

Chainer nodded. "Right now, I'm feeling pretty 
well served. And after I clean up and join you for 
dinner, I'll feel even better." 

"Agreed," Skellum said. "Meet me in the master's 
parlor in an hour. He'll meet us there." 

* * * * * 

Chainer sat in stunned silence as the Master of 
the Games prattled on. She was different from the 
master who had directed the games that had been 
interrupted by the dragon attack. No one spoke of him 
or his absence, and Chainer decided not to ask. 

He shot an aggravated look over at Skellum. His 
mentor seemed calm and collected, but Chainer could 
tell he was not happy, either. Chainer waited for the 
new master to take a breath. When she did, he broke 
in. 

"So you're saying I have to lose." He had never 
been asked to throw a match before. He was finding 

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that he didn't like it. 

"Not in so many words," the master said. She was 
a tall woman, with a tight, pinched face and her hair 
pulled tight against her skull. "We want the Cabal to 
make a good showing. But this pair has worked their 
way up through all the lesser pits between here and 
the mountains. They haven't lost yet, but we haven't 
been able to give them what they want." 

"What do they want?" Skellum asked. He was 
keeping a close eye on Chainer, watching for any sign 
that his pupil was losing his temper. 

"Oh, she's looking for her brother or something. 
The last she heard, he had come to fight in the pits. 
She and her dwarf keep beating the best we can throw 
at them, but so far nobody knows who she's actually 
looking for, or if we know where he is. He might be 
dead. He probably went into debt and is working it off 
in the side pits or in the flesh mills. Most barbarians 
can't resist betting on themselves to win." She smiled 
unpleasantly. 

Chainer kept his voice neutral, but he saw 
Skellum note his renewed interest. "Barbarian?" 

"Yes," the Master of the Games checked her 
roster. "Apparently, both brother and sister are from a 
tribe in the Pardic mountains. She's got an elderly 
dwarf as her partner. They seem to have worked 
together before, because they make an excellent team. 
Undefeated so far." She raised her eyebrows at 
Chainer. "Just like you. Think of the crowds, little 
brother. The Cabal's best against the toughest thing 
ever to come out of the hills this year." 

"I think I know her brother," Chainer said. 

The Master of the Games smiled. "That must be 

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why the First gave me your names. I wasn't going to 
mention it unless I had to, but this directive comes 
from the First himself. You are to fight the pair from 
the mountains. The First wants them to get the 
information they've already earned, but we can't just 
hand it to them. So we're going to let you square off 
against them, put on a good show, and then let them 
walk away feeling victorious." 

Chainer looked at Skellum again. He smiled. 
"What's in it for me?" he asked. Skellum fiddled with 
his hat to hide his smile of pride. 

"For you, little brother? You get to do your duty 
for the First and the Cabal. What else did you expect?" 

"He expects compensation," Skellum broke in. 
"His undefeated record has value. You're asking him to 
throw it away. It's only fair that he get something in 
return." 

The master's eyes darted back and forth from 
Chainer to Skellum. "What do you want?" 

Skellum started to speak, but Chainer stopped 
him with a raised hand. "If I'm supposed to provide 
information, I want that information. The Cabal has 
informants everywhere. I want to know what 
happened to Kamahl the barbarian after he left Cabal 
City. I want to know where the Mirari is. And," he 
winked at Skellum, "I want a cut of the proceeds from 
the match. The betting tables will be busy when we 
fight. I want my share." 

The master's eyes gleamed. "Done," she said. 

"We serve the Cabal," Skellum said. 

"And the Cabal serves us," Chainer answered. 
"Now, then. Let's start with where my barbarian 
friend went. We can figure out what I'm supposed to 

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tell his sister after that." 

* * * * * 

Veza never received a courier with false 
information for Ambassador Laquatus. Within two 
tension-filled weeks of presenting her idea to Empress 
Llawan, Veza was awakened a few hours before dawn 
by a ripping crack of thunder from her living room 
fountain. Veza had reassumed her legs the day after 
she last spoke to the empress. She climbed out of the 
tub and ran into the room. 

Two cephalid imperial guards were already 
floating in the air beside a glowing disk of energy that 
used to be Veza's fountain pool. They were enveloped 
in liquid blue energy that kept them alive and upright 
as a third guard came through the portal. The two 
floating guards assisted him and two more like him 
into the water. Veza heard the crackle of portal 
transit, quickly bowed her head, and heard a large 
splash. She remained bowed until one of the floating 
guards touched her on the shoulder. 

"Your empress awaits," he said. Veza rose, 
nodded to the guard, and stepped gracefully into the 
tide pool. 

Empress Llawan floated deep, ten feet below the 
surface at the very limit of Veza's pool. The three 
tailed merfolk guards floated in formation above her, 
constantly scanning every possible avenue of attack. 
They eyed Veza as she descended, but let her pass 
without comment. 

Veza lowered her eyes. "Empress." 

"Director Veza. We require your assistance." 

"I am at your service, Empress." 

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"We had our finest mind-rider investigate your 
notion of eavesdropping on Ambassador Laquatus's 
link to his familiar. 

"Your hypothesis proved correct, Director," 
Llawan continued. "Congratulations." 

"Empress," Veza flushed. 

"In fact, it proved even easier to interpret the 
signals than you projected. Our expert was able to see 
Laquatus's thoughts quite easily. He has but one thing 
on his mind lately, an extremely powerful artifact 
called the Mirari." 

Veza nodded. "I had heard such an artifact was 
uncovered recently. That kind of news even reaches 
Breaker Bay." 

"It was in the hands of the Gabal patriarch. 
Laquatus happened to be visiting when the artifact 
arrived. He has done little but connive after it ever 
since." 

Veza started to understand. "Has the 
Ambassador acquired this artifact?" 

"No. Currently, it is in the hands of the Order." 

Veza wondered why the empress didn't seem 
happier about this development. "Is that acceptable, 
Empress?" 

"Barely. The Order are honest and try to be 
righteous in all things. They are like jellyfish in the 
hands of someone like Laquatus. It can only be a 
matter of time before he spirits it away through 
violence or deceit." 

Veza waited for the empress to continue. When 
she didn't, Veza said, "Then Laquatus will bring the 
artifact to Aboshan." Llawan stared at her for a 
moment then clicked out a sharp series of screeches to 

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the guard above. The guard checked an instrument 
strapped to his wrist and nodded to the empress. 

"The crystal did not glow, my empress. She is 
concealing nothing." 

Llawan clicked again, and the guards swam off, 
out into the bay and well out of earshot. They 
maintained a clear line of sight on both Veza and the 
empress. 

"Forgive us, Director," Llawan said, "but we had 
to be sure. If you had lied just now, that crystal would 
have flashed. I have negotiated many a favorable 
treaty with it by my side." 

Veza simply stared uncomprehendingly. 

"We can never be too careful when dealing with 
Laquatus. But now we must be completely frank with 
you. Aboshan already has the Mirari. Somehow the 
ambassador managed to get the Mirari away from the 
Order and into Aboshan's clutches without actually 
ever taking possession of it himself. The man's an 
idiot." 

"So Aboshan has the artifact?" 

"Yes." 

"And the empress is worried that he will use it 
against her?" 

Veza was shocked when Llawan laughed out loud. 
Cephalids made a high-pitched, staccato chattering 
when they laughed. It was too much for Veza. She 
burst into laughter as well. 

Llawan quickly regained her composure. "If only 
that were our main concern! Aboshan collects artifacts, 
but he doesn't understand them. He wouldn't know 
what to do with a powerful artifact if it came with a 
guidebook and a tutor. If he gets his tentacles on the 

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Mirari, he'll probably try to eat it. 

"No, Director, we are concerned with what 
Laquatus will do once he has the Mirari. He claims to 
be working on behalf of the emperor, but he is a greedy 
and grasping child. It must truly gall him to see the 
prize that he so badly wanted in the hands of an oaf, 
and to know that he has no chance of wresting it free. 
If the thing is as powerful as they say—if it is as 
powerful as my mind-rider senses, then Laquatus will 
not allow Aboshan to have it for long. And when he 
gets it, the next obstacle between an ambassador's 
sash and the imperial cap is poor, exiled Llawan." 

Veza's humor quickly cooled and vanished. "What 
will the empress do?" 

Llawan extended a tentacle and gently took 
Veza's hand. "We will gather around us those who 
have served us well. Those who have served us 
loyally." She dropped Veza's hand and brought her 
other forelimb forward. On the end she wore a 
sharpened spike of whale's tooth. "And we will 
confront the oaf Aboshan. If we can push him, keep 
him furious and fearful of a renewed civil war, then he 
will cling tightly to his new toy and never allow 
Laquatus to take it. The harder the ambassador tries, 
the tighter Aboshan's grip will grow, and neither of 
them will be able to use it against us. Eventually, 
Aboshan will have Laquatus killed." She smiled a 
politician's smile. " It is never a good idea to be too 
ambitious when the emperor is feeling insecure. 

"We ask you to come with us now and stand by 
our side in the court of the emperor. We ask you to 
declare yourself as our subject, and to represent our 
interests. You are wasted here in Breaker Bay. Worse, 

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you are insulted by it. Come with us now, and be our 
subject. We have thirty executives like yourself and 
another dozen cephalids of noble birth. We will present 
ourselves to the emperor and petition him for 
permission to secede from his empire." 

"He will certainly refuse." 

"He must. But he will observe the formalities of 
government. He will cite the existing treaty between 
us. He will bluster and threaten. He will try to have us 
killed by assassins, and try to have us executed 
publicly as traitors. And all that will buy us time." 

"Time, Empress? Time for what?" 

"To take control of the situation. To drum up 
more support among the oligarchs and nobles. To turn 
Laquatus and Aboshan against each other and divide 
their strength. To take this Mirari for ourselves and 
rid Mer once and for all of oafs and knaves." 

Veza looked up at the surface of the pool above 
her head. Beyond it was her cottage, her paperwork, 
and her depot. Beyond that, the village and all its 
human inhabitants, with all their human tics and 
prejudices. And somewhere far beyond that was 
Aboshan, who cared only for the commerce and not at 
all for the people who conducted it in his name. 

"I am yours, Empress Llawan," she said. "What 
would you have me do?" 

Llawan smiled. "Come with us now. We are 
taking a water portal back to our city, where the 
imperial transport is being prepared for the journey 
north. En route, we will discuss statesmanship and 
strategy." 

Veza nodded. "There are a few items I would like 
to bring along." 

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Scott McGough 

"Personal items, Director? This is a time for 
leaving things behind and starting over." 

Veza bowed. "Documents, Empress. Information 
that may prove useful to our cause." She raised her 
eyes and met Llawan's. "And I am Director of Breaker 
Bay no longer." 

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CHAPTER 13 


Chainer caught sight of the pair from the same 
vantage point he had first spotted Kamahl. He 
recognized KamahPs sister Jeska and the dwarf 
Balthor from the descriptions he had and the fact that 
they arrived together. Now that he saw her, he 
thought he could have recognized Jeska as one of 
Kamahl's kin without forewarning. 

She was of medium height and build, but she had 
Kamahl's blazing red hair and brass colored skin. 
Where Kamahl's was cropped close to his head, Jeska 
wore her hair long, braided dwarf style into hundreds 
of finger-thick strands. Each braid was interwoven 
with ribbons or hide or polished stones, and she had 
gathered them all in the middle of her back with a 
heavy iron clip. Chainer recognized a weighted whip 
when he saw it, but he was impressed with how 
casually she wore a weapon that most fighters 
wouldn't recognize. 

She also wore a peculiar metal gauntlet that 
covered her left forearm. It was etched with runes but 
unpolished, with two small horns at the wrist edge. It 
looked like a miniature slingshot, but Chainer couldn't 
quite credit the whole thing as a weapon. He reasoned 
it was either a sword baffle or some other sort of 
protective armor. 

Finally, she carried a wooden baton that was 
intricately carved and ringed with metal. It was about 
as long as her arm, and it looked extremely solid. Her 
muscles lied about it, as well, effortlessly concealing 

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how dense the baton actually was. In addition to the 
decorative metal rings, Chainer guessed the baton also 
had a metal core to give it extra punch. 

Jeska carried herself and her weapons with 
extreme confidence. Her eyes were focused straight 
ahead, her jaw was set, and her pace was so stern it 
seemed more like a march than a hike. She didn't even 
glance at the dwarf by her side, though he matched 
her stride for stride and never fell out of her peripheral 
vision. 

Balthor was built like all dwarves Chainer had 
seen, short and broad and gnarled as a stump. His 
long beard was split into two equal points that fell to 
his waist, and he wore an ornate headdress with a 
large red gem at the center. Instead of a fighting axe, 
he carried some kind of axe-staff that was neither 
completely weapon nor completely walking stick. 

The strange duo was met at the gate by a Cabal 
representative and escorted into the arena. Chainer 
waited until the door had shut behind them before he 
turned from the window and made his way down to the 
pits. 

* * * * * 

Several hours later, an oily-looking fixer met 
Chainer on the staircase. 

"You Chainey?" the fixer said. "Chainer." 

"Whatever. Come on, let's go. You're on." 

The fixer's attitude annoyed Chainer. "What's the 
rush?" 

"They are. The woman's insane, and the dwarf is 
really cranky. They say they're going to fight now, or 
they're going to start wrecking the place." 

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"So? Turn some stalkers and some hellhounds 
loose on 'em. The Master of the Games said—" 

"The Master of the Games just said you should 
get your butt down to the main pit." He held out a 
sealed scroll. "See that? It's official. Now come on." 

Chainer stood perfectly still. "What's your name, 
sunshine?" 

The oily Cabalist sneered. "Louche," he said. 

"Bet all you have on me, Louche. I can't lose." 

"Is that so?" 

"It is." 

"Thanks, kid." Louche had a sarcastic tone that 
never wavered. Chainer couldn't tell if the fixer knew 
he was being misled, or if he just didn't care. He gave 
up trying to argue with a person who negotiated for a 
living and fell into step behind him. 

Louche led him down the main pit floor. The 
stands were full, everything seemed ready to go. His 
opponents waited on the far side of the circle. 

"Good luck, kid," Louche said, already distracted 
and moving on to his next assignment. 

"You mean that, Louche?" 

"Sure. Why not." Louche didn't even look up as he 
disappeared into the crowd. 

Overhead, the prep horn sounded, and Chainer lit 
his censer. It was to be a straightforward flag match, 
two against one. Jeska and Balthor would attempt to 
take or destroy the simple black pennant that was 
spiked into an eight-foot-tall mound of packed dirt 
behind Chainer. Chainer would defend the flag. In this 
case, that meant he would try to stop them but would 
fail as convincingly as possible. 

In the distance, Chainer heard his match being 

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announced, the usual build-up of the fighters and the 
standard teasers about blood and danger to whip up 
the crowd. Chainer scanned the rows and rows of eager 
faces. The smoke was getting thicker around him, and 
he fought back a rush of dizziness. "Game on," he 
whispered. He had to stay focused. 

The starting horn sounded, and Chainer's 
opponents came straight at him. They moved well, but 
they were terribly out of sync with each other. Balthor 
strode forward with his head and his staff held high, 
taking strides as smooth and as grand as his stature 
allowed. Jeska, on the other hand, was hunched low 
into a battle crouch, her hands free and empty at her 
sides. Her baton was ready at her hip, and she kept 
one hand near it as she stared fixedly at the flag 
behind Chainer. 

"Let's finish this quickly." Chainer heard 
Balthor's impatience through the dwarf's clenched 
teeth. 

"Just hold up your end," Jeska growled back, "and 
stay out of my way." They were attacking together, but 
they were not a team. Chainer decided to exploit that. 

As they had no long-range weapons, Chainer 
waited until Jeska and Balthor were a stone's throw 
from the mound. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, 
he shuddered, and he threw his arms out, palm-up, at 
Balthor. There was a flash of black light, and for the 
briefest moment a purple ring of energy flickered. 
Through that ring came a three-foot dragonfly with a 
scorpion's tail. Its multiple wings buzzed with the fury 
of a full swarm as it shot high above the arena floor 
and then dove straight down at Balthor, its stinger 
poised for the kill. Chainer wanted to test himself 

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against Kamahl's sister, and the dragonfly would keep 
the dwarf busy. The insect would bedevil and sting 
until the dwarf hacked at it with his axe or his fists. If 
he injured it, its sticky blood would spurt and foul 
whatever part of Balthor it touched. 

As Chainer expected, Jeska completely ignored 
the threat that was ignoring her. As the dragonfly 
homed in on Balthor, she continued straight on at 
Chainer. Her movements became much sharper and 
quicker once the action began, and her approach 
became more like an acrobat's tumbling run. Chainer 
ditched the censer and drew his dagger, waiting, his 
stance inviting Jeska to attack. 

Behind Jeska, Balthor stood straight as the 
dragonfly swooped down on him. The gem on the 
dwarf's headdress glowed, and red fire leaped from the 
gem to the blade of his axe-staff. Chainer could see 
Balthor's lips moving. His eyes were shut. 

A blast of flame erupted from the head of 
Balthor's axe and burned the dragonfly to ash in 
midair. Chainer stood shocked for just a moment, and 
then dove forward as another blast slammed into the 
ground near his feet. Before he could get up off his 
knees, Jeska was above him and her baton was 
bearing down on his skull. Balthor smugly crossed his 
arms. 

Years with the fighting chain had given Chainer 
extremely fast hands, and Jeska had badly 
underestimated his speed. He caught her baton in mid-
swing, threw his weight backward, and tossed her 
back over his head with an assist from his boot. He 
held onto her hands, so she slammed painfully into the 
ground. Chainer released her, rolled, and came up 

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with his hands in position. There was another black 
flash, and a second dragonfly buzzed out and oriented 
on Jeska. Chainer cursed for repeating himself. 
Skellum would never let that go. Chainer pushed the 
thought of his mentor aside, saw that Jeska had not 
yet regained her feet, and squared off on Balthor. He 
scooped his dagger up off the arena floor and dared 
Balthor to come forward with it. 

The dwarf could not blast Chainer with Jeska so 
close behind, but the gem on Balthor's head was still 
glowing. The old devil was clearly waiting for 
Chainer's next casting, so he could blast it to cinders. 
Chainer kept his hands in front of him to keep the 
dwarf's attention away from the flag. Instead of giving 
him a target, 

Chainer snapped his arm out and sent a weighted 
black chain singing into Balthor's headdress. The 
weight smashed through one of the glowing gem's 
supports and knocked it off center. The gem buzzed 
and stopped glowing. For the first time since Chainer 
had laid eyes on him, Balthor looked something other 
than haughty. He looked downright nervous, maybe 
even slightly embarrassed. 

"You broke his special hat," Jeska called. "He's 
going to be furious." Despite the dragonfly darting all 
around her head, Jeska seemed savagely amused. She 
was keeping the insect at bay with her baton and a 
vicious barrage of the most obscene threats and 
language Chainer had heard outside of the city docks. 

Chainer whistled. The dragonfly broke off and 
hovered in the air between them. Chainer jerked his 
head at Balthor, and the dragonfly buzzed hungrily 
toward the angry but still shame-faced dwarf. 

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"So you're looking for your brother," Chainer said. 
Jeska was not being drawn in by his stance. She had 
seen him sling a chain at Balthor from twenty feet 
away, and she didn't seem eager to let him do the 
same to her. 

"I am. You know where he is?" 

Chainer sheathed his dagger, touched his hands 
together, and pulled a ten-foot length of chain with a 
smooth, weighted end out of thin air. He held the 
chain out for her to see, then started it dancing around 
himself. 

"I know where he went," Chainer said. 

Jeska maintained her stance, daring Chainer 
with her baton as he had dared Balthor. 

"I guess that means I shouldn't kill you," she said. 
"Tell me, and we can end this now." 

Chainer began to circle around Jeska, his weapon 
in constant motion. "Let's come to an arrangement, 
you and I," he said. "I have information you want, you 
have information I want. If you agree to share, I'll let 
you walk right past me." He looked around the arena. 
"After we put on a good show, of course." 

"I'm not making any deals with you, Cabalist," 
Jeska spat. "For all I know, that's what my brother 
did, and that's why I can't find him." 

Chainer flicked the weighted end at Jeska, who 
easily batted it aside. "He left here free and whole. I 
can tell you where he went. Will you tell me where he 
came from?" 

Jeska lunged at Chainer with her baton. He 
ducked under it, and slashed the iron pin out of her 
hair with his dagger. She looked totally shocked, then 
angrily shook her braids loose, spun her baton, and 

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charged again. 

Chainer snarled the end of Jeska's weapon with 
his and tried to jerk it out of her hands, but the 
polished wood slipped free. Jeska spun under the chain 
and tried to drive the heel of her hand into Chainer's 
nose. Chainer dodged and then missed Jeska's knee 
with the weighted end on his return stroke. They 
traded feints and then held their positions, facing each 
other. 

"Look, barbarian," Chainer said. "A show of faith. 
Your brother is competing regularly in one of the 
minor pits to the north. Kamahl is alive and well." 

Jeska paused. "What's he doing up north?" 

Chainer relaxed but didn't lower his weapon. 
"Chasing after treasure." 

"You mean I've been halfway across Otaria 
looking for him, and he's not even lost?" 

"Seems that way." 

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?" 

"For Fiers's sake, Jeska," Balthor yelled. He was 
jabbing at the dragonfly with his staff, but he seemed 
more concerned about preserving the staff than he was 
about harming the insect. "Stop babbling and finish 
this! Did you forget the rules of this thrice-damned 
farce?" 

Chainer saw realization crowd the anger out of 
Jeska's eyes. She let out an ear-splitting war cry and 
heaved her baton at Chainer's head. While he was 
distracted, Jeska stuck her gauntleted arm straight 
out and sighted down it like a crossbow at the black 
pennant. She drew a smooth red stone from her pouch 
and touched it to the gauntlet between the horns. She 
spoke one word, and the horns sparked, igniting a thin 

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stream of fire that stretched between them like a 
clothesline. Jeska drew the red stone back and 
prepared to release it toward the flag. 

"Wait," Chainer said. The gauntlet was a kind of 
slingshot, and if he didn't act quickly, Jeska would win 
the match before Chainer had gotten anything out of 
her. Chainer sent a collar chain slamming into Jeska's 
wrist and jerked her off-balance, so that she couldn't 
target the flag. 

Pulling Jeska away from her first target was a 
passably sound pit strategy, but Chainer immediately 
realized the flaw in his execution. As close as he was to 
her, once he pulled her off balance the only thing 
Jeska could fire her slingshot at was him. Jeska 
barked out an incoherent warning as the red stone 
flew. In the eight feet of space between Chainer's eyes 
and the oncoming stone, the missile transformed from 
a shiny, glasslike bead into a glowing ball of 
concentrated heat. Chainer's hands proved to be faster 
than his brain as he jerked his arms up to protect his 
face. 

His eyes slammed shut as a blast of heat burned 
his eyebrows away. He was temporarily deafened by 
the explosion, and the pain in his right arm was 
agonizing. The impact blew him back on his heels, but 
he didn't stagger or fall. 

"Held my ground, gods damn it," he heard his 
own voice say. He started to sway, his eyes still 
squinted and unfocused. He could barely make out the 
old dwarf and the brass girl as they stood, side by side, 
staring over at him. They were curious, but they were 
keeping a safe distance. 

Confused, Chainer looked at the flag, still 

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untouched. He was helpless. Why weren't they 
finishing him off or climbing the mound? 

"Do you give, Cabalist?" Chainer could see her 
shouting, cupping her hands around her mouth, but he 
could barely hear her. He recognized her tone, 
however, as that of someone who knows the fight is 
over even if nobody else does. 

Chainer reached for his dagger, and a fresh wave 
of searing pain dropped him to his knees. His left hand 
seemed fine, but his right felt thick and vague and 
clumsy. Chainer held his arm up to get a better look at 
his hand. 

"Or not," he said out loud. His right arm ended in 
a charred, smoking stump. His hand was completely 
gone, and his forearm now ended two inches below the 
elbow. 

"Damn," Chainer said. He turned his dazed eyes 
on Balthor and Jeska. He looked back at his mangled 
arm. With an amiable smile, Chainer raised his arm 
and his stump over his head. 

"I give," he said evenly. Then he collapsed face-
first onto the arena floor. The last thing he heard 
before he passed out was the sound of the horn 
signaling the end of the match. 

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CHAPTER 14 


Llawan's personal transport was a ninety-footlong 
leviathan that had been specially bred, 
engineered, and enchanted to serve as a combination 
warship and yacht. Its insides were vast and hollow, 
with compartments that could accommodate air 
breathers as well as sea creatures. Its hide was thick 
and durable, and its head was hard and bony enough 
to ram through the sides of any wooden vessel. 
Specially trained handlers sat in the fore of the 
creature's skull and steered the ship based on orders 
from the captain and the view from a huge scrying 
screen. 

The creature had clear crystalline chambers 
grafted onto its sides and back where passengers could 
dine, chat, and enjoy the view. These cabins could be 
removed or, in times of emergency, broken off to 
protect the empress and her armed guards inside. 
Though it had no offensive capabilities other than its 
ramming skull, the creature was fast enough to escape 
even the swiftest pursuers. 

Veza eyed the clear wall that separated her cabin 
from the frigid depths of the ocean. She couldn't 
drown, and they weren't deep enough for the pressure 
to be a danger, but she was still uncomfortable. 
Perhaps it was because she knew that the passengers 
in the external compartments were considered 
expendable in case of attack. 

The closer the craft got to Aboshan's territory, the 
more somber the mood became. Nobles who had 

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ignored Veza since coming on board suddenly felt the 
need to chat with her, to hear what she knew, to clutch 
at any straws she might offer. When they found she 
knew even less than they did, they moved on without 
another word. Veza was the only legged creature on 
board, at Llawan's continued request. 

Excuse me, honored guests. The voice was 
painfully loud, and echoed in Veza's head. Everyone on 
board seemed to have received the same amplified 
thought message. 

The Empress Llawan requests your immediate 
presence in the forward viewing pod. She will make a 
short address there. Please hurry. 

The gentle sense of forward motion eased, then 
stopped. The ship was no longer swimming toward 
Aboshan. There were murmurs and a few anguished 
questions, but no one knew what was in store for 
them. Were they turning around? Had they been met 
at the border by Aboshan's navy? 

The tubes that connected the external cabins 
were only wide enough for one humanoid at a time, so 
Veza and the other guests waited patiently to join the 
single-file line to the front of the craft. Veza was one of 
the last ones into the forward cabin. She stepped up to 
the doorway, which shimmered like the surface of a 
pool. She cleared her lungs and walked into the flooded 
chamber. Magic kept the water from running out into 
the hallway and flooding the next compartments. 

Llawan floated at the front of the chamber in 
complete regalia of scepter, skull-cap, and imperial 
robes. If everyone on board seemed anxious, it was 
because Llawan had commandeered all the confidence. 
Floating beside her was a small cephalid male with a 

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hood pulled up over his head. His face was impassive, 
his eyes were closed. Llawan raised her forelimb for 
silence, and the room fell quiet. 

"Noble guests and loyal friends," she said. "We 
are mere moments away from a most impressive sight. 
We had hoped to address you before the event began, 
but we fear we shall have to wait. Please remain 
silent. And . . . watch." Llawan swam back a stroke, 
and presented the forward view with a grandiose wave 
of her tentacle. 

The guests watched in hushed awe. The ocean 
stretched out before them, a vast and uniform curtain 
illuminated only by the leviathan's lights. A full 
minute ticked by, and nothing happened. 

Then across the vast expanse ahead of them came 
a deep, booming crack. Veza felt it all over her body as 
the water around her vibrated. Some of the more 
sensitive cephalids keened in pain as their delicate 
skin reacted to the trembling sound. A pinpoint of light 
flashed in the distance and grew, taking up more and 
more of the view as it came closer and closer. It was a 
frothy light, blue in color, and it boiled like a cloud of 
steam. 

"The shock wave approaches, Empress." The 
hooded cephalid did not open his eyes, but he bowed 
his head when he spoke. The phrase "shock wave" set 
off a few startled cries, but Llawan's voice rang out 
loud and clear. 

"Stay where you are," she said. "We have brought 
you here to witness, and we will keep you safe. 
Olsham," she clicked to the hooded cephalid, and he 
nodded. Olsham began to croon a low, haunting tune 
that Veza found eerily soothing. 

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"The Emperor Aboshan has just used the Mirari," 
Llawan said. "Our mind-rider Olsham has been closely 
monitoring the situation. 

His phenomenon is almost identical to the one 
which occurred ai Captain Pianna's headquarters mere 
weeks ago. Judging by the size of that—" Llawan 
pointed at the shock wave, which now filled the 
viewing window— "we would say that Aboshan's 
custody of the Mirari was no more successful than 
Pianna's." 

Llawan's guests digested this among themselves. 
Someone from the rear chirped, "So we're safe?" 

Llawan smiled. "From Aboshan? Yes. From that?" 
She pointed again. "Time will tell." She turned and 
clicked at Olsham, who bowed. The water around the 
empress swirled, and her shield defenders formed a 
rock-hard bubble with Llawan at its center. 

The cephalid mystic Olsham held one final 
syllable in his chanted song, folded all of his limbs into 
a complicated symbol-ges-ture, and slammed his beak 
shut with a clack. 

Just as the first edges of the shock wave started 
jostling the empress's craft, the hooded mystic released 
a flashing wave of energy that spread out in all 
directions. The blue-white light suffused the ship and 
its passengers just as the full force of the rampaging 
turbulence slammed through their location. Veza and 
the other guests stood amazed as water, debris, and 
the bodies of hapless creatures passed through their 
ghostly forms without meeting any resistance. It was if 
the leviathan had ceased to exist, but was looking on 
from the same vantage point. Even the water in the 
viewing chamber remained still as the storm raged 

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around them. 

Many long minutes later, when the tumult had 
died down and it was safe for the ship to move again, 
the ghostly light retracted back into Olsham. He 
unfolded his arms, adjusted his hood, and sank down 
to the chamber floor. 

Llawan clicked at him. He clicked back, though 
his voice was low and ragged. Llawan clicked, offered 
him her tentacle, and he kissed it. 

"Aboshan is dead," she said. A nervous cheer 
went up, then faded into uncertainty. Llawan smiled. 
"And the Mirari is gone from Mer. 

We are not yet certain who has it, but we are 
certain of two things. Aboshan does not have it, and 
neither does Laquatus." 

A heartier cheer went up among the members of 
Llawan's party. When the empress held up a halfhearted 
tentacle for silence, the cheer redoubled. 

"The emperor is dead," someone shouted, "long 
live the empress!" 

Veza watched the other guests take up the chant. 

"Long live the empress! Long live the empress!" 

Veza herself was relieved, but she didn't feel like 
cheering. She wondered if Llawan meant the things 
she'd said back in Breaker Bay about removing all the 
oafs and knaves. Some of each were currently onboard. 

As she looked at the room full of ambitious nobles 
and greedy oligarchs, Veza hoped she'd have a chance 
to find out. She quietly edged out of the room, away 
from the celebration and back toward her room. 

* * * * * 

Chainer stood in the courtyard of Skellum's 

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academy, carefully twirling a censer around his head 

with his new arm. 

"Say that again," he said. 

"You asked me for an update about the Mirari. I 
told you. It destroyed Pianna, destroyed Aboshan, and 
flooded half the continent." 

Chainer whistled. "Which half?" 

"Okay, a third," Skellum admitted. "Everything 
between the upper border of the Krosan and the 
southern edge of Cape Paradise is now underwater." 

"And the Mirari?" he said, as casually as he could. 

"At this precise moment in time—" Skellum made 
a show of looking at the sun's position in the sky— 
"Caster Fulla is bringing it back here to Cabal City." 

Chainer kept spinning the censer, trying to get 
used to the pseudo-sensations his prosthetic arm was 
reporting to his brain. He had heard of Fulla. She was 
merely a caster, as Skellum would say, but one of the 
best. Chainer had never seen her compete, but he had 
spoken to a few who had fought against her. They were 
all glad to have survived the experience. Fulla brought 
out some frightful beasts, they said, but Fulla herself 
was scarier still. 

"So the First was right," Chainer said. "All who 
seek the Mirari are destroyed by it." He slowed the 
censer and brought it to rest by his feet. It continued 
to pump smoke into the air around Chainer. "Except 
me." 

"And don't think he's pleased by it," Skellum said. 
"The First liked dealing with Pianna. She was a rarity 
among Order officers. She kept her word, even when 
she gave it to hedonistic infidel criminals like 
ourselves." 

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"Is the Order broken?" Chainer could not keep the 
hopeful joy out of his voice. He nodded to Skellum, and 
his mentor tossed a copper coin into the air. Chainer 
snapped the artificial arm forward and created a 
lashing chain that struck the coin cleanly and bent it 
in double. 

"Not really," Skellum said. "Bretath is still the 
highest-ranking officer on Otaria. Pianna's absence 
creates a power vacuum in this region, however, and 
there are a number of lesser officers looking to fill her 
shoes." 

"Do we at least get to bury the bird-man who 
stole Kamahl's victory?" Chainer practiced sending 
short lengths of chain out of his metal palm and 
drawing them back in again. 

"Kirtar? Yes. Dead, dead, dead. In fact, if he were 
still alive, which he isn't, he would have been named 
Pianna's replacement by acclamation." 

The air around Chainer was still thick with 
smoke. He concentrated, shuddered, and positioned his 
hands for a casting. A two-headed wolf sprang out 
from between his hands, its tail a spitting cobra that 
hissed back at Skellum. Chainer nodded, waved, and 
the wolf evaporated in mid-growl. 

"The arm seems to be working fine now." Chainer 
flexed it and examined his own wiggling fingers. "I've 
got to get used to the new feel of things, but I can do 
all the things I did before." 

"Let's hope you can't point projectile weapons at 
your own body anymore," his mentor said. "That's a 
skill you can do without." Skellum came forward and 
held out his hands. "Let me see." 

Chainer presented the arm, and Skellum looked 

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it over, poking his fingernail into what would be 
muscles and pressure points on a flesh and blood arm. 
Except for the fact that it was made of metal and the 
fingers came to needle-sharp points, Chainer's arm 
was extremely lifelike. Between the steel gray of the 
arm itself and the polished black chrome of the brace 
he wore to keep it in place, it looked like he was 
wearing a basic warrior's gauntlet instead of a 
replacement limb. 

Affixing the arm had been torture. The arm, 
which the healer kept calling a "golem limb," had to be 
magically infused with part of Chainer's life force 
before it could be grafted on. The golem arm had then 
been fused to the remaining bones and flesh of his 
stump, and despite the pain, Chainer was obliged to sit 
perfectly still for three hours while the graft took root. 

"You can scream if you want to," the healer had 
said, but Chainer denied him that particular pleasure. 
Cabal healers were well known for their ability to get 
maimed or dying people back on their feet and into the 
pits. They were not known for their comforting bedside 
manner. 

Skellum released Chainer's arm and Chainer 
looked it over again himself. Cabal healers were also 
not known for their aesthetic sensibilities. Chainer 
had seen some hideous patch jobs in the pits. People 
with lobster claws instead of hands, legs fused or 
amputated to make room for stingers or spinnerets, 
heads that in no way matched the bodies they were 
attached to. Chainer counted himself lucky to get his 
new limb. It'd be just like Skellum to stick him with 
some dead bastard's reanimated arm. Zombie 
replacement limbs were far cheaper, easier to graft, 

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and quicker to master than the metal one he was 
sporting. They tended to rot and stink, however, and 
had to be replaced at least twice a year. 

Chainer grunted suspiciously. His mentor was 
not above childishly taunting him to put him back in 
his place. But Chainer had missed a lot while he was 
convalescing, and Skellum had so far been stingy with 
details. Chainer had felt something shift each time the 
Mirari changed hands, but his senses weren't refined 
enough to tell him as much as the Cabal's informants 
could. 

"It looks good, Chainer. And try not to lose this 
one. Real arms are expensive enough, but the cost of 
replacing this one would be ruinous." He shook his 
head sadly. "You just don't have the silver." 

Chainer saw him sneak another look at the sun, 
then suddenly say, "All right. Ask me what the 
surprise is." 

Chainer had spent enough time with Skellum to 
become used to his mentor's rapid changes in subject. 
Politely, he said, "Master Skellum, what is the 
surprise?" 

Skellum waited, listening. Then the warning bell 
from the guard tower that overlooked Cabal City's port 
started ringing, audible even at Skellum's academy six 
blocks away. 

"The surprise is ... Fulla and the Mirari are 
arriving now, right on schedule. And your barbarian 
friend has been in the city for the past two days, 
waiting for them to return." He produced a small black 
towel from under his cape and offered it to Chainer. 
"Why don't you wipe off some of that sweat you've 
worked up, so you can go greet them?" 

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Chainer snagged the towel on the end of his 
pointed fingers. Careful not to dig the sharp tips into 
his face, he wiped his brow and cheeks with the towel 
and dropped it lightly onto the floor. "Thank you, 
Master. Are you coming to the docks?" "No, I'm going 
to see the First. Once he receives Fulla and the 

Mirari, he wants to see me and the Master of the 
Games. Once he's done with us, he wants to see you." 

"How long have I got?" 

Skellum shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe an hour, 
maybe less." 

Chainer took a step toward the door, but stopped. 
"Am I dismissed, Master?" 

"You are dismissed." 

Chainer took one last second to lash a chain into 
the discarded towel and haul it in to his hand. With a 
bow and a flourish, he offered the towel to Skellum 
from his artificial arm. 

"Thank you again, Master," he said. "For 
everything." 

"Go on," Skellum took the towel. "Just try not to 
lose any limbs between here and the docks." 

* * * * * 

Just as he knew where to go to get the best view 
of the incoming pit fighters, Chainer also knew where 
to go to watch ships arrive in Cabal City harbor. He 
sat in a second-story warehouse window as Fulla's 
travel fish swam up. He felt almost smug, high above 
the small crowd that had gathered to gawk at the 
amazing creature, with the best view on the pier. 

The fish was whale sized, with transparent skin 
and organs. The only visible internal structures were 

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its bones. A small dark-haired woman rode just inside 
the thing's stomach, leaning against its gullet on her 
elbows as she watched the fish swim into port. Her 
sword arm was scarred and slightly malformed, almost 
clublike. She wore a thick, short gladius on her hip 
and carried three daggers on the outside of her vest. 
Her skin was pale, her hair was short and unkempt, 
but her boots were polished and her coat well tailored. 
Apart from an extremely wild glint in her eyes, she 
carried herself at least as elegantly as Skellum did. 

Behind Fulla stood Ambassador Laquatus. He 
looked much the same as he did the last time Chainer 
saw him, only now he was not so smug or haughty. 
The voyage looked as if it had been a hard one for him. 
From the way he kept glaring at Fulla, Chainer 
guessed Laquatus would like nothing better than to 
dive straight to the bottom of the ocean with Fulla in 
tow and leave her there. 

Fulla's fish bobbed on the water near the pier for 
a moment. Inside of it, Fulla stood and then backed up 
a few paces. She got a running start, then jumped and 
waved her hands simultaneously. The fish faded from 
view while Fulla was in midair. Her leap carried her 
safely onto the docks, but the unprepared ambassador 
was dropped unceremoniously into the sea. A ripple of 
laughter ran through the crowd, but it quickly died as 
Laquatus surfaced and angrily called for assistance. 

The dock was thick with Cabalists. A handful 
stepped forward to haul the ambassador out of the 
water, but the majority hovered close to Fulla. Her 
reputation and her eerie, intense stare kept anyone 
from touching her, however, and they cleared a path as 
she walked toward the First's manor. Dripping, 

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sputtering, and largely ignored, Laquatus fell in 
behind her. 

Chainer began to scan the rest of the crowd. It 
was clear that no one would dare interfere with Fulla 
on her way to the First, and Chainer felt confident 
that the Mirari was safe for as long as Fulla held onto 
it. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of Kamahl, but 
there was no sign of the big barbarian anywhere on 
the docks. It wasn't until he looked higher than 
himself that he found Kamahl. 

Like a mountain goat, Kamahl had scaled the 
outside of a building directly across the alley from 
Chainer and was watching the Mirari arrive from the 
roof. Chainer thought he looked too humorless. He 
seemed to have lost some of his natural joy for battle. 
Upon reflection, he couldn't blame Kamahl. They had 
both thought of nothing but the Mirari since it left 
Cabal City, but Kamahl had chased it halfway up the 
coast and back, and he still didn't have it. I haven't 
moved, Chainer thought, and in a sense it's being 
delivered back to me. He made a mental note to be 
sure and point that out to Kamahl as soon as the 
barbarian cheered up. 

With a shock, Chainer realized that Kamahl had 
spotted him. Chainer raised a hand in greeting, but 
Kamahl looked startled. Then Chainer remembered 
his arm. 

Chainer held the arm higher and flicked it, 
producing a high-pitched ding. "It's a long story," he 
shouted. 

Kamahl shrugged. He rolled his hands, indicating 
Chainer should elaborate. 

"You ever met a barbarian girl named Jeska?" 

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Chainer yelled. "Braided hair, carries a baton?" 

Kamahl nodded. 

Chainer held up his metal arm. "So did I." 

Kamahl laughed and pointed to the ground. "Tell 
me in the tavern," he shouted back. 

Chainer shook his head. "I'm on duty," he said, 
and Kamahl shrugged again. He pointed down at the 
retreating figures of Fulla and Laquatus, and then 
resumed his humorless stance as his eyes bored into 
them. 

He's here for the Mirari again, Chainer realized. 
Jeska said he couldn't stop talking about it, and 
Chainer had seen his share of addicts and obsessives 
in the pits. Kamahl's expression was somewhere 
between a man who's been wronged and a man who's 
dying of thirst. There was something he needed, 
wanted, and meant to have all at the same time. 

Chainer felt a disquieting churn in his stomach. 
He'd wanted Kamahl to have the Mirari more than Lt. 
Kirtar. But he wanted the First to have it more than 
Kamahl. He flexed his golem hand and listened to the 
metal bend. 

Chainer took one last look at his friend, then 
turned and headed down the stairs. The First probably 
had three plans for the Mirari ready and waiting to be 
implemented. It was entirely possible that neither he 
nor Kamahl would ever see the Mirari again, much 
less fight over it. It was more likely that he and 
Kamahl would fight together in the pits as Balthor and 
Jeska had. In fact, Chainer was sure the Master of the 
Games would sanction such a pairing if he requested 
it. 

Chainer picked up his pace, his good mood 

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restored. Besides, he thought, by now everyone knows 
what happened to Pianna and Aboshan. Kamahl and 
everyone else would eventually have to accept that no 
matter who won it, the Mirari belonged to the Cabal 
and would always come back to those who found it 
first. 

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CHAPTER 15 


"Ladies, gentlemen, and other," the overhead 
voice boomed. "Welcome to the main event." 

Chainer and Kamahl stood side by side, casually 
checking their weapons. Chainer loaded a charcoal 
disc into his censer and held it out to Kamahl. The 
barbarian snapped his fingers and produced a tiny, 
explosive blast of flame that engulfed the charcoal. 
Chainer let the disc drop into the censer, loaded the 
Dragon's Blood in after it, and waited for the smoke to 
begin wafting upward. 

"Much obliged," he said. Kamahl grunted and 
nodded. He was not one for pre-match chatter. 

"Tonight," the announcer continued, "they're red-
hot and blackhearted. They're going for their twelfth 
consecutive team win, a Cabal City record. They are 
the Cabal's own Chainer and Kamahl from the Pardic 
Mountains!" 

The cheers got louder with each match. Chainer 
waved his metal hand to acknowledge the crowd, but 
Kamahl ignored them. Now that he had spent some 
time with the big man in and outside of the pits, 
Chainer was getting a clear idea of the difference 
between barbarians and Cabalists. Kamahl only 
relaxed immediately after a match. Before and during, 
he hardly spoke a word and never so much as cracked 
a smile. Partnering with Kamahl had been hugely 
rewarding for Chainer, but it had also cured him of the 
notion that he should have been a barbarian. The 
mountain people were driven harder by their own 

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nature than the average Cabalist was by the sternest 
overseer. Chainer mentally thanked Skellum for 
instilling a sense of discipline, but also the good sense 
to enjoy the time between fights. 

The announcer continued to drone on. "Our 
champions have their work cut out for them tonight, 
however. The Master of the Games has sanctioned this 
match as a grudge match, one with no restrictions. The 
contest is over when all the contestants on one side 
either yield or are incapacitated." 

"I wish they would tell us these things before we 
get out here," Kamahl grumbled. 

"That's part of the fun," Chainer said. 

"Requesting the grudge match, and representing 
the Order's late, lamented northern Citadel, please 
welcome Lieutenant Devon's crusat squad!" 

Lt. Devon was another aven warrior, and though 
his wings were stunted, Chainer fully expected him to 
fly with the aid of the Order's magic. He was armed 
with a long pike. The rest of Devon's squad consisted of 
two troopers, a white-robed mage, and a huge stone 
beast with the head of a lion and the body of a ten-foottall 
man. 

While the announcer continued with the 
introductions, Kamahl leaned over to Chainer and 
said, "What's a 'crusat?' Every toy soldier I meet these 
days calls himself crusat." 

Chainer was pleased that Kamahl was actually 
speaking before a match, and that the barbarian had 
used Cabal slang to describe the Order. It made them 
seem more like a team. 

"Crusat is a kind of holy war," Chainer explained. 
"They used to declare them every year or so, back in 

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the days when they were trying to wipe us out once 
and for all. Pianna put a stop to all that, but now that 
she's gone, a few of their hard-liners have revived the 
concept." 

Kamahl grimaced. "So we're fighting a death 
match against fanatics with a spiritual grudge against 
you." 

Chainer nodded. "That's about the size of it." He 
smiled. "Should be fun, eh?" 

Kamahl grumbled. "I usually like there to be 
more of a reward waiting for me when I fight for my 
life." 

Chainer darkened. "As soon as the First offers the 
Mirari again, you'll get your chance." He nudged 
Kamahl. "What's that statue-looking thing?" Chainer 
asked. 

"They're called megoliths. Animated stone, or 
some such thing. I've fought them before." 

"Like a golem?" Chainer was eager for another 
crack at an Order golem. 

"Sort of. They aren't carved before they're 
animated like golems are. They just sort of... come into 
being in the shape they have. Watch the pieces," he 
warned. "Sometimes you can hack off a piece, and the 
piece keeps fighting." 

"Thanks," Chainer said. He gestured with his 
smoking censer. "Look, they're burning incense, too." 

Kamahl looked. "Seems more like a prayer 
ceremony to me. I think they're blessing the birdman." 


"Think that'll make him fly?" Chainer said. He 
started spinning his censer around his head. 

"Probably." Kamahl's voice had gone flat again, 

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indicating that his mind was not on the conversation. 
The prep horn sounded. The match was ready to begin. 

"You want the bird-man and the mystic or the 
statue and the toy soldiers?" 

"I'll take the statue. I want to see if it melts or 
burns," Kamahl drew his massive broadsword. "Watch 
the mage. She's not armed, so I expect she's got some 
magical surprise in store for us." 

"Done," Chainer said. The starting horn sounded. 
Devon's squad spread out, with the megolith in front 
and the troopers flanking it. The mage touched the 
lieutenant's wings, which burst into bright, glowing 
light. Devon yelled, "Attack!" and sprang into the air, 
trailing white light behind him. The mage stayed 
where she was, safely out of harm's way. 

Or so she thought. 

Chainer hardly needed the Dragon's Blood smoke 
at all anymore, but he liked starting the match with it 
because it partially hid his actions. While Devon was 
soaring overhead, looking for an avenue of attack, and 
the ground troops were marching forward, Chainer 
shuddered and unleashed a razor-clawed harpy with 
his metal arm. The filthy, screeching bird-woman 
dropped greasy feathers as it rose into the air, rushing 
to meet Devon headlong. 

Chainer then dropped his real arm down by his 
side and let a foot-long spider fall onto the arena floor. 
Chainer was sure no one noticed the arachnid as it 
scuttled to the edge of the pit and began making a 
wide arc toward the white-robed mage. In the pits, he 
thought, there is no place to avoid the match. 

Kamahl, meanwhile, had charged into the 
advancing wedge of Order members and started 

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hacking. His blade bounced off the megolith with no 
visible effect, but Kamahl was fast enough and his 
strokes wide enough to keep both foot soldiers at bay 
while he tried to find a seam in the stone thing's hide. 

Chainer's harpy was doing better than he had 
expected. It had latched onto Devon's pike below the 
blade and was using its weight to drag the lieutenant 
down to the ground while it struck at him with her 
other claws. Devon tried to pound the harpy's grip 
loose, but it only clenched tighter. Chainer thought he 
knew why the officer hadn't simply dropped the pike. 

Right on schedule, Devon waved his hand and 
cast a spell on his weapon. The point of his pike burst 
into white-hot flame, which blinded the harpy and 
seared its flesh. It screamed and reflexively released 
Devon's pike. The aven warrior promptly drove the 
weapon clean through the harpy's body. The harpy 
twitched, and Devon let gravity tear the gruesome 
husk loose. En route to the ground, the harpy 
disappeared. The crowd roared. 

Devon wasted no time in celebration. He raised 
his pike overhead, screeched out a triumphant war cry, 
and dived toward Kamahl. As Devon dived, the 
megolith caught Kamahl's blade and then lowered its 
shoulder into Kamahl's chest. Kamahl grunted and 
staggered backward, but he managed to drop one of 
the foot soldiers as he went with an elbow across the 
bridge of the nose. Kamahl was now five feet away 
from the megolith and the remaining trooper, with 
Devon bearing down on him from above. 

"Any time you're ready, partner," he shouted 
angrily. Chainer laughed, and then there was a scream 
from the Order mage at the far end of the floor. 

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Chainer's spider had leaped onto her face, and she was 
struggling to keep its inch-long fangs from piercing her 
flesh. Without the mage's assistance, Devon lost 
control of his forward motion. Instead of swooping 
down at Kamahl, Devon was now simply falling out of 
the sky. There was a ripple of laughter and applause 
from the spectators. 

"Leave the bird-man to me," Chainer readied a 
weighted chain. He whipped a smooth, rounded weight 
toward the falling aven. Devon tried to block the 
incoming chain with his pike, but he was off balance 
and out of position. The weight would have slammed 
into the point of his elongated chin, but Devon jerked 
his head aside at the last moment, and the heavy ball 
buried itself in his temple. Even Chainer winced at the 
sound. 

The rest of the squad hesitated as Devon crashed 
lifeless to the arena floor. Kamahl drew a throwing axe 
from his back, charged it, and let it fly. It slammed 
into the megolith's chest and exploded, knocking the 
megolith back a step and the remaining foot soldier off 
his feet. Kamahl weathered the blast like an oak in a 
summer squall. 

When the smoke and debris from the blast had 
settled, Chainer saw that the megolith was missing a 
huge scoop of stone from its chest. It was otherwise 
unaffected, however, and it resumed its exchange of 
blocks and blows with Kamahl. Annoyed, the 
barbarian sent a stream of liquid fire shooting from 
the end of his sword into the megolith's face, melting 
and distorting it. The stone beast pressed on. Like the 
golem that had killed Deidre, it really didn't need its 
eyes to fight. 

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Kamahl inexplicably dropped his sword then, and 
Chainer saw a look of confusion cross his partner's 
face. Both foot soldiers were on their feet again, and 
Kamahl made one last effort to pick his sword up, but 
it wouldn't budge. He was forced to dive away from it 
as the foot soldiers slashed at him with their weapons. 

Chainer saw that the mage had managed to 
neutralize the spider and was in a prayer stance once 
more. She must have done something to Kamahl's 
sword. Chainer grew angry, both at himself for going 
easy on the mage, and at her for taking advantage of 
it. He positioned both hands and sent an eighteen-foot 
long python shooting across the arena. It latched onto 
the mage's arm with its venomless fangs and quickly 
wrapped her head and torso in its crushing coils. 

Kamahl seemed angry, too, angrier than Chainer 
could remember. Most things that made Kamahl angry 
didn't last long enough to make him really angry, but 
the megolith seemed to have driven him over the edge. 
With flames shooting from his hands, he grabbed one 
of the foot soldiers by the throat and lifted him off the 
ground. The man's flesh sizzled and popped until 
Kamahl threw him into his fellow trooper, tangling 
both men into a painful, confused heap. The crowd 
oohed. Then Kamahl leaped onto the megolith and 
wrapped his huge hands around the thing's head. 

"Kamahl, get off!" Chainer shook off visions of 
Deidre and readied another weighted chain. Kamahl 
was much faster than the megolith, however. He dug 
his superheated fingers into the stone giant's jawline, 
and Chainer saw two axe-shaped bursts of red form 
inside the megolith's torso. Kamahl dropped off just as 
the megolith reached up to crush him. Kamahl dove 

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away, rolled, and conjured a large warhammer in each 
hand. He charged back at the megolith, ducked under 
its crushing fists, and brought both hammers together 
with a boom. 

There was a seismic shudder that cracked the 
stone floor, and the axes planted in the megolith's 
chest exploded. 

This blast was different from the previous one. It 
was three times as strong, for one, and doubly 
constrained by the megolith's own body and the 
powerful vibrations caused by the hammers. There 
was a muted flash and a muffled boom, and a network 
of cracks raced across the whole of its body. Smoke 
poured from its half-melted mouth. It was standing 
completely still. The crowd was silent. 

"Chainer," Kamahl called. He pointed at the 
frozen warrior. "Give that thing one last tap, will you?" 

Chainer sent his weight straight into the thing's 
chest without hesitation. The dense crystalline 
creature had been transformed by the intense heat and 
pressure of Kamahl's magic into something far more 
brittle. When Chainer's weight struck it, the husk of 
the defeated megolith shattered into a fine, white sand 
that was littered with a few larger shards of broken 
glass. 

For a moment, there was no motion or sound on 
the arena floor. The foot soldiers were unconscious, 
Devon was dead, and the megolith was dust. Even the 
mage was completely helpless in the python's grip. If 
Chainer didn't call it off, she'd soon be a meal for a 
nightmare. 

A single pair of hands started clapping from the 
stands. The applause grew, louder and louder until it 

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was a roar. The competing chants of "Chainer!" and 
"Kamahl!" began. 

"Your winners, ladies and gentlemen. . . . Chainer 
and Kamahl! This marks their twelfth consecutive 
win!" 

As the announcer prattled on, Chainer went over 
to his partner. Kamahl looked at him sullenly. 

"That was fun," the barbarian said, "but next 
time, you get the megolith." 

Chainer laughed and slapped Kamahl on the 
shoulder. "Agreed." As the crowd continued to cheer 
and chant, he took Kamahl's hand in his and raised 
them both high in the air. 

* * * * * 

Veza floated once more in the forward cabin of 
the empress's transport. She was alone, 
unaccompanied but for a handful of scribes and a 
quartet of Llawan's savage barracuda bodyguards. 
There were no air breathers on board, so all of the 
leviathan's internal and external compartments had 
been flooded for this fact-finding mission. 

Llawan moved quickly in the wake of Aboshan's 
death. She and her leviathan full of Mer aristocrats 
descended on the ruins of the imperial palace before 
the sand had settled, and she quickly installed herself 
at the hub of a rapidly spinning wheel of circumstance. 

While her servants led chants of "the emperor is 
dead! Long live the Empress!" in the public byways, 
her peers stirred up support among the rich and 
influential. Llawan herself addressed the population 
as a whole, rallying her subjects via magical broadcast 
and bulletins posted throughout the empire. Her 

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message was direct: Aboshan was dead, and his 
policies should be interred with his bones. The 
widowed empress announced a lavish funeral for her 
husband to be held at an undetermined time in the 
future. On that same day she staged a rally wherein 
all of Aboshan's informers were chained at the neck 
and driven out of the capitol, and all his secret 
surveillance files were publicly destroyed. 

While the common citizen embraced her return, 
Llawan was less popular among the merchants and 
generals. The trading sector of Mer society had never 
done better than they did under Aboshan. As long as 
the imperial transaction tax was paid in advance, 
Aboshan's government was extremely friendly to all 
forms of commerce. He controlled the trade routes to 
and from Mer population centers, and those who paid 
for the privilege were allowed to move and sell their 
goods unmolested. All others were usually attacked by 
bandits—who wore imperial uniforms—beaten, and 
robbed down to the clothes they wore. Aboshan had 
made it extremely profitable to do business with him 
and extremely dangerous to do otherwise. For the 
pragmatic capitalists of Mer, it was a comfortable 
situation, one that they were not eager to change. 

So while Llawan held meetings and exerted 
influence and tested loyalties, Veza was sent to inspect 
the newly formed Otaria Chasm. By all estimates, an 
area of over a thousand square miles of land was now 
a half a mile below the surface, and the northern tip of 
Otaria had become an island. No one had done a 
complete survey of the new sea, but there were bound 
to be some human settlements, people, and animals 
who had been caught in the catastrophe. The law of 

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the sea said that anything below the waves is Mer 
territory, however, and Llawan was eager to have this 
new addition to her empire explored, catalogued, and 
quantified. In the name of the empress, Veza was 
commanding the survey mission. 

A cephalid officer and Olsham the mystic swam 
into the chamber. "M'lady Veza," Olsham said. "We are 
approaching the chasm. It is time." 

Veza stared straight ahead. "I will return to the 
bridge once we've made visual contact." The officer 
swam out, and Veza floated alongside Olsham in 
silence while the mystic softly clicked and keened to 
himself. 

The great wound Aboshan had made in the 
above-air continent slowly materialized out of the 
murky waters ahead. Veza shook her head as 
Olsham's prayers increased in pitch and volume. The 
chasm was huge, so wide that Veza couldn't even see 
the opposite wall from where she stood. She 
remembered the shock wave that had passed through 
Llawan's transport. Whatever caused the cave-in must 
have forced millions upon millions of gallons of water 
out of the area. As soon as the initial force was spent 
and the ground had finished caving, those same 
millions of gallons had rushed in to fill the new valley. 

Olsham stopped chanting and opened his eyes. 
"Please excuse me, ma'am. I would like you to return 
to the bridge now." Veza started to object, but Olsham 
said, "Please. Go. I will perform the ritual alone." 

Veza nodded, then darted down the connecting 
chamber into the belly of the ship. The captain was 
waiting for her on the bridge. "We're ready to enter the 
chasm, ma'am. Is the spellcaster ready?" 

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"He's performing the ritual now. How long till we 
get there?" "If we maintain our present course and 
speed, about half an hour." 

"That should be plenty of time. When Olsham is 
done, this ship will be Llawan's eye, recording 
everything that passes around it. The crystal gemstone 
Olsham had installed will store it. All we have to do is 
cover the distance, and the empress will have a 
complete and detailed survey of the area." 

The cephalid captain scowled. "I hope it's going to 
be that easy, ma'am. Any idea what we're going to find 
in there?" 

Veza shook her head. "But," she added, "nobody 
does. That's why we're here." 

* * * * * 

Olsham completed his telemetry ritual and 
teleported himself back to Llawan City shortly before 
the leviathan entered the chasm. The ship and the 
crew were in top form, and they made excellent 
progress through the first two-thirds of the sunken 
zone. 

Veza knew the ship was collecting and 
transmitting volumes and volumes of information back 
to the empress, but as far as she could see, the canyon 
contained little more than a strong current and its own 
stark, rugged beauty. The forward chamber 
commanded impressive views of sunken rock 
formations and a remarkably wide assortment of 
colorful seaweed and small fish. She would have to 
study the data she had gathered, but unless there was 
some hidden treasure, the chasm was little more than 
a scenic cruise. 

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"What in nine hells is that?" 

Veza had been spending most of her time on the 
bridge with the captain, helping him plot the best 
course for the empress's purposes. The scrying screens 
weren't as picturesque as the forward cabin, but the 
screens could provide a view in any direction. 
Currently, they were looking forward and starboard, 
where a large, shadowy form was coming straight at 
them. 

"It's a large animal, sir," one of the crew called 
out. "Undetermined species." 

"Captain," Veza said. "Is it a natural 
phenomenon? Could a large predator already have 
staked out a territory this far in?" 

The captain shrugged. "It's possible. Change 
course." 

"It's still closing, sir. Captain, I think it's a razor 
ray." 

The captain nodded grimly. "I think you're right." 

On screen, the huge, black manta grew larger and 
larger. It was almost as large as the leviathan, with 
bony spines alongside its head that jutted forward like 
horns. Its tail ended in a curved barb like a scorpion's 
and had two red poison sacs visible at the base. Veza 
knew these vicious animals had first been bred 
hundreds of years ago, when the dominant sea powers 
all employed living warships. 

The rays had become more specialized and 
horrible since then. Most leviathans had an innate 
primal fear of the rays, so that even they avoided being 
gored or envenomed, and even the larger ships often 
panicked and quit the field. 

"Can you give me a better view of its markings?" 

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Veza said. 

"What for? Get out of my way, woman." 

Veza caught the captain by the shoulder. 
"Captain," she said. "This is still my mission." 

Grudgingly, the captain ordered a closer view of 
the razor ray. The monster's wings had been dyed 
royal blue, and its two longest horns had been capped 
with silver. Across its belly, it bore the Mer characters 
for "land" and "sea" all emblazoned over by a huge 
stylized letter 'L.' 

"Laquatus," Veza said. Then, in a louder voice, 
"Empress, if you can hear me—Laquatus got here 
first." 

* * * * * 

The leviathan's handlers screamed a split second 
before the ship rolled violently. 

"We're hit, sir," called a crewmember. "A second 
razor ray just stung the carapace around the head. The 
leviathan was not hurt." 

"She's panicking!" one of the handlers cried. "Do 
something!" 

The ship launched into escape speed before the 
captain even gave the order. The cephalid handlers on 
the creature's brain were straining to keep her from 
fleeing at top speed until she was too tired to swim any 
farther. 

"Evasive action!" the captain yelled. "Go, 
helmsman, go!" The leviathan surged away from the 
second ray, which followed close behind. Farther on, 
the first ray remained out of the chase and out of 
harm's way. 

"Can we outrun them?" Veza asked. 

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"For a short time, but we'll get tired first." 

"Can we fight?" 

The captain shook his head. "We can ram them, 
but their stingers won't miss again. They only need 
about five seconds of con-tact to kill a ship this size." 

Veza looked hard at the screen, then back at the 
captain. "How deep are we?" 

"Doesn't matter. They can go as deep as we can." 

"I don't want to go deeper. I want to go up." 

The captain clicked something derogatory. "This 
is a deep sea vessel, ma'am." 

"I know captain. But it's also a fish. Is this fish 
agile as well as fast?" 

"She can turn back on herself without missing a 
stroke." 

"Glad to hear it. Tell me, then, does this fish . . . 
breach?" 

Realization sparked in the captain's eye, and he 
smiled at Veza. "Helm," he called. "Point the nose 
straight up. Maximum possible speed." He swam over 
to the ship's handlers to make sure they understood 
precisely what was expected of them. 

The leviathan lurched and shot up though the 
chasm waters toward the surface. To Veza, it felt like 
gravity had shifted ninety degrees. 

"Give me an aft view." The screen showed the ray 
close behind, accelerating to keep up with the 
leviathan's sudden burst of speed. 

"We're almost at the surface, sir." 

"Forward view." The screen now showed the 
surface, rushing toward them like a great liquid field. 

"Maintain course and speed. On my mark, I want 
this vessel tucked and pointed straight down, back at 

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the water." 

"Aye, sir." The leviathan broke the surface and 
shot high into the air. The screen showed a huge wash 
of spray and painfully bright sunshine. Clouds in the 
sky rolled around the screen. 

"Everyone hang on. Mark!" 

Guided by her handlers, the ship wrenched itself 
into a U, then snapped back into its streamlined shape 
with its nose pointed downward. Veza, two 
crewmembers, and a handler were tossed around the 
bridge like beans in a can. Gravity quickly overcame 
the ship's motion, and the leviathan dropped back 
toward the sea. 

Below, the razor ray had stopped just below the 
surface, confused about its prey's disappearance. The 
viewscreen showed a massive shadow fall over the 
submerged ray just before the leviathan's bony 
carapace came crashing down on it—with all twenty 
tons of leviathan behind it. 

The scrying screen went black until the captain 
barked, "Aft view." 

Behind them, the remains of the razor ray were 
no longer recognizable as anything that had ever been 
alive. A small cheer went up. 

"Back to your stations!" the captain said. Before 
the crew could regain control of the leviathan, 
however, a blue-green beam lanced out of the second 
ray, the one with the silver horns. The beam splayed 
across the length of Llawan's transport, though there 
was no immediate reaction. 

"Resume evasive action. Helm, get us deeper into 
the chasm." 

"Helm is not responding, sir." 

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The captain swore. "Handlers?" 

One of the robed cephalids swam up. "The ship is 
entangled, sir. She is blocked on all sides and cannot 
move." 

"Damn." He looked angrily at Veza. 

"What's wrong?" 

"He's tangled us in sargassum. Whatever that 
spell beam was, it covered us in enough seaweed to 
choke this vessel dead in the water." 

Veza struggled to think of something, anything, 
that would help them. She was interrupted by 
Laquatus's amplified voice. 

"Greetings, Mer survey vessel. This is Laquatus. 
Prepare to be boarded." 

The captain lowered his head, then lashed out at 
the console before him. Veza steeled herself for a 
reunion with the ambassador. On the screen, a half-
dozen more vessels and behemoths swam into view, 
each wearing the ambassador's standard. 

"And if the empress is by chance on board," 
Laquatus said, "let me add a hearty 'welcome' from the 
next Emperor of Mer." 

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CHAPTER 16 


Kamahl and Chainer stood before the First, in 
the public reception hall of the manor. The First was 
dressed formally, with full robes and headdress, and 
he sat on a tall throne surrounded by his hand and 
skull attendants. Skellum stood beaming between the 
First and the fighters with the Master of the Games 
behind him. 

"Twelve wins in a row," the First said. "Quite 
impressive." 

"Thank you, Pater." Chainer said. He nudged 
Kamahl. 

"Right. Thanks." The barbarian was clearly 
uncomfortable in such a fine room. He looked longingly 
at the door. 

"But now, I'm afraid, the winning streak must 
end." "Of course, Pater." "What?" 

Skellum and Chainer glanced at Kamahl. The 
barbarian was genuinely confused, on the point of 
becoming angry. 

"It's all for the best," the Master of the Games 
said. "We're going to put you two up against another 
crusat squad from the Order. They'll win, become 
bolder, and start sending more teams into Cabal City. 
People are nervous with all the changes in leadership 
around here. They like seeing simple fights they can 
understand and root for. A barbarian and a Cabalist 
going up against toy soldiers, over and over again. You 
win some, they win some. It's familiar to crowds. 
Comfortable." 

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"I agree," Kamahl said, "but I don't lose on 
purpose." 

"We're the house team," Chainer spoke quickly to 
fill in the uncomfortable silence. "And the house never 
loses. Not in the long run." 

Kamahl made a rude noise. "That's dreck. If you 
don't win, you lose. Period." 

"Would it help," the First said calmly, "to think of 
this as a strategic withdrawal? You'd be letting the 
Order have a small victory, so that you can secure a 
larger one later?" 

Kamahl shook his head. "I don't fight to lose. I 
don't think I know how." 

The First steepled his fingers. "Not even if the 
larger victory we're waiting for includes the Mirari?" 

Chainer and Kamahl both perked up at the 
mention of the arti-fact's name. The Mirari hadn't 
been offered as a prize since Fulla brought it back from 
Mer. 

"You're planning another Mirari games, Pater?" 

"Yes, my child. And soon." 

"But we need the right kind of build-up," the 
Master of the Games broke in. "The Order has to feel 
there's a chance of them winning. If they take down 
our best two-man team, they'll be sure to come back." 

Kamahl shook his head again. "No deal." Chainer 
shot Skellum an agonized look, but Skellum could only 
look back with sympathy. 

"Forgive us, honored guest," said the Master of 
the Games, "but the team of Kamahl and Chainer is 
going to lose their next bout. It has been arranged." 

"Then the team of Kamahl and Chainer will not 
compete." Kamahl glanced at Chainer, then spoke to 

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the First. "You have been an excellent host, Cabal 
First, but I am from a different tradition. I'm here to 
fight. I'm here to win the Mirari with strength, speed, 
and skill. When you decide to offer it up, I will be 
ready to work for it. But until then, count me out of 
these games you play to increase the audience and 
drive up the odds." 

The Master of the Games started to speak, but 
the First interrupted. "I am truly sorry you feel that 
way." 

"As am I. I mean no offense, but I was raised and 
trained never to do less than my best." 

"You are a barbarian of principles," the First said. 
"But if you are not going to support our agenda for the 
next games, I'm going to have to ask you to excuse 
yourself. We have Cabal business to discuss." 

Kamahl nodded, glanced at Chainer, and then 
stomped out, his heavy boots echoing down the hall 
with each step. 

When the footsteps had gone, Chainer said, 
"Forgive him, Pater." "There is nothing to forgive. He 
is set in his ways, and we must find someone else to 
fight in his place. I only regret that we won't be able to 
rely on him as an ally." "He is still our ally, Pater. He 
just—" 

"Chainer," Skellum interrupted. "We're not here 
to discuss your unwilling partner." 

Chainer's face fell. "No, Master." 

"Master of the Games," the First said. "Can 
Chainer alone deliver the result we're seeking?" "Yes, 
Pater." 

"Master Skellum. Is your pupil ready to provide 
that result? And will he survive it?" 

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"Yes, Pater." Chainer and Skellum spoke 
together. "Nothing fancy," the Master of the Games 
told Chainer. "Just get in there and roll over. It doesn't 
need to be a good fight, it just needs to be an Order 
victory." 

"Understood," Chainer said. 

"Master of the Games, you are dismissed." 

"Thank you, Pater." She slipped quickly out of the 
room. 

Chainer stood nervously before the First. Skellum 
fiddled with his hat beneath his arm. The First 
watched them both through steepled fingers. 

"You have something to add, Master Skellum?" 

Skellum cleared his throat. "I do, Pater. Chainer 
has made excellent progress as a caster. There is only 
one more thing I can teach him, one more lesson before 
he graduates from my academy." 

Chainer fought off a gulp of surprise. This was 
news to him. 

"This would be the dementist's shikar you've 
mentioned?" 

Skellum began to walk back and forth, between 
Chainer and the First. "Yes, Pater. It is a rite of 
passage. A spiritual journey combined with a physical 
trial." He pulled himself up to his full height and spoke 
with as much dignity as he could muster. "It is 
something that separates dementists from mere 
casters." 

"I am familiar with the ritual. Yours was a great 
success, if I'm not mistaken." 

Skellum beamed. "Thank you, Pater." 

"And you believe your student is ready for this 
trial." 

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Scott McGough 

"I do, Pater. As his mentor, I would want to 
accompany him. For the last time, of course. When we 
return from shikar, there will be nothing left for me to 
teach him." 

"How long does it take?" 

"Two days to walk to the site. Three days of trial. 
Two days to return." 

The First considered. "Very well. As soon as 
Chainer discharges his obligation with the Order, you 
and he will take a leave of absence from the pits. You 
will experience shikar." 

"Thank you, Pater." 

"Thank you, Master," Chainer whispered. 
Skellum glared at him, but winked also. 

"There is one final thing," the First said, 
"concerning the Mirari. Doubtless by now you are both 
aware that my predictions came true. The Mirari led 
to major upheavals in both the Order and Mer, and 
then it came back to us. I made one error, however. I 
expected the past few months to thin the field, as it 
were, but just the opposite is true. More and more 
people are following its trail, which will lead them 
here. This is both good and bad for the Cabal. Even as 
we speak, the crusat death squads are reforming in an 
effort to drive us out of our strongholds. Cabal City, 
Aphetto ... even our minor pits in no-name villages are 
being targeted. They make the same old claims. We 
corrupt the innocent, mock the law, and generally 
impede the Order's righteous progress. 

"The era of coexistence is over. When you return 
from shikar, you both will assist me in neutralizing the 
crusat threat." "With pleasure, Pater." 

Skellum whispered teasingly to Chainer, "A 

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dementist at last." "Ambassador Laquatus also 
continues to seek the Mirari. Today he contacted one of 
the crusat officers to sound him out for an alliance 
against us. It would be best if we could fix his 
attention elsewhere while we sort out the Order 
problem ourselves." "We could postpone shikar, Pater." 

"No, Skellum. Chainer's apprenticeship is over. 
It's time we made that official." 

"You have something in mind, Pater?" 

"I do. Since Laquatus will not stop complicating 
the situation until he gets a crack at the Mirari, I will 
announce the next games immediately. They will be 
held in three month's time, to coincide with the 
anniversary of the founding of Cabal City. The Mirari 
will be the grand prize, awarded to the strongest 
fighter in the pits. Laquatus is currently in need of a 
thrall. Apparently his amphibian was killed along with 
Aboshan. With the games scheduled, he will redouble 
his efforts to find a replacement thrall. This alone 
would not be enough to occupy a busy mind like 
Laquatus's, but this on top of... other circumstances I 
have yet to arrange ... it will more than suffice. 

"Chainer, I want you to meet with the 
ambassador to determine what sort of creature he 
wants. Promise him anything, but do nothing without 
my permission. In three days you and Skellum will 
begin the shikar. We will ask Laquatus to wait until 
you return before you create this new thrall for him." 

"Laquatus will have more and better options for 
his thrall after Chainer experiences shikar," Skellum 
said. 

"So much the better. Chainer. You have been a 
valued and trusted servant of the Cabal. Are you ready 

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Scott McGough 

to be rewarded and carry our cause even further?" 

"I am, Pater." 

"Outstanding." 

The First waved his hand dismissively. "The 
Cabal is everywhere," he said, "and so are my 
thoughts. You may leave me now to my meditation, my 
children." 

The First watched Skellum and Chainer go 
through dry, milky eyes. Before they were even out of 
the room, his thoughts folded in on themselves as he 
dissected each infinitesimal bit of information. 

Apart from Kamahl's refusal, everything was 
right where the First wanted it. The barbarian was 
absolutely devastating in combat and always made for 
a good show. He was also useful as an influence on 
Chainer. Skellum was in danger of spoiling the boy, 
blunting his killer instinct. Kamahl encouraged that 
rough, pragmatic side of Chainer, qualities he was 
going to need over the next three months. 

The First came back to himself. Yes, the longer he 
considered it, the more sure he became. Skellum 
should stand aside and let Kamahl complete Chainer's 
training. With his mentor at his side, Chainer would 
simply become another Skellum. Teamed with 
Kamahl, he would return from shikar as the ancient 
ritual intended, as a hunter. A predator. A dangerous 
adversary and a valuable friend. 

The First waved and a skull attendant came 
forward. "The mentor must set his pupil aside," he 
said, and the attendant copied the words onto a tablet 
she wore on a cord around her neck. 

A knock sounded from outside the chamber. The 
First called, "Enter," and a hand attendant came 

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Chainer’s Torment 

forward bearing a silver mirror on a silk pillow. The 
First waved the attendant forward, and the shuffling 
man ascended the throne. He held the mirror up to the 
First's face, abjectly turning his aside. 

In the mirror, a cephalid's face filled the screen. 
"Hail to you, Cabal Patriarch." 

"You honor me, Empress Llawan. How fares the 
empire?" "It fares well. Have you considered our 
proposal?" "I have, Empress. I have not yet reached a 
decision." "But you will continue to extend your ... 
hospitality to Ambassador Laquatus?" "As we agreed." 

Llawan turned one eye to the mirror. "And the 
Cabal will remain neutral as we transition back into 
public service?" 

"The Cabal has no interest in the internal affairs 
of the Mer empire," the First assured her. "Our 
relationship with all concerned parties is merely 
professional." 

"Very well," Llawan pulled back, framing her face 
in the mirror. "But remember that relationships with 
the deep are not like those on dry land. You don't build 
a relationship like a house, you ride it like a wave. The 
wave is always changing, always moving. You must be 
very careful when you get off, or on." 

The First smiled graciously. "Words I have 
already taken to heart. We have far more in common 
than you suspect, Empress." "We hope so, Patriarch. 
We hope so." Llawan's image faded. The First 
dismissed the mirror-bearing attendant, steepled his 
fingers under his chin, and sat in silent meditation for 
a time. When he next moved, it was to speak to his 
attendants. "Send for the Master of the Games." 

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* * * * * 

"Veza," Laquatus said. "This is truly a most 
unexpected surprise. I came to collect the empress's 
survey data. I didn't expect to collect her pet mermaid 
as well." 

The captain and crew had resisted when 
Laquatus removed the recording crystal, but they were 
easily subdued by the ambassador's human 
mercenaries. Each, had been armed and enchanted for 
underwater work, and Veza recognized several pirate 
clan tattoos among them. There was also some kind of 
living statue that had taken Turg's place at Laquatus's 
side. 

"Take Director Veza to my ship," Laquatus said. 
"Bind the others and put them in the brig. I want this 
leviathan gutted and towed back to where it came in." 

"Can we feed 'er to the rays, sir?" 

"By all means. But save the head carapace. Hang 
it at the mouth of the chasm as a warning." Laquatus 
followed Veza as she was led out. She saw him whisper 
something to the purple statue, and the statue nodded, 
then stayed behind. 

They led her to Laquatus's ray, where they untied 
her wrists and feet and locked her in a chamber. 
Before too long, Laquatus himself came to join her. 

"I must apologize," he said, "but we are inches 
away from a fullblown civil war. I had actually hoped 
the information from your survey would calm some of 
the passions that are running so high. Alas, it seems 
that this chasm is another item Llawan and I must 
quarrel over." He stared hard at Veza. "Have you 
become more fluid, my dear, as I suggested?" 

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"If you mean, am I ready to join your side, the 
answer is no." 

"I don't think you've thought this through, so I'll 
give you another chance to answer." Laquatus leaned 
forward to clear a floating strand of hair out of Veza's 
face, but she swatted his hand aside. He smiled. 

"Why are you so loyal to the empress? She sent 
you into harm's way through sheer ignorance. She is 
not worthy of your loyalty. And besides, she holds no 
such love for you or any of our kind." " 'Our kind,' 
Ambassador? What is our kind?" "The adaptable," he 
said instantly. "Those of us who can respond quickly to 
changing circumstances. Those of us who continually 
define ourselves." He crouched next to her where she 
sat. "Let me help you, Veza. Trust in me half as much 
as you trust in Llawan, and I will never abandon you, 
as she has." "Llawan has not abandoned me." 

"Hasn't she?" Laquatus brought a blue mirror out 
of his robe. He held it before his face and said, 
"Empress Llawan?" 

The empress's face soon appeared. "What do you 
want, pretender?" "I have captured your spy vessel in 
Otaria Chasm. Your ship and its crew will be executed 
at dawn." 

"If you damage a single scale on our leviathan," 
Llawan raged, "we will crucify you on the ocean's 
floor." 

Laquatus glanced at Veza, making sure she was 
listening to the exchange. "What's that, Your Majesty? 
No concern for the crew?" "If you have taken our crew, 
then they are already dead." "Not at all, Empress." He 
turned the mirror to face Veza. "Your valued advisor 
from Breaker Bay is chatting with me now." Laquatus 

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Scott McGough 

gave the two women the briefest glimpse of each other 
before turning the mirror back to his own face. "Will 
you barter for her life, at least?" 

"We grow weary of your voice, Laquatus. If you 
have a point, make it." 

"A trade. The leviathan and the mermaid in 
exchange for the chasm." 

Llawan clicked angrily. "No. We are sorry to lose 
our leviathan and our friend Veza. But we will come 
for their bodies soon, Laqua-tus, and when we do, you 
will surely fall. This audience is over." Laquatus 
smiled at the darkened glass and casually placed the 
mirror back in his robes. He closed his eyes for a 
moment, then turned to Veza. 

"I'd say you are officially abandoned, Director. So 
now, the question is to you." A knock sounded, and 
Laquatus's featureless man came in with a heavy sack 
over his shoulder. 

"Will you take my hand and help the Mer empire 
reach the very pinnacle of its power and prestige?" He 
took the sack from his servant. "Thank you, Burke. 

"Or will you remain loyal to Llawan, who has 
endangered and abandoned you?" Laquatus opened the 
sack and pulled it away from its contents. The heads of 
the leviathan's bridge crew floated freely in the 
chamber between Laquatus and Veza. "I apologize for 
the rudeness of the message, but the question is 
pressing. Who shall you serve?" 

Veza looked at the ghastly display, then Burke's 
expressionless face, then Laquatus's confident smile. 

"If the chasm has a hidden value," she said, "I can 
help you secure it." 

"Excellent." Laquatus extended his hands, and 

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Chainer’s Torment 

Veza rose to take them. "We should begin at once." 

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Scott McGough 

CHAPTER 17 


Skellum made the short walk from the manor to 
the academy. He was looking forward to his dinner, 
but he was looking forward to the shikar with Chainer 
even more. He had trained dozens of young Ca-.balists, 
one at a time, and he was usually somewhat 
melancholy at this stage of the program. The vast 
majority of his students never went on shikar. Instead, 
they were hurled into the pits as soon as they could 
reliably create monsters, an arrangement that served 
the Cabal's needs for warm bodies in the pits far better 
than it served Skellum's perfectionist nature. Chainer, 
however, would be his crowning achievement as a 
Master Dementist. 

The First had meddled, as he always did, but 
Skellum knew that in this case the First's interest was 
well justified. He had something special in mind for 
Chainer from the very beginning, and though Skellum 
could only guess at what that might be, he was proud 
to have been a part of it. He was proud of his student, 
proud of his program, and proud of himself. 

The Master of the Games was waiting outside of 
Skellum's office with a fixer Skellum recognized as 
Louche and a pair of hulking stalkers. 

"The Cabal is here," Skellum called. 

"Do you recognize this seal?" The Master of the 
Games stiffly handed Skellum a scroll with an ornate 
wax seal on it. 

"It's from the First." 

"Read it, please." 

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Skellum took the scroll and scanned it. It was a 
short statement, and it didn't take him long. He read it 
twice, then looked up at the Master of the Games. 

"Is this a joke?" 

"No joke, Master Skellum. The First has 
requested you to take your student's place in the pits 
this evening." 

"But I'm not a—" 

"He knew you would understand." 

Skellum's ire began to rise, and the Master of the 
Games took a step back. 

"I will see the First now," Skellum said. He 
looked up at the stalkers, one a saber-toothed ogre and 
the other a half-zombified merman with three 
crushing octopus tentacles on each shoulder instead of 
arms. The ogre, still alive and alert, took a step back 
from the smaller man's glare. 

"Very well," said the Master of the Games, and 
she hurled a handful of grayish powder in Skellum's 
face. His hat blocked most of it, but enough got 
through to cover his eyes and clog his nose and throat. 
Skellum swooned but did not fall. With his cape 
wrapped around his arm, he took two staggering steps 
forward, as elegantly as he could, and pressed his back 
against the wall. Then he slid to the floor, unconscious. 

* * * * * 

"Forgive me, Master Skellum." The First stood 
alone in his private chambers, surrounded by black 
candles. Skellum straightened his cape and got to his 
feet. 

"I'm afraid I really must insist," the First was 
saying. "You must trust in me. This will be for the 

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best." 

"But I've done nothing wrong. I've been a valued 
and loyal servant all my life." 

The First came forward. "And you shall remain 
so, even after death." 

Skellum looked around the darkened room. It was 
far too lonely and silent without all the guards and 
attendants. 

"Pater," he said. "I don't understand." 

"You don't have to, my son. I do." The First 
offered his hand to Skellum, and the dementist 
recoiled. 

"Go ahead," the First urged. "None of this is real, 
and no harm can come to you." 

"Pater, I—" 

"Take my hand, Cybariss." 

Skellum woodenly stepped forward and took hold 
of the First's cold, gray fingers. There was no pain. 
There was no stench. None of the things that were 
rumored to occur when someone touched the First 
happened. 

"You see?" The First smiled. He pulled Skellum in 
close in a full, two-armed hug. 

"Go now," the First whispered. "Obey me. Honor 
the Cabal, and serve Kuberr." 

"I will, Pater." 

"Outstanding." 

The First released his hand, and Skellum fell 
back, into a soft, silent void of darkness and mist. 

* * * * * 

"Master Skellum." 
Skellum opened his eyes. Louche, the Master of 


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the Games, and the stalkers were looming over him. 

"Are you ready to go now?" 

"I am," Skellum said. He gave his hat a test spin 
and gracefully rose to his feet. He brushed a few 
imaginary bits of fluff from his cape as they led him 
out the front door and back toward the pits, keeping 
his head high, his eyes clear, and his pace measured. 
He was determined that no one who saw him would 
have the slightest idea that he was a prisoner. 

* * * * * 

"Ladies and gentlemen, making his triumphant 
return to the Cabal City pits . . . Master Skellum!" 

Skellum stood alone in the pits. At least they 
hadn't called him "caster." 

"Joining Skellum, and fresh from her recent tour 
of the deepest parts of the Mer empire . . . Caster 
Fulla!" 

The crowd cheered and hooted as Fulla stalked 
angrily out onto the pit floor. Skellum knew her, of 
course. She was one of the best casters ever to take the 
floor, but they moved in different circles, and he had 
rarely interacted with her. By reputation, she was 
either manic from the joy of battle, or she was playful 
like a mischievous child. Today, she just seemed 
annoyed. 

"Skellum?" she said. 

"Fulla." 

"What in nine hells is going on? I wasn't 
scheduled to go back in the pits until tomorrow." 

"It seems we have been chosen to throw this 
match with the Order." 

Fulla scowled. "The First is wise. But I thought 

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you didn't do this sort of thing." 

"I don't." Skellum spun his hat as the announcer 
introduced the competition. 

". . . and their opponents, here to expose the 
Cabal's weakness and corruption . . . and in the 
process, earn a slot in the upcoming Mirari games, I 
present Major Teroh, Sergeant Baankis, and Justicar 
Gobal of the Order!" 

The crowd booed, and Skellum blinked behind his 
spinning hat. "Did he say 'Baankis?' " 

"Who cares? I just want to get this over with." 
She drew her sword, ran her thumb along its edge, and 
said, "Say, what's a jus-ticar?" 

"Tonight, the Order team will be joined by 
Yewma the druid and her mandrill wolf-monkeys. 
Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, place your 
bets." 

Skellum noticed that Fulla's wide eyes were such 
a light shade of blue that they almost seemed white. 
Then he realized she had asked him a question, and he 
glanced across the pit at the Order team. He 
recognized Teroh and Baankis, despite the thin beard 
Baankis had grown and the new insignia on his robes. 
The justicar stood ramrod straight on Baankis's left. 
He was a tall, muscular, partially armored figure 
whose face was hidden behind a gleaming helm and 
visor. Yewma was tall and wiry and carried a gnarled 
staff made of what appeared to be an entire sapling 
with the roots trimmed off. She wore the roots wound 
tightly around each forearm like a pair of wooden 
gauntlets. Yewma stood next to a large wooden box 
that had small, barred windows on each side. The box 
shook and rattled as the creatures inside jostled one 

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another and screamed. 

"I don't know what a justicar is," Skellum said, 
"but it looks kind of like a knight." 

The prep horn sounded after the announcer's 
final word, and Skellum spun his hat again. He 
achieved a dementia trance by juxtaposing images of 
the world around him with the darkness provided by 
his hat. Then he projected his own internal landscape 
onto the darkness and spun the hat faster until the 
world within merged with the world without. When 
that happened, his head became an actual doorway 
through which he could release his monsters. 

In this case, however, he had too much to keep 
track of in the real world. There were too many 
opponents for Skellum to find the footing he needed to 
go into dementia space, and having Fulla as a partner 
further distracted him. Also, he couldn't clear his head 
of thoughts of Chainer. I'm going to die, he realized, 
even though I'm rich and handsome. Even though 
there will be no one to protect my prize student. 

The starting horn sounded. Fulla let out a yell, 
Yewma opened her box, and the toy soldiers drew and 
advanced. 

The druid had unleashed eight large, baboonlike 
primates, each over seventy pounds and armed with a 
long canine snout capable of crushing stone. Colorful 
fur wreathed their heads and shoulders, and they 
screamed like lunatics turned loose in a graveyard. 
They were the wild predators of the deep woods, 
chasing down their quarry and tearing it to pieces as 
an organized pack. Skellum wasn't sure what Yewma 
had bewitched them with, but the druid was careful to 
leap out of their line of sight once she had opened the 

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box. 

Skellum spun his hat faster and faster. It was the 
only weapon he had. Fulla, meanwhile, had created a 
zombified rhino and a small, hissing hydra. The rhino 
charged directly at the Order trio, but she had to drive 
the hydra forward with her sword before it joined the 
battle. 

When the rhino was twenty feet away and 
closing, the justicar raised his hands over his head and 
clapped them together. A bolt of the purest white 
lightning leaped from the point of contact to the 
rhino's body and the zombified hulk literally exploded, 
raining fetid flesh all over the arena. Fulla swore and 
charged forward herself, driving the hydra as she 
went. 

The largest mandrill came straight at Skellum, 
while the others formed an attack column behind him. 
Two of the group broke off and circled wide around 
him on either side, and the main body slowed to allow 
them to get into position for an all-out assault. They 
never stopped whooping and screaming. 

Skellum's view of the arena started to shudder 
and melt, the first signs of the trance. He opened his 
eyes wider, never more desperate to find that other 
world within and disappear inside. 

* * * * * 

Chainer waited outside the First's chamber until 
a hand attendant came to admit him. He had never 
been alone with the First before, and he was eager to 
make a good impression without Skellum to run 
interference for him, or Kamahl to cover for. Of course, 
the First was always surrounded by his attendants, 

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but once you got used to them it was easy to overlook 
them as separate entities. 

Inside the chamber, Chainer was disappointed to 
see someone other than the First and his attendants 
waiting. He was a tall man, slightly blue, with small 
silver horns. Chainer recognized him but waited for 
the formal introduction. 

"Ambassador Laquatus of Mer," the First said, 
"meet Chainer, one of our best dementists-in-training." 

Laquatus looked Chainer over and disdainfully 
held out his hand, knuckles up, for Chainer to take. 
"Charmed." he said. 

Chainer slapped his metal hand on top of the 
merman's and his other hand below. He forced the 
ambassador's hand perpendicular to the floor and 
shook it vigorously, disarranging the ambassador's 
carefully wrapped robe. 

"The pleasure's all mine, Ambassador." Laquatus 
quickly withdrew his hand as soon as Chainer released 
it. Chainer smiled pleasantly at the merman. 

"We were just discussing the future of Otaria," 
the First said. "Grand stuff, but it has to start 
somewhere. Ambassador Laquatus and I are starting 
it here and now." 

"The Mer Empire is the sea, " Laquatus said, 
"and Cabal City is a port city. We have always had 
much in common." 

The First scowled slightly but went on. "But not 
enough in common, unfortunately. I was just 
describing how the crusat raids have begun again and 
how disruptive they are to business." 

"The Mer Empire is always concerned about 
maintaining the flow of commerce between the land 

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and the depths." 

The First waited patiently for Laquatus to finish. 
"But not concerned enough," he added. 

"You have to understand, Patriarch," Laquatus 
said, "the Empire has a long, solid relationship with 
the Order. They aren't like you. They don't have a 
single ruler who speaks for them all with a single 
voice. While one division prepares for crusat, the 
others are merely trying to rebuild. Morally and 
economically, I cannot turn my back on the entire 
Order." 

Chainer choked back a snort when the 
Ambassador said, "morally," and he saw the shadow of 
a smile on the First's lips, too. 

"I would never ask you to do something so drastic 
as to turn your back on the entire Order," the First 
said. "Indeed, even we don't want the Order to be 
wiped out entirely. Do we, Chainer?" 

"No, Pater," Chainer's tone belied his words. "Not 
at all." 

"We simply want there to be peace between our 
two groups. Civilized people don't kill each other 
because of philosophical differences. I was hoping I 
could convince the ambassador to join us in censuring 
the Order. Lodging official protests over the crusat. 
Demanding restitution from Bretath, if he ever returns 
to this region. Perhaps, Ambassador" the First said, "it 
isn't your relationship with the Order that needs to be 
solidified. It's your relationship with the Cabal." 

Laquatus smiled greedily. "You have something 
in mind, Patriarch?" "I do. You recently lost your 
champion, did you not? And while it served you well, 
and was formidable in combat, it was never as ... 

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refined as a man of your stature requires." 

"Turg was an excellent jack," Laquatus said. "He 
is sorely missed." "What if my young dementist here 
were to provide you with a new champion? As I say, 
he's one of our best." 

"A most generous offer," Laquatus said, "but if we 
really want to strengthen the bond between us, might 
I suggest something even more valuable?" With the 
exception of the First's attendants, everyone in the 
room knew what he meant. Chainer's fists clenched. 

"The Mirari has already been slated as the grand 
prize in the Cabal City Games, to be held three months 
from now. My apologies, Ambassador. It is no longer 
mine to offer. But please," he gestured at Chainer to 
step up, "accept a new familiar from us. As a gesture of 
good faith." 

Chainer came forward. "I can make you forget the 
frog," he said. "Tell me what you need, and the Cabal 
will produce it." 

Laquatus looked him over once more. "It must be 
powerful. Unbeatable." 

"Then it will be." 

"It must be obedient. Minimal intelligence, highly 
developed instincts." 

"Then it will be." 

"It must be mobile. Able to accompany me 
wherever I go, above ground or below the sea." "It will 
be." 

Laquatus looked to the First. "When?" 

The First smiled. "Regrettably, Chainer is 
unavailable for the next week or so. But as soon as he 
returns, he will be at your disposal." 

Chainer watched the merman building a timeline 

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in his head. "Can't he start now?" 

"Alas, no. He is still recovering from injuries 
suffered in the pits." 

Laquatus finished calculating. "A week, then. 
With your permission, Patriarch, I will stay on in the 
guest house and continue to enjoy the sights and 
sounds of Cabal City while I wait for the boy to heal." 

"Outstanding. Now, if you will excuse us, Chainer 
has a report to make." 

Laquatus was slow to leave, but the hand 
attendants gathered around him and firmly led him to 
the door. Chainer knew he could speak freely, for the 
First's attendants always escorted his guests all the 
way out into the street. Laquatus was just the kind to 
try to linger behind in order to eavesdrop. He 
shuddered, overcome by a fit of revulsion for the 
fawning politician. 

Once Laquatus was gone, the First spoke to 
Chainer casually. Not as an intimate, but as a peer. 
"I'm sorry to call you away from the pits, Caster 
Chainer, but the ambassador needed seeing to. It was 
not difficult to arrange for your replacement." 

"I am your obedient child, Pater." Chainer 
suddenly smelled Dragon's Blood. The First watched 
him with mild interest as the boy began sniffing the 
air. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"No, Pater. It's just that . . ." He sniffed again, 
absently looking behind him, above him, all around. 
"Something's . . . pulling me. Do you smell incense?" 

"This room is scented daily." 

"No, I mean . . . this room reeks of Dragon's 
Blood. Can't you smell it?" 

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"Perhaps you should take a moment to gather 
yourself, Caster Chainer. You're not making sense." 

Chainer cried out and slammed the palms of his 
hands into his forehead. He smelled the smoke, he felt 
the black sand beneath his feet, he saw the mustard 
sky. . . . 

"Chainer," Skellum's voice said. It was high 
pitched, buzzing with distortion. It cut through 
Chainer's head like a blade. 

"Skellum?" Chainer said, as the First's hand 
attendant slapped him for the third time. Chainer 
broke the man's collarbone with his metal fist, shoved 
him back, and bolted for the door. Two brawny killers 
leaped out of the shadows and took him down before 
he went four steps. 

"Don't harm him." The First spoke loudly but 
calmly. "Mazeura," he whispered, hissing the secret 
name and freezing Chainer in mid-struggle. "What is 
the meaning of this?" 

"Skellum," Chainer said. He was immobile 
beneath the weight of the First's guards and the power 
of his secret name on the First's lips. 

* * * * * 

The lead wolf-monkey stopped five feet from 
Skellum and bared its teeth. Behind it, the rest of the 
troop chattered and pounded the ground. Skellum 
himself stood with his hand raised, as if in greeting. 
With a start, the dementist master came back to the 
pit and saw the wolf-monkeys closing in. The crowd 
booed his complete lack of motion. 

Skellum stopped his hat with a gap in front. The 
leader was tensing for its charge. Skellum smiled 

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amiably. 

"Animal," he said. The leader snarled, then dove 
for Skellum's face. Before its slashing fangs could latch 
on, however, the vortex in Skellum's head boomed and 
a smoking comet erupted out of his hat and crashed 
into the wolf-monkey. It was a near-formless horror, 
all shadows and teeth, but it devoured the lead 
mandrill whole in a single bite. It hissed, and snapped 
at another wolf-monkey. Then it began to fade. 

"How are you doing, Skellum?" Fulla was 
bedeviling Major Teroh with a pair of wolf-headed 
spiders and was beating Sgt. Baankis back with her 
gladius. She crowed happily and unleashed a zombie 
centaur at the justicar. Yewma cried out in horror 
when she saw Fulla's latest contribution, and the wolf-
monkeys reoriented on the caster. 

"Better now," Skellum said, the sing-song quality 
of his voice resonating in his own head. "I've got a lot 
on my mind, however." He spat out four small comets 
in rapid succession, each transforming in midair. 
While the pack of wolf-monkeys howled and gibbered 
toward Fulla, Skellum sent a quartet of man-sized 
millipedes scurrying after them. 

Skellum saw that he had a moment's respite and 
let his mind drift away from the pits. 

"Chainer?" he called. "Forgive me, my boy, but I 
need you to see this." 

* * * * * 

Chainer swooned and found himself standing in 
the pits. There was a match going on, a busy one with 
monkeys and toy soldiers and dementia castings and 
glowing knights. Chainer's hat spun before his eyes. 

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Chainer’s Torment 

He blinked. His hat? 

"Skellum!" Fulla called. She was tossing out 
monsters left and right, but she was slowly being 
overwhelmed. 

Chainer's vision dropped, and there were 
suddenly twice as many monsters fighting with Fulla. 
She howled again, knocking one Order soldier to his 
knees and ducking under another's sword. 

"I know those two," Chainer said aloud, but he 
didn't hear his own voice. 

"I'm sorry, Chainer," Skellum's voice said in his 
head, "but I couldn't go without saying goodbye." 

"What?" Chainer's voice still carried no sound. 
"What do you mean? That's Bunkus and Teroh, isn't 
it?" 

"Remember me." A vision of Skellum stood, his 
eyes sad and pleading. "Remember how I died." The 
vision put on its hat and raised a hand. "We deserve 
better than this, my boy." 

There was a horrific screech, and Chainer turned 
just in time to see a glowing knight tear a hydra's 
headless body in half. His skin had begun to crackle 
beneath his shining armor, giving the impression that 
he was composed only of armored plates and energy. 
Arcs of electricity crawled over him from head to toe. 

"Sergeant Baankis?" the glowing knight's voice 
clanged like a gong. "It is time." 

The arcs of electricity on the justicar's body began 
to grow bigger and brighter. They increased in number 
and frequency, with more and more rolling over him 
until his body was scarcely visible at the center of an 
electrical storm. The air in the pit was being stirred up 
as if by a great wind, and Chainer felt a deep, 

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vibrating hum in his ear. It seemed the entire building 
was shaking. 

Disoriented, Chainer bowled Baankis over and 
took a few faltering steps toward the justicar. 
Whatever he was doing, it was affecting Chainer's 
balance. He couldn't see Fulla, but if she was still on 
the pit floor, she was caught in the same maelstrom he 
was. Chainer was willing to lose the match, but the 
longer this went on, the more he felt like the justicar 
wouldn't stop just because the flag was down. He 
couldn't concentrate enough to cast the death bloom or 
unleash a monster, so he snapped his metal arm out 
straight and tried to lash a chain across the justicar's 
face. 

Before the chain could even form, electricity 
leaped in one huge arc from the justicar to Chainer's 
body. For Chainer, the world went white. His body was 
blasted halfway across the arena. . . . 

. . . Chainer opened his eyes in the First's private 
chambers, carried by cutthroats and attended by 
zombies. 

* * * * * 

Skellum rose painfully to one knee. His hat was 
torn and burned and hung in tatters across his face. 
One eye was swollen shut, and he could feel the blood 
running freely from his nose. Fulla was down, halfway 
across the floor, and the smoking carcasses of their 
combined summonings were quickly fading away. The 
surviving wolf-monkeys turned and oriented on 
Skellum once more. 

"We give," Skellum called, as loudly as his burned 
lungs permitted. The wo If-monkeys kept coming. He 

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saw Teroh laugh and cross his arms. The major 
gestured and spoke to Yewma, and the druid 
shrugged. With a finger on either side of her mouth, 
she blew two short, sharp whistles. 

The monkeys spread out and surrounded 
Skellum. 

"Hello," he said. "My name is Skellum, and I 
wear—" 

The wolf-monkey flanking Skellum's left lunged 
forward and hit him high on the shoulder before he 
could continue. Skellum felt a wet, searing slap and 
found himself on both knees, hat gone, face-to-nakedface 
with the lead primate. They stared at each other 
for a moment, the wolf-monkey slavering and Skellum 
coughing blood. 

"Finish this," Teroh said. Yewma whistled again, 
and the wolf-monkeys piled on to Skellum with a 
chorus of hideous screams. The victory horn sounded 
over a chorus of boos, and Yewma the druid frantically 
blew the signal that called off her troop. It took quite a 
long time to get all the blood-maddened mandrills back 
into their cage. 

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PART THREE: 
DEMENTIST 


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CHAPTER 18 


Chainer and the First both agreed that the shikar 
should continue as scheduled. Kamahl seemed 
concerned when Chainer asked him to replace Skellum 
during the ritual hunt, but he agreed immediately and 
without comment. Chainer realized how much he 
relished the barbarian's company. He had been 
prepared to explain the importance of the ritual itself, 
how important it had been to Skellum, and how fitting 
it would be for Chainer's partner in the pits to become 
his partner on shikar. If Kamahl had been a Cabalist 
or a merchant, he would have bantered and negotiated 
and otherwise extended the discussion until he figured 
out a way to profit from it. The barbarian, however, 
simply said, "Yes." 

The journey was scheduled to begin at dawn, and 
Chainer spent the final few hours dining with Fulla. 
Chainer was still too stunned to speak during his 
meal, and Fulla seemed ashamed of what had 
happened. She was not good at comforting others, but 
even in his state of shock, Chainer appreciated her 
attempts at kindness. He even asked her to accompany 
him on shikar, but she declined. 

"Oh, Skellum," Fulla had said wistfully. She 
walked around Chainer as she spoke, taking long, 
straight strides. "Always trying to send people 
somewhere. 'It's a big special journey, one step at a 
time, watch where you put your feet.' Always trying to 
keep it separate." She counted her steps out loud as 
she walked, then went around again, trying to reduce 

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the count. 

"It's an important ritual," Chainer said 
defensively. "First you learn to perceive, then—" 

"Where do you keep your monsters, caster?" Fulla 
spun on one toe in front of Chainer, drew her sword, 
and presented it to him, hilt-first. "Where do you go to 
get them?" 

"I keep them in here," Chainer tapped his temple. 
"In my head. In the place that Skellum showed me." 

"That's good." Fulla pulled her sword back and 
tapped the tip thoughtfully on her chin. "Look me in 
the eye," she said. 

Chainer leaned down and put his face inches from 
Fulla's. He opened his eyes as wide as hers and stared 
into her blue-white irises. "Don't look away," Fulla was 
careful to keep her head still. "But also look over my 
shoulder. Take your time." 

Chainer sighed. Fulla's eyes were wide and 
bright. He could make out her half smile below them, 
and below that, the tapping point of her sword. If he 
concentrated, he could also make out the rows of beads 
in her hair, so similar to his own, and the space just 
beside her ear. 

"Mine are always with me," Fulla said, and 
suddenly Chainer could see them. Hundreds of them, 
perhaps thousands, lined up behind Fulla and 
stretching as far back as his mind could see. 
Monstrous, misshapen, the shades of Fulla's monsters 
were always half a step behind her. 

Fulla broke eye contact then, and the phantasms 
disappeared. "I didn't learn from Skellum," she told 
Chainer. "And I can't help you like he did. But I can 
still do what he does." They finished their meal in 

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silence. 

Chainer also spent his time ignoring Laquatus. 
The ambassador had sent numerous requests to 
Chainer, asking if he could come by and express his 
sympathies personally. Chainer left a pile of such 
requests lying unanswered by the door. 

The books Skellum had which described the 
shikar ritual were more interesting to Chainer but 
harder to concentrate on. He knew that shikar would 
be extremely difficult without Skellum's guidance. At 
least the actual mechanics of it seemed simple enough, 
and the underlying rationale made sense. He and his 
partner were going to walk deep into the woods and 
interact with as many wild creatures as they could 
find. They would survive on what they could scrounge 
or hunt down. 

The point of the exercise, as Chainer understood 
it, was to fill his head with fresh ideas. The more 
brutes he saw, the more beasts he mastered, the more 
he would have to draw on when he created his own 
creatures. Some dementists on shikar simply tried to 
see as many creatures as possible. Some captured the 
things they hunted or killed and ate them. Others 
were satisfied to touch their quarry or even simply to 
make eye contact. Each shikar was as unique as the 
dementist who took it, but the end objective was 
always the same, to align the world without to the 
world within and increase the dementist's ability to 
bridge the gap between them. 

Chainer sat with an open scroll in his lap, 
Dragon's Blood smoking in his censer, waiting for the 
sky to brighten. He hadn't slept since Skellum died, 
and he didn't want to. All he wanted to do was leave 

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Scott McGough 

the city behind. If Kuberr smiled on him, he might 
even have the good fortune to run across a pack of 
wolf-monkeys while he trekked through Krosan. And 
then, he thought, I will show Kamahl a few things 
about explosions and fire. 

He continued to stare at the sunless sky. 
Absently, he created a small, buzzing mosquito with a 
three-pronged proboscis. With his other hand, he made 
a long-tongued iguana that dropped to the floor and 
immediately began circling under the mosquito. 
Chainer made a black owl with four orange eyes and a 
face on both sides of its skull, then a large, hissing 
cobra. The owl settled on the window sill and scanned 
the room as well as the courtyard outside. The snake 
coiled around Chainer's chair leg and spread its hood. 

"Three," Chainer said aloud as the mosquito 
buzzed over his left arm, looking for a place to feed. 
"Two. One. Go." 

The iguana's tongue snatched the mosquito out of 
the air. The owl suddenly swooped down and sank its 
claws into the iguana, and the cobra struck the owl 
before it could escape with its kill. 

Chainer split his attention between the sky, 
which was at last starting to lighten, and the cobra, 
who was waiting patiently for the owl to stop 
convulsing. As the snake dislocated its jaw to enjoy a 
meal of bug, lizard, and bird, Chainer wiggled his 
metal fingers and the entire tableau disappeared. 

Soon he would be in Krosan, and they all would 
discover just who sat at the top of the forest's food 
chain. And then he would return to Cabal City and 
teach both the Order and the Mer Empire a similar 
lesson. 

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* * * * * 

It took Kamahl and Chainer two uneventful days 
of steady hiking to walk from the city gates to the edge 
of the Krosan Forest. They made their first camp 
about five hundred yards inside the forest's border, 
with another day's hike before the ritual hunt would 
truly begin. 

"Hey, Chainer!" Kamahl called. "There's vermin 
over here. Are you hunting vermin?" 

"What kind of vermin? Where?" 

"Up there," Kamahl pointed into the trees. "It's 
about a foot long, with a big, fuzzy tail." 

Chainer thought it over. "You mean a squirrel?" 

"Yeah." 

The black chain shot up into the tree above 
Kamahl. The dead rodent fell to the ground with a tiny 
thud, its back broken. Chainer nimbly pounced on his 
kill and scooped it up. 

"In answer to your question," Chainer said, "no, 
I'm not hunting vermin. But squirrel aren't vermin. 
This one, in fact, is going to be dinner." 

Kamahl scowled. "If it gnaws things and twitches 
its nose, it's vermin. And if you don't cook that right 
now it's going to stink." 

Chainer put the dead squirrel in his satchel. He 
folded his arms and stared at Kamahl. 

"What?" the barbarian said. 

"You want fresh-killed meat," Chainer said, "you 
can kill it yourself." 

Kamahl opened his mouth to swear at Chainer 
when the ground beneath them shook. From a 
hundred yards or so to their right came the sound of 

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Scott McGough 

splintering wood. 

"That sounds bigger than vermin." Chainer 
slapped Kamahl's shoulder. "Look alive, this is what 
we came here for." He started running through the 
woods toward the sound. Kamahl followed him, 

"What do I do?" he called. Chainer was lighter 
and quicker through the thick brush, and Kamahl was 
falling behind. 

"Just back me up," Chainer called. He slowed his 
pace. "I'll try to ... do my thing. You make sure nothing 
sneaks up behind me. If I freeze up, snap me out of it. 
If the thing takes a bite out of me, kill it." 

Kamahl nodded. They came to the edge of a 
clearing, and he drew his sword. Chainer was already 
down on one knee, peering out into the sheltered 
glade. A huge, elephantine creature rumbled along, 
seemingly lost and out of its element. When it came 
upon a large enough tree, it reared up and came down 
hard with all of its weight, snapping the tree off at the 
base and crushing the loose trunk into a mass of dirt 
and splinters. 

"It's a gargadon," Chainer whispered. "A young 
male." 

Kamahl shook his head. "It can't be a gargadon 
this close to the edge of the woods. They need more 
open space and a different kind of tree to eat." 

"All I know is," Chainer said, "I'm getting a 
gargadon." He unhooked the censer from his vest. 

"Tell me you aren't going to use that thing out 
here." 

"Shhhh. It's important." As he spoke, he loaded 
and lit the censer. "Just back me up, okay? You 
ready?" 

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"Always." 

Chainer stepped out into the glade. The gargadon 
was thirty yards upwind with its back to Chainer, so 
he was able to get close before it smelled his smoke. 

When it turned and trumpeted, Chainer finally 
realized how truly big it was. A single leg was taller 
and wider than Chainer's whole body. It pawed the 
ground with one of those legs and trumpeted again, 
and the ground shook. It wasn't afraid of Chainer in 
the least, but it was going to warn him to keep clear. 

This was the moment that Chainer had been 
dreading. He knew that he was supposed to master the 
creature, but it was too big for him to fight, and he 
knew he wasn't supposed to create any help. Kamahl 
might be able to blow a hole in its head with one of his 
axes, but that did nothing for Chainer's shikar. 

He had brought his own dementia monsters to 
heel with a tight collar and a magical slap on the nose. 
How was he supposed to collar and slap something 
that could crush him and not notice? Chainer needed 
an answer soon because the gargadon was clearly not 
happy to share its space. 

"What's wrong?" Kamahl called. "Why aren't you 
zapping it? 

Chainer continued to spin his censer and stare 
directly into the gargadon's huge eyes. "Zapping it 
with what?" 

"I don't know. It's your ritual." 

"I'm getting an idea now. Just shut up and 
support me." The gargadon pawed the ground again 
and stomped gently with both front feet. Chainer was 
shaken almost to his knees, but he thought he might 
have the answer. 

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Scott McGough 

His dementia monsters were only alive in his 
mind, and Chainer's mind was his place of power. As 
long as he controlled his fear, he was the ultimate lord 
and master of his own dementia space. The gargadon 
had its own life outside of Chainer's, however, and it 
didn't know that he was its master. It needed to be 
shown that fact, it needed to be taught. The best way 
for Chainer to teach that lesson and gain the kind of 
control he needed was to take the gargadon out of this 
world and transplant it into his own. 

The gargadon was preparing to charge. "Kamahl," 
Chainer said. "I need a big explosion, behind the 
gargadon. Drive it toward me." 

"Say when." 

Chainer felt a shudder start in the base of his 
spine and work all the way up to his skull. When his 
vision cleared, he was standing on a field of black sand 
under a hole in the sky, facing the exact same 
gargadon he was facing in Krosan. It had become so 
easy to take that first step, and Chainer silently 
cursed the fact that Skel-lum was not beside him to 
see this. 

"When," he said. Kamahl let the axe fly, and the 
lowest-hanging branches of the tree behind the 
gargadon erupted into flames and thunder. The 
massive creature was far too heavy to spring, but it 
reared and charged. It bore down on Chainer, who 
continued to spin his censer in its widest arc yet, his 
eyes focused beyond the canopy overhead. 

The gargadon charged into range of Chainer's 
censer. On its next revolution the smoking cage made 
contact with the gargadon's massive head, and there 
was a flash of black light and an implosion so strong it 

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sucked the leaves off the trees nearby. 

"Fiers's teeth!" Kamahl ran to Chainer's side. 
"What just happened? That thing was going to crush 
you like a bug, but it ... ran into you." 

Chainer kept his back to Kamahl and stared at 
his own smoking hands. The censer lay in the tall 
grass, the stalks around it smoldering. "If it ran into 
me, I'd be a smear." Chainer's voice sounded odd to his 
own ears, deeper and more hollow, as if he were 
speaking through a tube. 

"No," Kamahl said. "I mean it ran into you, like a 
sword goes into a scabbard. It was bigger than you, but 
then you were bigger than it, and . . . Fiers's teeth." 

Chainer had turned in the middle of Kamahl's 
sentence, and his friend immediately stopped talking. 
"What's wrong?" Chainer asked in his hollow voice. 

"Your eyes," Kamahl said. "They're black." 
"Everybody's eyes are black, you—" 

Kamahl held his sword horizontally in front of 
Chainer's face, so Chainer could see his own eyes 
reflected in the flat of the blade. "Your eyes are black, 
Chainer. Empty holes." Chainer stared at his 
reflection while he ran a finger around his eyebrows 
and cheekbones. His eyes were deep, solid black, like 
the void of a bottomless pit. Chainer laughed, and the 
sound was more pleasant arid musical than he had 
ever noticed before. 

"I just swallowed a gargadon whole." Chainer tore 
his gaze away from the blade and looked at Kamahl. 
"It could take a while to digest." 

Kamahl sheathed his sword. "I don't like it. Is 
this going to happen every time you catch something?" 

Chainer held his metal hand in front of his face, 

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Scott McGough 

concentrated, and slowly curled the hand into a fist. 
When he looked up again, his eyes were normal. 

"Not if I learn to control it." Chainer lowered his 
hand and looked around the empty glen, breathing 
deeply and evenly. Kamahl nudged him. 

"You okay?" 

"I feel great." Chainer took one last deep breath, 
then nudged Kamahl back. "Come on. If there's 
gargadons here, imagine what we're going to find in 
the really deep woods." 

"I can't," Kamahl said. "That's sort of what 
worries me." 

* * * * * 

The second day of hunting started with scorpions 
in their bedrolls. Chainer took his into dementia space, 
and Kamahl crushed his beneath a heavy boot. The 
further they went into the Krosan forest, the more 
creatures they encountered. The more creatures they 
encountered, the more they captured. 

Chainer picked up a coal-bellied razorback near a 
rocky ridge, and then killed a second for its meat. 
Kamahl cooked his share immediately. In a marshy 
riverbed, Chainer took on a huge snapping turtle, a 
small, blue, poisonous frog, and a six-foot freshwater 
alligator. A deadfall yielded a sharp-clawed badger, a 
three-foot beetle that emitted clouds of choking spray, 
and a two-hundred-pound wildcat. But it was the 
snakes that interested Chainer most. 

This section of Otaria was thick with both venom 
hunters and constrictors—from the small but lethal 
jade adder to the medium-sized razorback rattler to 
the enormous rock python that could swallow a man 

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whole. Chainer's face lit up every time he saw one, and 
he abandoned less interesting prey the moment he 
spotted a forked tongue. When Kamahl asked him 
about it, Chainer said he admired their speed and 
their grace, their aim and their muscular control. He 
felt some kind of kinship for the sleek reptiles, and 
Kamahl had seen Chainer fight often enough to know 
that it wasn't just a flight of fancy. Like the snakes, 
Chainer often waited until his prey was within range, 
then struck so quickly that the contest was over before 
his victim realized it had begun. 

Chainer took one of each type of snake into 
dementia space. The rest he killed and shared with 
Kamahl. Kamahl wasn't sure what his friend was 
doing with the half-dozen rattles he had taken from 
his kills, but he seemed almost reverent about 
preserving them in his satchel, so Kamahl left him to 
it. There was much he didn't understand about this 
trip, but at least Chainer wasn't so intensely morose 
anymore. 

The Cabalist was sitting against a fallen tree, 
counting the rattles in his collection. Kamahl sniffed 
the air, and for the fiftieth time felt that something 
was going wrong. "We're not very deep in, are we?" 

"No," Chainer continued to count, transferring 
the rattles from his hand to a neat line he had 
arranged on the ground beside him. "Don't you think 
it's odd that we're seeing so many creatures this far 
out?" 

"It's odd," Chainer agreed, "but not remarkable." 
"But there are tribes in the forest," Kamahl said. 
"Druids and Nantuko. We should have seen more of 
them and less of the things we've been hunting." 

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"Maybe they heard we were coming and fled," 
Chainer said. He began to put his rattles back into his 
satchel. 

"That gargadon wasn't fleeing. It was milling 
around, lost, as if it had just been put there." 

Chainer cinched up his satchel. "So?" "So who put 
it there? And why?" 

Chainer stood up. "You're never happy, are you? 
Either there are too many creatures or not enough. 
Things are either too close to the edge of the woods or 
too far in. Don't get all anxious on me now, Kamahl. 
We'll start seeing the really big stuff soon, and I'll need 
you at your best." 

"I'm always at my best," Kamahl said. "And 
when you say big, do you mean bigger than a 
gargadon?" 

"I mean bigger than a wildcat or a crocodile. 
Centaurs and wurms. Maybe even a pack of monkeys." 
The eager look in Chainer's eye did nothing to address 
Kamahl's concerns. "I still say this feels wrong. It feels 
like a trap." "It feels like a trap because you 
barbarians are constantly pouncing on each other. If I 
got jumped every time I went to the privy, I'd see traps 
everywhere, too." He threw a handful of dirt on the 
embers of their campfire. "Come on. We've got one 
more day to get to the heart of Krosan. If we don't see 
any leaf-eaters or dirt-farmers by then, we'll ask the 
First about it when we get back." 

* * * * * 

Later that afternoon, they heard more rumbling 
in the distance, as another elephantine creature 
stomped through the forest. 

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"Could be another gargadon," Chainer said. 
"Which we already have. Even if we were able to kill 
this one, we don't have time to butcher and eat it." 

"So we're letting it go?" 

"Hells no. Not until I see what it is." Chainer 
smelled something familiar, and his heart began to 
quicken. Kuberr, he thought, smile on me now. They 
jogged for a while, until they came across the thing's 
tracks in the loose dirt and mulch that covered the 
forest floor. The prints were deep, but narrow, as if the 
creature were walking on the balls of its feet. There 
were extra tracks scattered alongside the regularly 
spaced ones where the creature had either gone down 
on all fours like a bear or propelled itself forward with 
its arms like an ape. Chainer followed the tracks as he 
ran, scanning ahead to make sure of his footing and 
behind to make sure Kamahl was keeping up. From 
around a thick copse of trees in the distance, Chainer 
heard a terrifying but familiar roar that made the 
blood pound in his ears. 

"It's a grendelkin," Chainer said. He stood still, 
staring at the copse of trees. As Kamahl came up 
behind him, Chainer said, "This one's for Skellum. 
Ready?" 

Before Kamahl could answer, the rampant 
grendelkin burst through the trees. It was even bigger 
than the one Chainer had seen in the alley outside 
Roup's, and this one's legs were whole and healthy. 
With a tree in each massive paw, the grendelkin spied 
Chainer and Kamahl and roared a challenge. It threw 
one tree at them, then another, missing by a wide 
margin but impressing them nonetheless. It thumped 
its chest and then the ground. 

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Scott McGough 

Chainer handed the loaded censer to Kamahl, 
and with a snap of his fingers, the barbarian ignited it. 
He tossed it back to Chainer, who lashed a chain into 
it as it flew. He immediately began spinning it around 
his head, spreading Dragon's Blood smoke all around 
them. Kamahl readied a throwing axe. 

Then a strong gust of wind blew out of the copse, 
carrying a wave of greenish-yellow pollen. Chainer was 
breathing shallow and was partially protected by the 
smoke from his censer, but Kamahl took in a huge 
lungful of the pollen and immediately doubled over in 
a fit of uncontrollable coughing. 

"Kamahl! Are you okay?" 

The barbarian waved Chainer off and dropped 
the rest of the way down to the ground, trying to evade 
the pollen. With his face half-buried in mulch, Kamahl 
coughed the pollen out and tried to suck clear forest 
air in. 

Chainer hesitated. He didn't want to leave 
Kamahl in the dirt, and he didn't want to face the 
grendelkin without support. The huge monster took a 
step forward and casually snapped the top off another 
tree. It used the tree as a crude club, and it shambled 
forward, slamming into the ground and other trees 
with each step. 

"Poison," Kamahl choked. His eyes were wet, but 
he had stopped coughing and was struggling back to 
his feet. "There aren't any poisonous plants in this 
part of Krosan, Chainer. We're being set up." 

Thirty yards behind the pair, a long, legless 
wurm slithered onto their tracks. It opened its square 
reptilian head and hissed, displaying the foulest and 
most jagged set of dragon's teeth Chainer had ever 

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seen. A huge, burly centaur with spotted markings and 
a crude wooden club trotted out from behind the 
grendelkin, and a crimson night tiger growled from the 
trees above, its brilliant red hide almost glowing under 
its black stripes. 

"All they've done," Chainer said, "is line 
themselves up for us." From above, a screaming wolf-
monkey dove at Chainer. It became fouled in the 
censer chain, tearing it out of Chainer's grasp as the 
monkey itself sprang away with the chain tangled 
around its leg. Chainer sent a sharpened weight 
screaming after the retreating monkey but missed by a 
hair's breadth. The dementist glared at the mandrill 
with awful fire in his eyes. 

"You're mine," he said darkly. "You are all mine." 
He kept his eyes locked on the monkey as he bent to 
retrieve the censer. A long vine whipped out of a 
nearby tree and wrapped itself around Chainer's wrist, 
and he felt an uncomfortable tingle. Moss was growing 
across his human hand, spreading outward from the 
vine. Chainer slashed his wrist loose with his dagger 
and scraped off the moss before it could spread any 
farther. The dagger took off the top layers of skin 
along with the moss. 

"This is spellcraft." Kamahl was on his feet, 
standing behind Chainer. He had drawn his sword and 
stood with a weapon ready in each hand, his eyes 
darting from the copse to the wurm to the centaur to 
the tiger. 

"Druid magic?" 

Kamahl nodded. "Someone's pulling their 
strings." He blocked another lashing vine with the flat 
of his blade and chopped the offending tendril off with 

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Scott McGough 

his axe. 

"That copse of trees seems to be the center of it." 
Chainer flexed his bleeding hand, testing it. 
"Somebody's setting its pets on us. Kamahl, I want 
those monkeys and the grendelkin. The rest can burn, 
for all I care." He smiled at Kamahl and picked up his 
still-smoking censer. "You ready for some burning?" 

Kamahl coughed the last of the pollen out of his 
lungs and spit. "Right now, I'd torch all of Krosan just 
to clear a pathway out of here." His eyes kept traveling 
back to the centaur. Chainer thought his friend looked 
disturbed, distracted by something other than the 
pollen or the attack vines or the platoon of wild beasts 
that had gathered to kill them. 

"Start with the biggest one?" Kamahl asked. 
Chainer nodded, and the two of them charged forward 
dodging vines and screaming monkeys. 

"Okay if I kill a few of these screaming, hairy 
buggers?" Kamahl shouted. A wolf-monkey had 
pounced on him and was resisting his efforts to throw 
it off. 

"As many as you need to," Chainer said. He didn't 
even make a chain, he simply reached out and crushed 
the monkey's skull with his metal hand. The body 
shimmered and disappeared into Chainer's arm. "I've 
got the one I need." His eyes were black, and he 
touched his clenched fist to his forehead. "For 
Skellum." 

Another monkey threw itself at Kamahl. The 
barbarian chopped it in half with his broadsword 
without breaking stride. He turned and channeled a 
blast of fire through his blade at the wurm. The legless 
dragon screeched in pain, but the blast did little more 

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Chainer’s Torment 

than singe its skin. It held its ground however, 
unwilling to risk another blast from closer range. 

Chainer rolled away from the centaur's club and 
whipped a collar around its neck. The man-horse 
reared up and jerked the chain out of Chainer's hand, 
and the collar faded as soon as Chainer lost contact 
with it. Chainer sprinted past the centaur to engage 
the grendelkin as Kamahl was keeping the tiger and 
the wurm at bay with blasts of flame. The man-horse 
galloped after Chainer as fast as the underbrush 
would allow, with his club raised high overhead. 

Chainer had a bigger problem with a bigger club, 
however. The grendelkin would not move away from 
the edge of the copse, and he was waving his tree 
trunk like a scythe in front of him. Chainer couldn't 
get in under the tree to attack, and the centaur was 
bearing down on him from behind. 

Chainer jumped as high as he could over the 
grendelkin's next wild swing and latched himself onto 
the end of the tree with a collar chain. The grendelkin 
waved its club with Chainer trailing behind it like the 
tail of a kite. At the apex of the grendelkin's swing, 
Chainer sent a sharpened weight into the organic 
seam between two of the armored plates on the 
grendelkin's back. Chainer let go of the chain that 
linked him to the tree, and hauled himself onto the 
grendelkin. 

"Eat this," he snarled at the centaur, and 
unleashed the death bloom directly into the back of the 
grendelkin's skull. The monster choked in mid-roar 
and froze with its hand poised to crush Chainer like a 
stinging fly. Except for the monkeys, who were in 
constant motion and never stopped screaming, every 

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sentient thing in the area stopped and stared at the 
dead grendelkin, waiting to see which way it would 
topple. 

Unfortunately for the centaur, Chainer's plan of 
letting the grendelkin fall forward worked perfectly. 
Killing the grendelkin removed Chainer and Kamahl's 
main adversary. Letting its body fall removed five 
more as the centaur, the tiger, and three of the wolf-
monkeys were crushed by the three-ton carcass. 

Chainer rode the grendelkin through all obstacles 
as it crashed to the forest floor. He spiked a short 
chain into the top of the creature's spine, shuddered, 
and the giant corpse disappeared up into Chainer's 
body like liquid through a sucking straw. Instead of 
falling, Chainer floated, surrounded by a whirling 
cloud of dust and black light. He felt a bomb go off in 
his head, and he felt a body-wide sensation similar to 
when the justicar fried him. Chainer screamed. 

Kamahl had blinded the wurm with his 
broadsword and was preparing to behead the 
floundering thing when Chainer cried out. He 
hesitated, then brought his sword down and leaped 
away from the thrashing coils. As Chainer continued 
to float and scream, Kamahl felt something angry shift 
inside the copse of trees. A half-dozen wolf-monkeys 
still howled on the battlefield, and the trees 
themselves were starting to move, stretching their 
branches down and reaching for Chainer and Kamahl. 
From inside the cluster of trees, a bald human figure 
came forward. The chanting druid held a crude pine 
torch in one hand and a thorny bough of red berries in 
the other. He was painted with bright yellow 
markings, and a crown of ivy spread from his head 

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down past his shoulders. 

As the first tree limb touched the nimbus around 
Chainer, his scream grew higher and more shrill, 
building to a crescendo of transcendent agony. Inside 
the cloud, Chainer turned his black eye sockets toward 
the encroaching branch. He crossed his arms over his 
chest, then snapped them down his sides and thrust 
his head back. 

A half-dozen chains leaped from all parts of his 
body, each lashing straight into the throat of a 
jabbering wolf-monkey. With his body rigid and his 
eyes unseeing, Chainer brought all of the monkeys 
together in front of him with a nauseous splat. He 
leveled his eyes at the horrid sight he had created and 
smiled. 

The six wolf-monkeys were mashed together like 
soft clay figurines. Limbs, tails, torsos, and heads were 
all bent and mashed together, merging into one giant 
gob of flesh and teeth with no dis-cernable top, bottom, 
inside, or out. The ones with functioning mouths 
wailed piteously. Chainer's smile grew savage and 
cruel under his hollow eyes. Then the entire mass of 
monkeys burst like a balloon and disappeared in a puff 
of smoke. 

The druid's chant grew louder, and he hurled the 
thorns into the air. With no animal defenders left, the 
trees and vines redoubled their efforts to take hold of 
the intruders. 

"Kamahl," Chainer's echoing, musical voice 
called. "Do it!" 

Kamahl raised his axe and charged it. He held it 
by his ear until steam started rising from his hand, 
and then he cast it high overhead, dropping it into the 

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middle of the copse. Two seconds later, the entire copse 
was engulfed in bright orange flames, and the druid 
vanished in a cloud of flame and soot. Debris rained 
down all around them, and Kamahl took shelter 
behind the dead wurm. Chainer was less fortunate. A 
jagged chunk of wood slammed into him, knocking him 
out of the air and onto the ground. 

He heard Skellum's last words again. Remember 
how I died. 

"Always, Master," Chainer whispered, tears 
falling from the black space where his eyes had been. 
"I will always remember." 

And then he fell unconscious to the forest floor. 

* * * * * 

Chainer awoke under the mustard sky. He knew 
he was dreaming, he could see his body from the 
outside as he scanned the landscape. The hole in the 
sky had run almost dry, only releasing an occasional 
drop. The red sea broke on the shore, driven by storm 
winds and earthquake rumbles. 

Monsters milled around him in their hundreds, 
stretching out in all directions. They did not react to 
Chainer's presence but seemed to be in a state of 
torpor as they shuffled and bumped into one another. 

There was a new addition to the landscape in 
Chainer's mind. The horizon was now broken by a 
broad, squat mountain whose peak glowed like a star. 
Chainer shielded his eyes against the glare and tried 
to focus on the peak. He must be dreaming, for the 
mountain was shrinking down to meet him, bowing its 
peak like a servant bows its head. 

An indistinct figure sat on a throne at the 

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mountain's peak, backlit by a sphere of harsh purple 
light. Dazzled by the mad perspective as much as the 
purple light, Chainer could not determine how far 
away the figure was, if it were humanoid, male or 
female. He could see the mountain, however, and he 
saw that it was not made of rock or mounded earth, 
but of currency. Huge piles of golden coins and silver 
markers were heaped on top of one another to create a 
single pyramid that stretched impossibly high into the 
sky. The figure leaned forward on its throne. 

"Kuberr?" Chainer whispered. Was this what 
Skellum had wanted him to see? His mentor had 
sworn frequent oaths to Kuberr over the years. Did he 
have a vision of the wealth god as part of the shikar 
ritual? 

Mazeura. The figure's voice was deep and 
sonorous, and it blasted Chainer's secret name 
through his head so violently that he felt blood 
trickling out his ears. It's a dream, he reminded 
himself. It's all a dream. 

The mountain peak swayed to and fro, allowing 
the regal figure to survey the landscape and 
population of Chainer's mind. Well done, dementist. 

The figure opened its arms wide, beckoning 
Chainer in. The mountain bowed further, and Chainer 
felt the ground beneath him rise up to carry him into 
those outstretched arms. He had pledged his life to the 
Cabal, and now he knew for whom he had pledged. 
There was power in the salt flats, power in Cabal City, 
power in the personage of the First. The expanding 
figure before him, however, was beyond power. It was 
that vast and nameless energy the Cabal had been 
created to harness, to use according to its consumptive 

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nature. If black mana was the fuel, then the regal 
figure welcoming Chainer was its source. 

Delirious with joy, Chainer closed his eyes and let 
himself be swallowed up by the dark figure that had 
expanded to fill the entire sky. 

* * * * * 

When the flaming shrapnel slowed, Kamahl rose 
and surveyed the battlefield. The flames were still 
raging in the copse of trees. The wurm and one of the 
wolf-monkeys lay dead at his feet, victims of his sword. 
The crimson night tiger and the centaur were little 
more than colorful smears on the grass, and Chainer 
was unconscious between them. There was no sign of 
the grendelkin or the other wolf-monkeys. It seemed 
he and Chainer had won, but he didn't feel much like a 
victor. 

Kamahl sheathed his sword and crossed the field 
to his partner. The fight and the explosion had driven 
every other living thing within earshot as far away as 
they could get, and the forest was remarkably still. 
Chainer was breathing normally, but he was 
unrouseable. Kamahl half-carried, half-dragged him 
clear of the fire and tucked him safely behind a large, 
mossy boulder. Then he returned to the crushed corpse 
of the tiger. 

Regret was not a common emotion for Kamahl's 
tribe. They spent most of their time in combat or 
training for it, and they tended to live short, brutal 
lives with little time for reflection. As he looked down 
on the magnificent red and black hide of the tiger, he 
regretted that he hadn't seen the creature hunt. It 
would have been beautiful in motion, a study in grace 

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and power. 

Kamahl turned, experiencing another unfamiliar 
rush of emotion. Kamahl had made two great friends 
on his first visit to Cabal City. One lay unconscious by 
a nearby boulder, and the other looked almost exactly 
like the dead centaur at his feet. Kamahl remembered 
Seaton clearly, his huge, apelike brow and his fierce 
protective streak for his home. He remembered how 
Seaton had become enraged when describing the 
poachers who raided his home, taking from the wild to 
stock the pits. Seaton's crusade was not Kamahl's 
quest, but he respected it, and he respected the 
centaur. Only now did Kamahl realize that he himself 
was one of those poachers. 

Kamahl knew the shikar was only a small portion 
of the problem, but he was now part of it. He let 
himself be blinded to it because he had never had to 
defend his home from invaders. There was nothing in 
the Pardic Mountains worth taking, so invaders were 
completely unheard of. All the tribes Kamahl knew of, 
including his own, spent the greater part of their 
adulthood roaming Otaria looking for ways to improve 
their skills and their fortunes. Kamahl had spent so 
much time fighting in other people's homes that he'd 
forgotten not everyone welcomes such company. This 
dead centaur could have been Seaton's father, or 
brother, he thought. It could have been Seaton. 

The fire in the copse of trees had died down, so 
Kamahl went in as far as he could. He found the 
druid's body crushed against a blackened tree. He had 
been a short, broad-shouldered male of about twenty. 
He had constructed a small stone altar in the center of 
the copse, which was half-disintegrated by the blast. 

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Whatever spells or summonings he had been 
performing were long gone. He still held a fragment of 
pine wood in his charred fingers. 

Kamahl's emotions had retreated. Now he felt 
only the clarity of the choice in front of him and the 
determination to see his decision through. 

While Chainer slept, Kamahl built pyres for the 
druid, the centaur, and the tiger. He built another fire 
for the camp near Chainer's boulder, and then one-byone 
he ignited them all with a snap of his fingers. 
Then he stuck his sword tip-first into the ground and 
waited for Chainer to wake up. 

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CHAPTER 19 


Chainer and Kamahl hiked back toward the edge 
of the forest and the road to Cabal City. Chainer had 
slept until almost noon. The first thing he did when he 
awoke was to ask Kamahl to check his eyes. The 
barbarian reported that they appeared to be normal, 
and Chainer was both relieved and disappointed. The 
shikar felt like it was finished. He couldn't imagine 
anything more impressive than the vision he'd just 
had. 

Kamahl took the news that the hunt was over as 
if he had been expecting it. Chainer was prepared to 
explain why, but the barbarian didn't ask. There was 
something about his manner, however, something 
defiant that made Chainer think his partner was 
planning to go back to Cabal City no matter what 
Chainer said. He didn't press the issue, still euphoric 
over his vision of Kuberr. 

They saw virtually no wildlife at all as they 
reversed their course back through the forest. Chainer 
thought how vast the entire forest must be, and how 
many creatures it hid. He could probably go on shikar 
once a year, and he would still never see all of the 
Krosan before he died. 

Kamahl was silent throughout most of the day, 
and Chainer was still too lost in his own thoughts to 
draw his friend out. They hiked through dinner and 
stopped to make camp only when the sun was on the 
verge of setting. At this pace, with the hunt concluded 
ahead of schedule, they were likely to get back an 

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entire day sooner than expected. 

The next morning saw them up at dawn and out 
of the forest by lunchtime. They stopped on the edge of 
the forest, ate the last of their provisions, and drank 
the last of their water according to the ritual. The only 
things they were allowed to bring back were in 
Chainer's head. With only a few hours of daylight left, 
they hiked into the deserted remains of what appeared 
to be a large Order camp. Kamahl scanned the vast 
plain that stretched out before him. "Chainer," he said 
carefully, "do you see an army? Where would a 
thousand Order troops go all at once?" 

"Crusat," Chainer's stomach went cold with hate. 
"They were massing for a huge raid on the Cabal City 
pits." He grabbed Kamahl's arm. "We've got to get back 
there." 

Kamahl was looking down the road at the Order's 
stable. "The Order always brings more steeds than it 
needs. Can you ride, Cabalist?" "I rode a hellhound 
once, I can damn sure handle whatever those toy 
soldiers sit on." 

Kamahl grunted. "Good. Wait here, I'll go get us 
some transport." He paused, then added, "Provided 
you don't want to whip us up a pair of three-headed 
horses that breathe fire, or anything." 

Chainer felt an unaccountable sting of insult. He 
smiled, however, and said, "Don't know if I'm up to a 
precise-creature casting right now. And in general, my 
monsters don't want to be ridden, and we don't want to 
ride them." "Order steeds it is, then." 

* * * * * 

Kamahl was able to appropriate two strong 

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chargers from the Order stables without interference. 
There were minimal guards on duty and plenty of 
animals to choose from. Two things were obvious to 
Kamahl. First, the Order had taken from the Krosan 
forest a hundred times what he and Chainer had. 
Second, wherever the troopers had gone, they had gone 
there on foot. 

Both Order horses were white, of course. Kamahl 
muttered an angry spell and then singed a hand print 
into his mount's flank. Chainer tied three of his snake 
rattles into the other horse's mane, then they rode east 
all night long without stopping. They were good 
horses, fast and strong. As the first rays of sunlight 
revealed the skull-image of Cabal City's huge arena 
and the spires of the First's manor, the chargers were 
sweaty and foaming and beginning to stumble, and 
both men brought their horses to a slow trot. 

"Do you see that, Chainer?" Kamahl asked. 
Chainer had excellent night vision, but he knew 
Kamahl's was even sharper. 

"All I see is the skyline. And ... a crowd of people 
at the gates. Are those arrows?" 

Kamahl drew his sword. Most swords Chainer 
was familiar with came out of their scabbards with a 
crisp rasp of metal on metal. Kamahl's, however, came 
out with a long, protracted hiss that lingered in the air 
like a threat. The huge weapon looked somehow right 
at home in Kamahl's fist, though the sword was almost 
longer than its wielder. 

"The Order is attacking your city," Kamahl said. 
"I have a problem with that. Care to join me in solving 
this problem?" 

"Oh yes," Chainer's voice was cold. "Yes I 

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certainly would." He shook the rattles in the mane 
before him. "Will they get us there?" 

"They'll last at least that long." Kamahl lifted his 
feet to dig his heels into his mount, but Chainer took 
him by the shoulder and called him by name. 

"What?" the barbarian growled. "The fight's 
started without us." "Thank you," Chainer said. He 
looked back toward the woods, at the battle unfolding 
in the distance, and finally at Kamahl's drawn sword. 
"Thank you for everything." Kamahl smiled for the 
first time in days. "Thank me after we clean house," he 
said, and spurred his charger forward, into the fray. 

* * * * * 

Their horses carried them as far as the main 
gates. There, Chainer and Kamahl dismounted. The 
barbarian charged forward to join the melee at the 
gates, where the crusat raiders were most numerous. 
He saluted Chainer before rushing off. Chainer himself 
needed to get inside, to rejoin his fellow Cabalists and 
determine where he could do the most good. He 
followed the walls of the city around to the south, 
where the secret tunnels were. 

Cabal City was a city of over fifty thousand, but it 
seemed even more crowded with the entire population 
and over a thousand armed invaders on the streets. 
Chainer realized the battle at the front gate was 
mostly a distraction. The Order had attacked all three 
gates, not just the one to the east, and they were 
already running rampant through the city. The crusat 
troopers were not cutting down civilians in the street, 
but they were fairly trampling anything that stood 
between them and the Cabal strongholds at the center 

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of the city. 

Chainer had never been to war before, but he 
soon got the hang of it. The trick, he realized, is to 
treat the entire situation like a huge pit match in 
which you and your team were vastly outnumbered. As 
long as you hit what you aimed at, there was no 
shortage of targets. As long as you kept moving, there 
was no way for you to get pinned down. Also, the 
Order troops were focused on storming the arena, and 
none of them stopped to fight Chainer unless he 
physically blocked their progress. 

After breaking a few bones and knocking a few 
invaders down, Chainer simply joined the headlong 
rush toward the arena. Cabal City's citizens were 
rushing there for sanctuary, or to escape via the docks, 
and the crusat was rushing there to bum it, or loot it, 
or whatever it was that righteous armies did. Chainer 
was headed straight for the Mirari, to defend it as he 
had once before. Only now, he was a full-fledged 
dementist instead of a pupil. 

There was another crush outside of the arena as 
soldiers tried to get in and the door guards tried to 
keep them out. A few armed Cabalists grappled with 
sword-bearing soldiers. Chainer planted his feet, 
positioned his hands, and reached deep into dementia 
space. His hands flashed, and a carriage-sized wad of 
smoke and indiscriminate flesh arced high up on the 
arena's exterior wall, where it burst open like a 
balloon packed with splintered glass. 

The wolf-monkeys that came out were even larger 
than their Krosan counterparts, and each had a small 
poisonous snake in place of its tongue. There were an 
even dozen in all, and twelve individual chains arced 

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from the collars around their necks to Chainer's open 
hands. At first, the nightmare mandrills tried to 
attack anything that moved, but Chainer punished 
them with searing agony every time they snapped at a 
Cabalist. They quickly realized which part of the 
crowd was fair game, and the screams of monkeys 
mingled with the screams of the dismembered soldiers. 
Chainer even released two or three of them from theit 
collars, and they redoubled their efforts to rip the 
invaders to pieces. 

Chainer darted through the momentarily 
unblocked entrance. A hook-handed door guard 
touched his weapon to his forehead in acknowledgment 
as Chainer rushed past. Before he turned the comer, 
Chainer physically and mentally pulled all of his wolf-
monkeys in and rechained them all to the stone 
doorway. Now anyone who wanted to get in would 
have to get past the howling troop. Anyone who made 
it past them would either be Cabal or be 
disemboweled. Chainer sprinted toward the vault 
hallway. 

He turned a corner and came face-to-face with a 
trio of troopers fighting a pitched battle against a 
huge, black hellhound and a four-armed cyclops, the 
hulking result of another dementia caster's efforts. 
The dog had clamped on to the end of one trooper's 
sword, while the other two jabbed at the cyclops with 
their spears. 

"Chainer!" Fulla cried, stepping out from behind 
the cyclops. One of the Order soldiers struck at her, 
and she angrily turned and cast a snarling red-eyed 
rat into the man's face. He fell back screaming. 

"Fulla." Chainer cracked a chain across the 

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sword-bearing trooper's face. As the trooper recoiled, 
the hellhound tore out her throat. The big dog turned 
and barked once at Chainer, exasperated. 

"Hello, Azza," he said. Chainer, Azza, Fulla, and 
the cyclops all closed in on the remaining trooper. 

"I give," the man said instantly. He dropped his 
spear and held up his hands. "In the name of—" 

Fulla's ugly little sword split the trooper's skull 
before he could utter another word. For a moment she 
looked annoyed, and she held the bloody sword out to 
Chainer. 

" 'I give.' Can you believe these maggots?" She 
wiped the sword on the dead man's uniform. 

Azza barked, and Fulla waved the cyclops away. 
She stepped forward and hugged Chainer, rifling his 
hair like an indulgent aunt. "Azza was worried. And 
I've been so bored. You're not going to become one of 
those snotty dementists now, are you?" Then she stood 
and asked him brightly, "So, tell me everything. How 
was the forest?" 

Chainer smiled. "Crowded. The shikar, however, 
was a spectacular success." 

Azza sniffed the air and growled to let her fellow 
Cabalists know there was something coming. 

"Well, little brother," Fulla said. "Can you show 
me what you learned in the forest, or do I have to clear 
this building of toy soldiers by myself?" 

"Oh, let me show you," Chainer said. He felt his 
feet rise off the floor, and without seeing his reflection, 
he knew his eyes had gone black. Fulla's smile grew 
wider and crueler as Chainer drew on the power he 
had earned. 

"This had better be good," Fulla said. 

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Azza whined softly, but held her ground. 

Chainer crossed his arms as he floated and 
dropped his chin down to his chest. Fulla's cry of 
delight overlapped Chainer's cry of release as he 
snapped his arms down and his head back. 

Ribbons of smoke and black light radiated out 
from Chainer's body in every direction. Most ran 
straight through the arena's stone walls without 
resistance, but some ricocheted back and forth inside 
the hallway. Chainer floated there for a few long 
seconds then gently settled onto the floor. 

"That should do it," he said. His voice and his 
eyes were returning to normal. He gallantly offered his 
arm to Fulla. 

"Do what?" Fulla took his arm but stared at him 
in confusion. 

"I've just retaken the entire arena," Chainer said 
proudly. He stumbled, but Fulla caught him and 
propped him up against the wall. She whispered 
something to Azza, and the huge dog ambled over to 
Chainer and bent low, so that he could climb on. 

"Thank you." Chainer eased himself onto Azza's 
strong back. "Skellum always said, 'It takes more out 
of you than you realize.' " The sadness and anger over 
his mentor's death was still there, but it didn't sting 
quite like it did before. Completing the shikar had 
gone a long way toward putting Skellum to rest. Using 
what he'd learned during the ritual to drive the Order 
out felt even better. 

"To the vault, please," he said to Azza. The three 
walked through the suddenly silent building, but only 
Azza and Fulla were amazed by what they saw. 

There were still small squads of troopers 

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throughout the arena, but each and every Order 
soldier was covered in squirming serpents. Huge, 
venomous, in a wide array of unnatural shapes and 
sizes, the snakes covered each invader like a shroud. 
Those that could walk or run were being cornered and 
killed by the Cabal's guards. As each Order soldier fell, 
the body and any lingering serpents disappeared into 
the gloom. 

Fulla made a game of counting the dead, but she 
had to give up when they came close to the vault and 
there was no one left. Outside, the battle raged on, but 
inside the arena, it had already been won. "How did 
you do that all over the building?" Fulla asked. 
Chainer was interrupted by a thud and a clatter as a 
live crusat trooper stumbled out of a door further up 
the hallway. The terrified man held his sword out in 
front of him with both hands, and he still couldn't keep 
its point off the floor. He had a sergeant's insignia on 
his shoulder. 

"Hello, Bunkus," Chainer's voice was low but 
firm. "S-stand where you are," Sgt. Baankis said 
feebly. His skin was pale, and his eyes were unfocused. 
"In the name of the Order, I—" 

"I'd stop citing things in the name of the Order, if 
I were you." Azza growled and tried to shrug Chainer 
off, but he patted her neck soothingly. "No, big sister. 
Leave him to me." 

Baankis managed to get his sword pointed in 
Chainer's general direction. 

"In the name of the Order," the sergeant 
repeated, "and in the name of Major Teroh, I—" 

The chain shot across the room and wrapped 
itself around Baankis's throat before he could utter 

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another word. The sergeant's jaw opened and closed, 
but no sound came out as the chain dug deep into his 
windpipe. 

"In the name of the Order," Chainer maintained 
his low, even tone, "you have broken into our home, 
attacked our family, and tried to steal our property. 
Again. I can't think of a single reason to keep listening 
to you. Can you?" Baankis dropped his sword with a 
clatter and clawed at his throat. 

"Fulla?" Chainer asked. "Azza? No? Then we're 
all in agreement." Chainer held his position until Sgt. 
Baankis silently expired. As the body fell forward, it 
collapsed into the length of chain and disappeared up 
Chainer's arm. Azza growled approvingly, and Fulla 
rocked from one foot to the other. 

"Do it again!" she cried. 

Chainer didn't hear them as he stared at his 
hand. Before today, he had never taken a human being 
the way he had taken the denizens of Krosan forest. 
He was surprised that it didn't feel any different. 

* * * * * 

After Chainer stopped them at the arena, the 
Order troops aborted their mission and began a costly 
retreat. The First ordered every able-bodied Cabalist 
to harry the invaders until they were a mile outside 
the city walls, and the righteous crusat raid on Cabal 
City ended in disaster. The outnumbered Order troops 
desperately tried to break out of the city they had just 
successfully stormed, fighting the city guards at the 
gates and the Cabal's killers on their rear flank. If the 
First had ordered the main gates closed, the entire 
raiding force would have been slaughtered. As it was, 

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almost half of their number never left Cabal City 
again. Of those who stayed, only a handful remained 
dead. 

Chainer had watched the retreat from Azza's 
back near the steps of the arena. He knew that there 
were huge, gargadon-sized monstrosities hidden in the 
caverns below the manor, but the First was content to 
keep them in reserve. It seemed he wanted the 
Cabalists to beat back the raiders themselves, and he 
wanted some of the enemy to escape. Chainer 
reminded himself that the First had global concerns 
which he would never be privy to, and took faith in the 
First's wisdom. 

Once the furor at the gate had died down and the 
fighting moved beyond the city walls, Chainer and 
Azza went looking for Kamahl. 

The big barbarian might have joined the running 
battle, but Chainer expected to find him close by. 
Kamahl had been more interested in defending the 
city than the Cabal. Chainer made no such distinction, 
but he was glad that something had sparked his 
friend's fighting spirit after the shikar. 

The dead, the wounded, and the unconscious 
were scattered around the main gates like leaves in 
autumn. Scavengers from the squatters' huts were 
already poking around, looking for valuables. Azza 
growled angrily, and the scavengers wisely withdrew. 

Chainer saw a few white-robed Samites milling 
around as well, looking for survivors to care for. There 
were also two or three black-robed Cabal healers, who 
were known in the pits as "leeches." The two groups 
took pains to avoid each other and communicated only 
through cold stares. Azza sniffed and whined. She 

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bounded forward, almost tossing Chainer off. 

Kamahl was lying face-down in the center of a 
charred and smoking circle. His sword was missing, 
and he had taken a heavy blow to the right side of his 
face. His right hand clutched at a stab wound in his 
stomach that was filling his tunic with blood. His 
hands, feet, arms, and face were horribly burned. 

Chainer paused only long enough to stare at the 
Samite healer approaching them. She was tall and 
willowy with a concerned air, and she offered her hand 
out to Chainer. "I am Nibahn. I am a Samite. I can 
help him, brother. I can help all who suffer." She 
started to kneel next to Kamahl, but Azza stopped her 
with a growl. 

"The Cabal is here," Chainer called, and one of 
the black-robed healers answered. Nibahn shook her 
head sadly, eyes pleading, but Chainer drew his 
dagger and began idly cleaning his fingernails. Azza 
growled again, and the Samite withdrew. 

The Cabal healer bowed to Chainer and Azza. He 
had a wide black stripe tattooed over his left eye from 
his hairline to his jawline and a wispy black mustache. 
The healer was an oily little rat-faced toad, but 
Chainer trusted him because he knew how to motivate 
him. 

With a wave, Chainer whipped a collar around 
the healer's ankles. He yanked the healer's feet out 
from under him, and Azza stalked forward, so that her 
huge head was directly over the healer's, and her 
great, snorting breaths puffed into his face. 

"Take this barbarian inside," Chainer said, "and 
keep him alive. Do nothing apart from keep him alive 
and comfortable until I come for him." He leaned over 

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the healer himself, almost overbalancing, and his eyes 
went black. "Nothing. Do you understand?" 

The healer sniveled, his eyes darting between 
Azza and Chainer. "I do, big brother." 

Azza turned and carried Chainer away. He saw 
the healer rise and motion for his assistants. He 
clearly heard the healer say, "Gently, very gently." 

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CHAPTER 20 


Laquatus stood in the First's private chamber at 
the head of a small group of Cabalists and dignitaries. 
They had all been summoned in the wake of the raid, 
ostensibly to testify about their whereabouts and 
report what they had seen. The Mer ambassador 
recognized a simple call for scapegoats, however. 

He was unconcerned for himself. His contact with 
Major Teroh had been completely innocent, or at least, 
absolutely secret. Even if the First knew he had been 
in contact with the Order, Laquatus felt secure. There 
was nothing in the content of his exchanges with 
Teroh that was incriminating. If Teroh read a hidden 
meaning into the ambassador's words, Laquatus could 
easily feign shock and could well afford to make 
restitution. Besides, he was certain the First 
understood the political necessity of keeping in touch 
with one's enemies as well as one's allies, especially in 
these troubled times. 

The captain of the city watch standing next to 
him was not so confident. The man had the common, 
earthy stink of fear all over him, and with good reason. 
The city's defenses were virtually nonexistent during 
the opening minutes of the raid, and so far no one had 
come up with an explanation of how the Order was 
able to penetrate so far into the city so quickly. There 
were even rumors that the captain had betrayed the 
Cabal and given the Order free access to the heart of 
the city, but Laquatus knew for a fact they were false. 
He surreptitiously stepped further away from the 

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captain, however, for his was the most likely head to 
fall. 

Next to the captain stood Chainer, the young 
dementist who was going to provide a replacement for 
Turg. Chainer seemed calm, almost tranquil compared 
to the captain, but Laquatus was having a difficult 
time seeing into the boy's mind. Most of the 
individuals he encountered in person were as 
defenseless as if they had peepholes installed in their 
foreheads that Laquatus could peer into at any time. 
Chainer was more like Caster Fulla, however. Instead 
of a peephole, his mind was guarded by a tortured 
maze of mirrors. Every time Laquatus looked in, all he 
saw were distorted images of himself. 

The boy Chainer kept glancing to his right at 
Louche, a sallow Cabalist who had just become the 
new Master of the Games. Louche's mind was more 
open than Chainer's and calmer than the captain's, but 
there was no useful information in it. It was full of 
facts and figures and deals and deadlines, all glued 
together with acrid contempt for almost all sentient 
being. 

The First swept into the room with his attendants 
hovering all around him. The killers on the wall stood 
a little straighter as he passed them, and the entire 
entourage took up their positions at the far end of the 
room. The First's mind was even more closed to 
Laquatus than Chainer's. 

"I will be brief," the First said. "I am conducting a 
basic inquiry into the recent visit we received from the 
crusat. Captain Fleer." 

"Yes, Pater." Sweat fairly poured from Fleer's 
forehead. 

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"Explain the guards' poor performance." 
"It was a well-organized attack," Fleer 
stammered. "They hit us on three sides 
simultaneously." 

The First nodded to one of his hand attendants, 
who was busily transcribing the captain's words. 
"West, north, and south?" 

"Yes, Pater." 

"But not from the east. Not from the sea." He 
looked at Laqua-tus meaningfully, but the ambassador 
kept his face and his thoughts blank. 

"No, Pater. There was no attack on the port or the 
docks." 

"That you know of." 

"Uh ... no, Pater. Not that I know of." 

"And yet, somehow an entire squadron of crusat 
fanatics was able to gain access to the arena." 

"Yes, Pater." 

"And storm the vault in an effort to seize the 
Mirari." 

"Yes, Pater." 

"And you have no idea how they were able to get 
to the arena so quickly?" 

"No, Pater. We killed or wounded hundreds," he 
added desperately. "They took heavy casualties in 
their retreat." 

"Because they took almost none in the attack. Be 
silent, Captain." The First turned his withering white 
gaze on Laquatus. "Ambassador," he said. "I trust you 
were not inconvenienced by the attack?" 

"Not at all, O Patriarch. If not for the noise, I 
doubt I would have even known there was an attack." 

"Outstanding. As you know, the comfort of our 

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visitors is something we city dwellers pride ourselves 
on. We would never want to breach the sacred bond 
between host and guest." 

"That bond is as strong as ever, my lord." 

"You must understand, however, that these 
events will impact the plans we have already made." 

"Of course, my lord." Laquatus swallowed his first 
taste of uncertainty. "I trust it will not impact them 
too . . . dramatically?" 

"That remains to be seen." The First addressed 
Louche. "Master of the Games," he said, and Laquatus 
saw Chainer's mild surprise tinged with . . . 
disappointment? Laquatus wasn't sure, but clearly 
Chainer had not been aware of Louche's promotion. 

"Pater." 

"Your predecessor allowed the arena to be taken 
like some lonely mountain outpost. The pits are now in 
your hands. Will they be ready for the anniversary 
games ?" 

Louche's lips moved as he juggled figures in his 
head. "Three months from now, Pater?" 

"Two months, three weeks," the First said. 

Louche nodded. "No problem. The damage to the 
facilities was mostly cosmetic. The crowds will be down 
for the next few weeks because the spectators will be 
afraid of another raid. They'll forget, though. By the 
time the anniversary rolls around, everything will be 
back to normal." 

"Outstanding. Be sure that all the shills and 
runners know the date. I want the arena full." 

"Yes, Pater." 

The First now turned his milky gaze on Chainer. 
He smiled warmly. "Master Chainer," he said. 

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"Pater." Chainer seemed completely at ease, 
almost disinterested. 

"Once again, the Cabal owes you its thanks. It is 
impossible to tell how much damage the Order would 
have done—" he glared at Fleer— "if you hadn't 
arrived in time to stop them." 

"I am your obedient child." 

"That you are. But there should be more of a 
reward than my praise. Is there anything you desire? 
If it is within my power, it shall be yours." 

"I require nothing, Pater," Chainer said. "Though 
my friend and partner Kamahl was gravely injured 
during the raid. He is not Cabal, yet he put his own 
body in harm's way on the Cabal's behalf." 

"Then your friend and partner also has my 
thanks. His wounds are being seen to?" 

"They are. But if it pleases you, Pater, I have 
chosen my reward." 

"Name it." 

"Give me the Mirari," Chainer said, and Laquatus 
fought the urge to cry out. 

"Not to keep," the young dementist went on, "but 
to use on my friend." 

"I was unaware that the Mirari had healing 
powers," the First said. Laquatus heard an element of 
suspicion in the Patriarch's voice, suspicion that 
Laquatus shared. How did the boy know something 
about the Mirari that neither Laquatus or the First 
knew? 

"As far as I know, it doesn't. But the extent of my 
powers has yet to be defined. I would like to try to help 
my friend with the Mirari in my hands." 

Laquatus could no longer contain himself. "No 

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one yet has touched the Mirari and lived," he blurted. 

Chainer smiled. "Except for me, Ambassador. 
And I only seek to borrow the Mirari, not to own it." 

The First paused, obviously deep in thought. "It 
shall be done," he said. "Although I shall accompany 
you, to protect the Cabal's interests." 

"Of course, Pater." 

"I should very much like to see the Mirari in the 
hands of an expert," Laquatus said. "Twice now I have 
watched it destroy its temporary owners." 

"Your presence is not necessary," Chainer said. 
Laquatus was preparing to argue when Chainer 
continued, addressing the First. "Although I would 
also like to employ the Mirari as an aid in fulfilling our 
bargain with the ambassador. I can provide him with a 
new familiar at any time, but with the Mirari in hand, 
I can exceed his expectations." 

"I have no objections to the dementist's proposal," 
Laquatus said quickly. 

The First was slower to respond. "Very well," he 
said. "But one use of the Mirari is a reward. The 
second must be paid for." 

"Pater. I am always at your service." 

"When shall the Mirari be employed on my 
behalf?" Laquatus asked. 

Chainer and the First exchanged a knowing 
glance, then each nodded. Laquatus was beside 
himself that they were communicating right in front of 
him, and he had no idea .what they were saying. 

"Two days hence," the First said, and Chainer 
nodded again. "Now, there is one final matter that I 
need to address." He clapped his hands once, and the 
former Master of the Games was dragged, bound and 

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kicking, into the chamber. She was gagged, but she 
continued to babble incoherently through the heavy 
cloth. 

"Capau, be still." The sound of her secret name 
drained all the energy out of the former Master of the 
Games. She stood dazed and listless, her eyes glassy 
and fearful. The First gestured, and one of his 
attendants stepped forward and slashed her bonds 
from her wrists and ankles. The former Master of the 
Games stood perfectly still as if unaware of her new 
freedom. 

Laquatus stole a glance at Louche, who had just 
taken over the dangerous position. For once the bitter 
little man was not thinking of how much others 
annoyed him. In fact, Laquatus didn't need to read 
minds to understand the sickly, haunted look on 
Louche's face. 

"Sadget, step forward" the First intoned, and 
Fleer woodenly took up the space next to the bound 
master. 

"You have failed, my children," the First said. 
"But in the Cabal failure is not punishable by death. 
Failure requires correction, not extinction. Your 
failures, however, have cost the Cabal too much. You 
will make amends for the lives and the materials 
wasted by your blundering." The First spread his arms 
wide, and for once none of his attendants jumped 
forward to do his bidding. In fact, Laquatus thought, 
even the near-mindless hand attendants were staying 
well clear of Fleer and the formerly bound woman. 

"I forgive you, my children, for your failure." The 
First smiled at Laquatus, and added, "My greatest 
flaw is a tendency to overindulge my family. I can 

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never stay angry at them for long." Laquatus smiled 
politely, but the Cabalists continued to writhe in 
horror before the First. 

"Capau. Sadget. Accept your forgiveness, and 
your Pater's love. Embrace me and settle your account, 
so this matter can be forgotten." 

Laquatus saw frenzied bolts of terror flash across 
Louche's mind, and even Chainer seemed 
apprehensive. The merman was fascinated. He had 
never seen anyone so much as brush the sleeve of the 
First's robe. He understood physical contact with their 
patriarch was the Cabalists' only taboo, and yet two of 
them were being beckoned into the First's arms by the 
man himself. 

The errant Cabalists stepped woodenly forward, 
shuffling like sleepwalkers. Tears of terror were 
streaming down Fleer's face, and the former Master of 
the Games seemed almost catatonic. They came 
forward, however, and stood perfectly still as the First 
wrapped them both in his long arms. 

As soon as the gray flesh of the First's hand 
touched the squirming Cabalists, they began to 
scream. The First tightened his grip and locked his 
hands together with Fleer and the deposed master 
held tight. Their skin blackened where he touched it. 
The patches of stricken skin spread like fire across a 
pool of oil, and fine tendrils of black smoke drifted 
from the victims into the First's waiting nostrils. The 
Cabal patriarch tightened his grip again and threw his 
head back. The two figures in his arms were now 
scarcely recognizable as human. Instead, they seemed 
to be delicate, paper-thin flowers that were drooping, 
dying, and rotting all in a matter of seconds. The 

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hollow, brittle rinds of two adult Cabalists collapsed 
into a thousand fragments as the last of their essence 
was converted into ebon mist and absorbed by the 
First. 

"Now," the First had grown larger, more robust, 
"all is truly forgiven." He clapped his hands together, 
dislodging ashen fragments from his sleeves. 
"Chainer," he said, "stay with me. The rest of you are 
dismissed with my thanks." 

Laquatus followed Louche as the guards led them 
out and down the hallway. He would have to be 
especially careful now. In two days he would be in the 
same room with the Mirari while Chainer employed it. 
Everyone else who tried to use the sphere died in 
cataclysmic circumstances while the Mirari rolled free. 
If Chainer were going to destroy himself as Pianna 
and Aboshan had, Laquatus intended to make sure 
that this time he was the one who caught the bouncing 
ball. 

* * * * * 

While the others were led away, the First had his 
attendants hold up documents for him to read, nodding 
once for each when he was finished. The attendants 
made the First's mark on the scrolls he approved, then 
took them away. 

"It was a terrible thing, this crusat raid," the 
First said. 

Chainer nodded. 

"Such a thing should never be allowed to happen 
again," the First continued. 

Chainer nodded. 

"There were a hundred Cabal fatalities and twice 

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a hundred injuries. But even more than for the murder 
of our brethren, I want Major Teroh and the other 
hard-liners to pay for their arrogance. Do they think 
they can attack us in our own home and walk away 
with only a bloodied nose? They owe us restitution, 
and no one walks away from a Cabal debt." 

"The First is wise." 

"You know what I'm going to ask, don't you?" The 
First's eyes were calm and wide. 

"Yes, Pater." 

"And in return, you know I will grant you a 
second use of the Mirari." 

"Yes, Pater." 

"When can you leave?" 

"Tonight, Pater. After I have visited Kamahl and 
tried my best to heal him. He was instrumental in my 
shikar. I cannot leave him to the leeches." 

The First nodded. "What did you think of my 
demonstration?" 

Chainer paused. "I think the ambassador either 
encouraged or enabled the raid. I think he still wants 
the Mirari. I think he intends to use it to take control 
of Mer, and then he will come for Otaria." 

"He will try," the First agreed. "But there is value 
in an ally with no morals. If he will betray us to the 
Order, he will in turn betray the Order to us." 

"The First is wise." 

"Let us discuss the details of the casting you have 
planned for him. I may be able to ... improve the 
overall result." 

"As soon as I return, Pater." 

"Outstanding. Now," he thrust his hands deep 
into the sleeves of his robe. "Let us attend to your 

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barbarian friend." 

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CHAPTER 21 


Thirty miles up the eastern road from Cabal City, 
the Samite sanctuary was filled to capacity. Nibahn 
the healer was on her third trip to the apothecary for 
clean bandages and sleeping herbs. The majority of her 
patients were expected to live through the night, but 
only if she and her staff worked round the clock. She 
believed utterly in the Order, but she despised the 
brutality of the crusat. The Samite way of universal 
tolerance was the only way she knew to bring about a 
better world. 

Halfway back to the hospital, a whispered voice 
from the shadows hissed, "Healer." Nibahn adjusted 
the thick bundle of bandages and clay bottles under 
one arm and approached the sound. "Hello? Are you 
wounded? All are welcome. All are safe. Will you come 
forward?" She could make out two human figures in 
the darkness, two men of roughly equal size. One of 
them took a half step forward and spoke. 

"Kindness for kindness, Samite. No one walks 
away from a Cabal debt." Nibahn felt something round 
and hard strike her forehead, and she fell back in a 
swoon. Though conscious, she was too stunned by the 
blow to see or move. Someone wrapped metal bonds 
around her hands, and dragged her roughly by the 
collar into the shadows. 

"You understand why you're here?" the 
whispering voice said to something in the shadows. 
The only reply was an angry, ominous buzz. 

"Then go," the voice said, and Nibahn heard no 

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more. 

* * * * * 

Major Teroh made a brief obeisance to the angel 
guarding the door and entered the hospital. The 
Samites were deluded fools, but their healing arts had 
been handed down for thousands of years and were 
still unmatched. 

Inside, the Major scowled as he took in the rows 
and rows of wounded troopers, aven and human alike. 
Teroh cursed Laquatus for giving him the idea for the 
raid, but he could not blame everything on the 
ambassador. The merman had gotten them into the 
heart of the city with some sort of water teleportation 
spell, just as he had promised. It was a risky plan from 
the start, and the Cabal had offered far more 
resistance than Teroh had expected. 

Still, he thought, as he continued to tour the 
hospital, it might not be a complete loss. The Cabal 
still held the Mirari, but now that the crusat was open 
and declared, other Order commanders from all 
around Otaria were contacting Teroh, looking to join 
his army. It would be well worth the loss of a few 
hundred troopers if a few thousand rose up in 
righteous fury to avenge them. 

There was a scuffle at the entrance, and Teroh 
turned to see what was causing it. A tall, thin man 
dressed in what appeared to be black paper was 
attempting to enter the hospital, and the angel had 
drawn her sword to block him. The man's face was 
featureless, hidden under a wide-brimmed hat. 

"To arms," the angel cried. "Hostile on the ward." 
She couldn't take flight amid such close quarters, but 

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she spread her wings anyway to keep the man from 
darting past her. Teroh still did not understand the 
concern in her voice. The intruder looked about as 
substantial as a scarecrow, and he wasn't even armed. 

The angel struck first, something Teroh had 
never seen before. Usually they waited for their 
opponents to strike or threaten an innocent before they 
attacked. From his vantage point across the room, he 
could see the angel and the intruder in profile. She had 
driven her sword straight into his torso, where it met 
no resistance as it plunged through. The scarecrow 
didn't flinch. 

The angel turned her head and screamed across 
the room, "Run! In Serra's name, run now!" The staff 
of the hospital looked to Teroh, and he shrugged. Most 
of the wounded were dozing, and few of them were fit 
enough to get out of bed anyway. 

"Sister," Teroh raised his voice as he addressed 
the angel, "what are you—" He stopped when he saw a 
clinging gray smoke waft out of the scarecrow's chest 
wound. Teroh realized the intruder wasn't dressed in 
paper, his skin was made of paper—or something very 
much like it. His chest had not been cut by the angel's 
sword, it had been torn like parchment. 

The mist floated in midair between the two 
figures for a moment longer, and then it rushed at the 
angel. The smoke began to bubble and boil as it 
touched her face, her neck, her arms, and she 
screamed, something else Teroh had never known an 
angel to do. 

"Swords," he called as he drew his own, and two 
more angels and a handful of on-duty troopers 
responded. 

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As her comrades approached, and the mist 
churned and boiled across her flesh, the first angel 
flailed wildly with her sword. It passed harmlessly 
through the mist, but whenever the blade touched the 
scarecrow, his papery skin split, and more gray mist 
wafted out to join the assault. The angel was in agony, 
but she refused to abandon her post. 

A second angel lunged forward with her sword. 
There was a swish and a rustle, and the intruder's 
head dropped backward, connected to his torso only by 
a few papery threads. His body still stood, however, 
and now the gray mist poured out of his neck to attack 
the second angel. 

"Stop cutting him," Teroh barked, but it was too 
late. Whatever filled the scarecrow's body was caustic 
and was quickly stripping the exposed skin off the two 
angels. Teroh grabbed a nearby Samite by the 
shoulder and said, "Bring bed sheets. Towels. 
Anything that we can wrap him in to staunch that 
smoke and get him out of here." 

The first angel dropped where she stood, her face 
stripped down to the bone, and the smoke was not 
dissipating. In fact, it seemed to be growing, larger 
and thicker as it consumed the rest of its first victim. 
Teroh stared in horror as he realized it wasn't smoke 
at all. It was insects. Millions of them, each no bigger 
than a pinpoint, stripping the flesh from the angels' 
bones by the mouthful. And with each mouthful, they 
were growing bigger. 

"Fire," Teroh yelled to a trembling trooper. "We 
need fire." The buzzing of the tiny swarm grew louder 
and more furious as the insects themselves grew larger 
and larger. The second angel fell, little more than a 

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winged skeleton. The bugs on the first angel were now 
as big as wasps, and Teroh could see their savage 
mandibles working as they consumed their victims. 
The Samite he had ordered to fetch bed sheets came 
forward with them, but the healer's eyes were locked 
on the ever-increasing swarm that blocked the only 
exit. 

"You," Teroh pointed at a trio of soldiers, "and 
you and you. That thing has to be driven outside. 
Charge." "Charge, sir?" 

"It's going to kill us all! Gods damn it, I gave you 
an order! Now charge, troopers! Defend the Order!" 

Two of the three soldiers rushed at the deflating 
hive man and were promptly engulfed in gray mist and 
voracious insects. The third stood frozen while his 
partners died screaming. Teroh stormed over to the 
man and ran him through where he stood. 

"Coward," he snarled. 

The bugs were now as big as carrier pigeons, and 
they started to spread out across the hospital. New 
cries of pain issued out from bandaged faces and cloth 
partitions. The last angel on the ward leaped in and 
slashed one of the larger insects in two. Both halves 
reformed into smaller versions of the original and 
promptly attacked the angel's face. 

The air was thick with the sounds of agony and 
the terrible buzzing of the hive. The insects were so 
numerous and so large that it became impossible to 
see clearly. Teroh held his sword loosely in his hand, 
and scanned the crush of screaming people. There 
were no ranks in the room anymore, however, only 
panicked individuals fighting for their lives. 

I must escape, Teroh realized. I have to get word 

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of this to Bre-tath. Though he was livid with rage at 
the thought of another retreat, Teroh knew his original 
thinking was correct. It was worth the loss of a 
hundred, or five hundred, or a thousand, if ten 
thousand more would march to replace them. 

Teroh turned his sword on the cloth wall of the 
tent beside him and dove through the rent. He got to 
his feet and looked back into the hospital, but there 
was nothing he could do for those who remained 
inside. He could only take their deaths to Bretath and 
use them to raise more troops for the crusat. 

Teroh turned and sprinted for the command tent 
across the compound. Without a torch, he didn't see 
the two spears jammed deep into the ground with a 
length of chain stretched neck-high between them. He 
felt it, however, as the chain and the spears held, 
cracking his larynx and slamming him flat on his back. 
Choking, dazed, and helpless, Teroh stared up at the 
starless sky. A calm, careful tread approached him. 
Whoever it was carried a light source on his chest, and 
Teroh watched a tall, slender man with braided hair 
and hollow eyes lean over him. 

"Hello, Major." Chainer's dagger was out, and he 
laid the tip of it on Teroh's jugular vein. "The Cabal is 
here, and everywhere. Your crusat ends now. Goodbye, 
Major." 

When he was done, Chainer wiped his dagger on 
the long grass and stayed on the eastern road until the 
commotion in the sanctuary, the command tent, and 
the barracks died down. Under his direction, the bugs 
focused their attack on the soldiers and stayed away 
from the ranch and stables. He knew the insects would 
continue to gorge until they had consumed everything 

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in their immediate area, growing larger all the while. 
Then, they would turn on each other. 

Chainer practiced making snakes while he 
waited. He was getting quite good at it. 

When he activated the First's teleportation spell 
several hours later and returned to Cabal City, the 
only things left alive in Teroh's camp were an 
unconscious Samite healer and a stable of fine white 
chargers. 

* * * * * 

The first thing Kamahl saw when he awoke was 
Chainer. In the cramped, candlelit room, the Cabalist 
crouched over him like a smirking vulture. 

"The Cabal is here," Chainer said, and Kamahl 
groaned. 

"How long have I been out?" Kamahl's body felt 
heavy, drugged, and leaden. 

"Just over a day. You should lie still. You've been 
wounded, and you aren't done healing yet." 

"Wounded?" Kamahl searched his fuzzy 
memories. "I was fighting at the gates. We were 
breaking them on the walls. I remember a glowing 
knight, and the smell of... burning air. Then 
everything went white and jagged and hot." 

"You were laid low by a justicar," Chainer said. 
"They generate righteous lighting, or some such 
nonsense. We don't know what they are, really, but 
that's twice now they've surprised us. You and I are 
going to have to do something about that." 

"I'm ready," Kamahl said angrily. He tried to rise, 
but only his head made it off the pillow. 

"Not yet you aren't. Lie still, or you'll never heal." 

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Kamahl lifted his arms. They also felt heavy, and he 
could see thick scars running up both forearms. Or 
were they calluses? There was a sickly odor in the 
room that was making it even harder for him to 
concentrate. 

"I've come to show you something," Chainer said. 
"We've been waiting for hours. You're not one of those 
people who jumps out of bed ready for the brand new 
day, are you?'" 

"My arms feel wrong," Kamahl said. "My chest is 
too heavy. Did I breathe in some of that righteous 
whatever? I feel like I'm gasping." 

"You were in pretty bad shape. I couldn't let those 
Order fools take you, and I didn't trust our own leeches 
to patch you up right." Kamahl blinked. "So who 
healed me?" 

"I did," Chainer said proudly. "I arranged to have 
the Mirari brought in, so I could use it to fix you. 
Worked like a charm, too." "The Mirari? Where is it?" 

"Safely back in its vault," the First said. He had 
been hidden behind Chainer, but now he came forward 
to Kamahl's cot. "It was beautiful to watch, however. 
Chainer remains one of the few people who can touch 
the Mirari and use it without destroying everything 
around him." 

The barbarian turned his head and tried to 
breathe as shallow as he could. The Cabal Patriarch 
was the source of the sickening odor. Or was he? 
Kamahl realized his face had been burned, too, and it 
felt tough and callused like his arms. When the First 
retreated back behind Chainer, Kamahl could still 
smell something tainted. Unclean. With a growing 
sense of dread, he realized the smell was coming from 

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him. 

"Am I zombified, or just gangrenous?" he asked 
seriously. Chainer laughed. 

"Neither. That's a side effect of my treatment. It 
should be temporary." 

Kamahl's head was clearing fast. "Your 
treatment? Since when are you a healer?" 

"Since never. But I am a maker. I make things, 
living things. And with the Mirari's help, I was able to 
make you whole again. Instead of an entire creature, I 
only created the parts I needed. The leech helped me 
graft them in place, but I think you'll agree it's a 
seamless job." 

Kamahl lifted his heavy arms again. He felt more 
calluses on his chest, feet, and deep under the short 
ribs on his left side. "More light," he said, and Chainer 
obligingly brought the candle closer. 

Kamahl's hands were covered in stiff copper 
snakeskin that had grown into and merged with his 
normal flesh. The new skin was nearly smooth, and 
the pattern was delicate, but Kamahl could feel the 
toughness of the individual scales. The edges of each 
scale were sharp. Kamahl ran his finger underneath 
one, and the finger came back bleeding. He stared at 
his own blood for a moment, then looked up helplessly 
at Chainer. 

"You turned me into a snake?" 

"No," Chainer chided, "of course not. I patched a 
few holes and touched up a few surfaces. It'll breathe 
and grow just like normal skin. But it's even sturdier 
than the stuff you lost. Anything less than a full-on 
sword thrust just bounces off." He smiled. "What do 
you think?" 

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"Get it off me." Kamahl spoke calmly but 
forcefully. "Now." 

Chainer looked crushed. "But... I can't. It's a 
permanent graft." 

"I didn't ask for it. I don't want it." 

"You're tired," the First stepped forward again. 
"You need some time to adjust. It's a major change, 
after all, and—" 

"Get the Mirari in here," Kamahl said, "and undo 
what you did." 

The First's voice grew cold as the grave. "I'm 
afraid that suggestion is not a possibility. It's also 
remarkably ungrateful." 

Kamahl shut his eyes. "Neither of you 
understand," he said. He lashed out and took Chainer 
by the shirt front, holding his new skin in front of 
Chainer's face with his free hand. "We barbarians 
don't do this kind of thing. Chop off my arm, and I 
must learn to fight one-handed. Put out my eyes, and I 
must learn to fight blind. This—" he released Chainer 
and shook his scaly fists at his friend— "is an 
abomination. It goes against everything I've ever 
believed." He lowered his arms. "I'm sorry, Chainer, 
but you've made a mistake. Thank you for your gift. I 
will not accept it." 

"We should let Kamahl get some rest," the First 
said. "Sleep, barbarian. Everything will look different 
in the morning." He glided out of the room without 
another word or a second glance. 

"You're really angry," Chainer said. 

"Not angry, Chainer. Serious." 

Chainer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Kamahl. I 
truly am. The First is right." Chainer followed his 

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patriarch's path, but he backed out, so he could keep 
an eye on Kamahl. "You should get some sleep. We'll 
talk more in the morning, and I'll see about . . . I'll see 
what I can do." 

* * * * * 

Kamahl remained silent for the next several 
hours as his anger and frustration grew. He couldn't 
stand the feel of Chainer's gift. The snakeskin itched 
and chafed his natural skin raw wherever the two 
touched. He could already feel how it threw off his 
timing and muted the messages the rest of his body 
continually sent to his brain. Worst of all, it marked 
him as a coward and a weakling who couldn't even 
overcome his own injuries without spare parts from 
the Cabal's nightmare pantry. 

He couldn't stand it—would not stand it. Kamahl 
let his mind drift, back in time to his training at 
Balthor's feet, back in space to his home on the Pardic 
Mountains. Pardic was not the tallest range on the 
continent, but it was one of the deepest. Tribal legend 
said that the Pardics ran right to the center of the 
planet, where the temperature was so hot that the 
elements and mana alike were combined into one 
glowing, red-hot ball of fire and molten rock. Kamahl 
struggled to control the energy he was gathering. This 
would be an extremely difficult spell under ideal 
conditions. As it was, Kamahl would need every ounce 
of concentration he could muster to keep from 
immolating himself completely. 

He stared at his hands and focused his thoughts 
on the sensation of the alien skin. The same sensation 
echoed in his side, on his legs, on his face, all the 

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places Chainer had treated. He isolated those 
sensations, in effect isolating those parts of his body 
and those layers of skin that were no longer his own. 

In Kamahl's native language, there was a word 
for the act of sterilizing and sealing a wound with fire. 
The word was "cachede," and Kamahl pronounced it 
now. 

The huge barbarian growled and gritted his teeth 
as the snake-skin grafts all burst into flame 
simultaneously. He could not clearly recall the pain of 
the original injury, but he was certain that this was 
far worse. The horrid stench of burning flesh filled the 
room, and noxious smoke stung his eyes. Kamahl 
clenched his fists as they burned, holding them aloft so 
as not to ignite the bedclothes. When the last of the 
scales was burned away, the fires on Kamahl's body 
sputtered and died. He sat in complete agony for a 
moment. Then he shoved himself out of the bed and 
clumsily began bathing his fresh wounds with water 
from the bedside basin. I will live, he promised 
himself. I will heal. I will fight again under my own 
power, on my own terms. 

And I will leave this place with the Mirari in my 
fist, or I will not leave it at all. 

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CHAPTER 22 


Chainer moved into his lavish new quarters in 
the First's manor and threw himself into his new 
duties. The Order's crusat blossomed into a full-blown 
war in the wake of Chainer's visit to the camp, and the 
First charged Chainer with bringing the hostilities to a 
speedy conclusion. While the First dealt with angry 
communiques from the Order's highest ranking 
officers, Chainer would respond to the marked 
increase in crusat raids around the region. The raiders 
were not yet numerous enough to mount another 
attack on Cabal City. Instead, small bands of troopers 
and officers were terrorizing the lesser Cabal 
strongholds in northern Otaria, especially those with 
pit facilities. So Chainer had very little time to dwell 
on Kamahl's betrayal. Mere days after mutilating 
himself, the barbarian packed up his kit and left the 
leech's chambers on legs that could barely support 
him. Chainer realized how completely Kamahl had 
turned his back on Cabal hospitality. He wondered 
what kind of madness led a man to spit on his hosts 
and make enemies of his closest friends. The last thing 
Chainer heard about his former partner was that he 
was renting a room in a public house near the docks, 
where the rents were low and interaction between 
landlord and tenant was minimal. 

None of that mattered in the larger scheme of 
things, of course. Kamahl insisted on being treated 
like any another contestant in the pits, and the Cabal 
would happily accommodate him. When he came for 

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the Mirari he would fall to Chainer just like every 
other nameless challenger. 

Chainer's new quarters were large and 
sumptuous, but he had no furniture apart from a chair 
and a sleeping cot scavenged from his room at 
Skellum's academy. He brought the cot because it 
reminded him of his mentor, not because he needed it. 
Sleep came to him in short, sudden bursts, and 
sometimes it never came at all. 

Just as well, he mused. He had very little time to 
sleep, anyway. The First had sent scrolls and tomes for 
him to review, and the Master of the Games regularly 
added stacks of dates and pairings for upcoming 
games. Chainer himself had requested some additional 
reading material on his own, but all of the scrolls and 
heavy books and loose sheets of paper lay in a confused 
pile in the corner of the smallest room. Chainer had 
read them all and retained quite a bit of it, but he 
preferred to spend his time preparing for battle. He 
made snakes or weighted chains and aggressively 
hurled them at imaginary enemies as he sprinted and 
rolled from room to empty room. 

They were all coming for the Mirari, he knew, all 
of them. The First had been so delighted with 
Chainer's use of the sphere on Kamahl that he had 
made Chainer its official keeper. It stayed hidden in a 
warded vault that would only open if Chainer and the 
First spoke the right charm at the exact same moment 
while standing side-by-side outside the door, but no 
one was ever permitted to touch the Mirari but 
Chainer, not even the First himself. Even better, when 
the Mirari games were staged, Chainer would 
represent the Cabal, and if he won the tournament, he 

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would win the right to bear the Mirari permanently, as 
he now bore his dagger and censer. A victory for the 
Cabal meant a victory for Chainer, and vice-versa. 

Chainer impulsively created two huge saber-
toothed anacondas and set them on one another. He 
wanted to see what happened when they tried to 
squeeze each other to death. While the snakes 
wrapped around each other like a braided garrote, 
Chainer let his mind wander back to the sensation of 
holding the Mirari in his hands, of having 
unimaginable power literally at his fingertips. 

Chainer had stood over Kamahl's sleeping body 
with the Mirari clenched between his palms. In his 
mind, he saw a bipedal snake man with copper scales 
standing alongside Kamahl. The two images slid 
together until they were two overlapping phantoms 
occupying the exact same space. The snake man's body 
faded away except for those areas that corresponded to 
Kamahl's wounds. Chainer felt the first giant wave 
from an endless ocean of power flow out of the Mirari 
and into his head. Something shifted deep in his brain, 
and when he opened his eyes the First was beaming, 
and Kamahl had live, healthy flesh ready for the 
leech's grafting spells. 

Tapping into the Mirari was different than being 
in dementia space, different even from communing 
with Kuberr. The Mirari was its own power, and it 
didn't mingle or share with the person who held it. The 
sphere was more like an infinite battery in search of a 
will through which it could focus and release its 
energy. 

The Mirari could change the world, Chainer 
knew, but it couldn't decide how on its own. Making 

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the decision and unleashing the power had proved 
fatal to everyone but him, and Chainer took enormous 
pride in that. Not only was he the only being alive who 
had used it, he alone was the only one who could. It 
was his to employ, his to use on behalf of the Cabal. It 
had told him so the first time he saw it, and everything 
it had shown him had come true. As soon as he had 
annihilated the Order and won the Mirari for himself 
in the games, his destiny would be complete. 

A soft knock and a call of "Master?" interrupted 
his training. 

Master Chainer had earned the rank by 
successfully completing the shikar, and the First had 
formally conferred it upon him in the wake of the 
redoubled crusat. He dismissed the two anacondas, 
touched the polished marble wall to ground himself, 
and replied. 

"The Cabal is here." He was learning to control 
the physical changes his powers caused. If he 
concentrated, he could cancel the musical 
reverberation of his voice. He was less successful at 
controlling the appearance of his eyes. 

A young blonde girl came hesitantly in. She held 
an onyx scroll case. "The First and Ambassador 
Laquatus await your presence," she said. She never 
looked up at Chainer. He guessed his eyes were 
currently hollow. Had he been that timid at her age? 
That frightened? "Thank you, little sister," he said. 
She smiled to acknowledge his kindness, but she still 
seemed cowed, terrified. Perhaps she had only smiled 
to avoid antagonizing him. Chainer felt the urge to 
send a rattlesnake slithering across her sandaled feet, 
a glowing-eyed venom-spitting nightmare that would 

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strike but never bite, that would follow her everywhere 
and burrow under her pillow while she slept, rattling 
all the while. 

He put the temptation aside. He had business 
with the First, and besides, he was sure the messenger 
would crack in less than two days. Hardly worth the 
effort of creating the snake in the first place. "If you 
are ready, Master, I will take you to them." "I'm ready, 
little sister. Lead on." Chainer saw the shadow of a 
thick, scaled body moving across the messenger's foot, 
but she didn't react to its touch. He blinked hard, and 
the rattler was gone. "Are you all right, big brother?" 

"I said lead on," Chainer snapped. He was 
suddenly irritable. Was it lack of sleep? He vowed that 
he would get some rest, as soon as he and the Mirari 
introduced Laquatus to his new familiar. 

* * * * * 

Chainer was taken to a small, comfortable room 
outside the vault that contained the Mirari. He was 
greeted warmly by the First and Laquatus, but the 
ambassador visibly fumed when he was ordered to stay 
behind while the Cabalists fetched the sphere. When 
Chainer reentered the room bearing the Mirari, 
Laquatus stared at it hungrily. "Ambassador," Chainer 
said. "On behalf of the First and the Cabal, let me 
apologize for the delay. Now, as agreed, I present you 
with Turg's replacement." Chainer used the Mirari as 
he had with Kamahl, held tight between his hands 
with his eyes closed. He had put a great deal of 
thought into the casting beforehand, with constant 
input and refinement from the First. Every detail had 
been meticulously planned. Unleashing the actual 

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creature was almost an afterthought. Chainer saw the 
creature clearly in his mind. It was a medium-tall 
humanoid male with five fingers, no toes, and the well 
defined musculature of a competitive swimmer. Its 
body was hairless and featureless, an unbroken 
surface with no openings for eyes, nose, ears, or 
mouth. It was bruise-black in color, a dark and murky 
purple that was effective camouflage both in the 
shadows of the city and the sunless depths of the 
ocean. With an extremely bright light directly behind 
it, however, one could see that it was partially 
translucent with no recognizable bones or internal 
organs of any kind. In his mind's eye, Chainer saw a 
collar streak out and find the featureless man's neck. 
He noted with satisfaction that the figure did not 
struggle, or claw, or react in any way to the collar. It 
seemed as comfortable with it as it did without it. 

Chainer gave the leash a gentle mental tug. The 
creature took a single step forward and disappeared. 
Chainer opened his eyes, and the purple figure stood 
in the center of the room, steaming like a lobster fresh 
from the pot. 

"Ambassador Laquatus." Chainer presented the 
featureless man with a grand wave of his golem hand. 
"Meet your new familiar. I call him Burke." Laquatus 
inspected the new arrival and was clearly 
unimpressed. 

"Quickly. Call him by name," Chainer said. 
Laquatus put his hands on his hips, obviously 
skeptical of the entire affair. 

"Now. He needs to imprint on you as his master, 
or we'll have to start all over." 

"Burke." Laquatus shot the First a long-suffering 

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look as he spat the name out. "Attend your master." 

Burke responded to the sound of his name by 
facing Laquatus then dropping to one knee with his 
head bowed and his fists on the floor. 

"At least he knows his place," Laquatus said. "But 
what else can he do?" 

Chainer had expected this reaction from 
Laquatus, and he smiled patiently. "Well," he said, 
"you specified obedient, powerful, and amphibious. 
Burke is all those things. You can see how quickly he 
responds to your voice. And he doesn't need to breathe, 
so both land and sea are accessible to him." 

"But what does he do?" Laquatus keened. 
"Obedient and amphibious do me no good if there's no 
power to back them up. He has to be my new jack, my 
champion in the pits. How does he fight?" 

Chainer smiled again. "Perhaps a demonstration 
is in order." He scanned the room. "If you'll follow me 
to a room with a bit more space, ambassador, I'm sure 
Burke will satisfy your concerns." 

"If I may," the First interrupted, "I will take my 
leave of you now. Chainer, let us return the Mirari to 
the vault, so you and Laquatus can test his new jack." 
Laquatus sulked some more as Chainer and the First 
left him to become acquainted with Burke while they 
put their treasure away. 

"Has it worked, Master Chainer? Have you 
created exactly what we discussed?" 

"Exactly, Pater." 

"Outstanding. Convince the ambassador to accept 
his gift and send them both on their way. Come to my 
chambers when you are done. I would discuss your 
strategy for defending the lesser pits between now and 

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the games." 

"I will be along directly, Pater." They replaced the 
Mirari, sealed the vault, and the First went away, 
trailing his attendants behind him. When Chainer 
returned to the conference room, Laquatus was 
peering into Burke's blank face. 

"Can I touch him? Is he at least caustic?" "Follow 
me, please. And no, Ambassador, I'm afraid not. 
Burke's entire body is composed of nothing more than 
a dense, inert gel." He led Laquatus down the hall 
toward one of the private pits, smaller versions of the 
main arena for private matches and demonstrations. 
"Inert? Do you mean it does nothing?" 

"I mean it interacts with nothing. A drop of his 
body material on your skin or in your bloodstream 
wouldn't harm you any more than a drop of oil. The gel 
is extremely durable, however. The sharpest sword or 
dagger might pierce his hide, but the blade will snap 
before it goes any deeper. 

"I think you're missing the advantages of his 
body, Ambassador. He has no bones to break, no 
organs to rupture. He doesn't breathe, so he cannot be 
strangled. He has no eyes, so he cannot be blinded. No 
pores means no way for his skin to absorb irritants. No 
circulatory system means no way for diseases or 
poisons to spread inside his body. Virtually every 
attack he faces in the pits is going to fail, simply 
because his doesn't function like a normal living body. 
Burke's body is just a vessel for his mind, and his mind 
is a vessel for your commands." "Doesn't function 
normally," Laquatus echoed. "It doesn't seem to 
function at all! All you've given me is a defensive 
creature, a bodyguard. And I will repeat myself. I need 

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a jack, a fighting champion." They came upon the 
closed door that led to a private pit, and Burke sprang 
forward to hold the door for them as they passed. 
"Thank you," Chainer said, and Laquatus grumbled. 

"I sincerely hope, Master Chainer, that you don't 
expect me to be polite to this servant every time he 
attends me." 

"No, Ambassador. The Cabal teaches us to be 
polite to all our guests, including their servants. And 
Burke is now very much yours." 

"A greater treasure I have yet to receive," 
Laquatus said nastily. "And you haven't answered my 
question. How does he fight? And more to the point, 
how does he win?" 

"Now that we're here," Chainer said, "I can 
answer your question. And believe me, you're going to 
love this." 

"We shall see." 

"Order him into the center of the room, please." 
As Laquatus repeated the order and Burke moved, 
Chainer continued. "He will only respond to you from 
now on. After a few weeks, you won't even need to talk. 
It'll be as if he hears your thoughts." Chainer watched 
Laquatus carefully, but the merman kept his 
expression neutral. "Won't that be an interesting 
sensation? To speak without moving your lips?" 

"Imperial jesters have been doing that trick for a 
thousand years," Laquatus said. Chainer thought he 
saw the barest flicker of recognition, however. 

"Of course. My apologies. I'm sure that the Mer 
learned to speak silently generations ago. Makes it 
easier to issue commands at the bottom of the sea." 

Laquatus was staring sharply at Chainer, as if he 

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had just realized there was a deeper meaning to 
Chainer's casual banter. "You mentioned a 
demonstration, Master. I am waiting." 

"By all means. For the purposes of the 
demonstration, I'm going to put Burke up against a 
mixed group of sea creatures and land crawlers." 

"An excellent idea. But that is an offensive term 
to some mer-folk tribes." 

"I meant no offense," Chainer said. "There are so 
many types of sea creatures in the sea that I 
sometimes have trouble keeping all their customs 
straight. It would be better for everyone if Mer could 
unite behind a single leader, don't you think?" 

Laquatus looked intrigued, but his voice was 
suspicious. "I would welcome the chance to discuss the 
current situation in Mer with you. Later on. But right 
now . . . my demonstration?" 

Chainer nodded, and with a wave cast four 
hostile monsters across the room at Burke. A twenty-
foot sea serpent thrashed wildly, forcing a long-horned 
tiger to spring aside and stalk Burke from his left. A 
four-foot bat with eight spider's legs flapped and 
chittered madly around the ceiling, and a huge bipedal 
killer whale slowly moved closer to the gel man. Burke 
stood impassive with his feet planted firmly on the 
floor as the creatures all oriented on him and began 
their attack. 

"Order him to kill them all," Chainer said. 
Laquatus shrugged. 

"Burke," he intoned. "This is your master. 
Destroy your attackers." 

The tiger pounced first, seven hundred pounds of 
snarling fangs, gleaming horns, and sharp claws. 

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Burke stood frozen as the big cat descended on him, 
and then, in a motion so fast that not even Chainer 
could follow it, he ducked under the tiger's extended 
paws and sunk his arm up to the shoulder in the 
brute's belly. Burke wrapped his other arm around the 
top of the tiger's torso and slammed it head-first into 
the stone floor with a brutal combination of power and 
balance. The tiger's skull cracked, and it faded from 
the room. 

Burke then turned his eyeless face up to the 
ceiling and extended his arm out toward the spider 
bat. The gel in his arm softened and stretched as he 
reached, doubling then tripling the length of the 
appendage until the bat was trapped in the upper 
comer of the room. Burke's hand dipped and weaved as 
the bat tried to avoid it, but he quickly caught the 
rabid creature by the throat. His arm snapped back to 
its normal size and shape in a heartbeat, leaving the 
bat to fall dead to the floor. Its head remained 
clenched in Burke's hand until both parts of the bat's 
body disappeared. 

The whale creature was better suited to fighting 
on dry land than the serpent, and it reached Burke 
first. It grabbed the ambassador's jack like a doll in 
both hands and rammed him deep into its mouth. The 
creature ground its huge jaws together once, twice, 
and then threw its head back like a shark to swallow 
the chunks of its meal without further chewing. It 
turned to 

Chainer and Laquatus, spread its arms, and 
bellowed defiantly. 

"Well, that was entertaining," Laquatus said. 
"Perhaps we should just forget this ever happened and 

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you can—" 

"Three, two, one," Chainer said. "Go." 

A bruise-black fist erupted out of the monster's 
sternum. The whale-thing roared and tried to tear 
Burke's arm off, but the gel man held on, and the 
creature only succeeded in ripping Burke completely 
out of its gullet. Burke's expressionless face showed no 
reaction to the layer of blood and bile that coated him. 
The mortally wounded whale-monstrosity fell onto its 
back and soon vanished. 

"One more to go," Chainer said. 

The sea serpent had at last found some traction 
and was undulating at Burke with its jaws wide. 
Burke regarded those jaws, and then he leaped 
forward. His spread-eagled body met the oncoming 
serpent's head, and Burke splashed across the 
serpent's face like an overripe piece of fruit. To 
Laquatus's visible amazement, the shapeless splotch of 
gel adjusted itself and willfully expanded across the 
serpent's mouth and nose until both airways were 
blocked. The serpent shook its head violently in an 
attempt to dislodge its tormentor, but the gel clung 
tight and would not be thrown off. The serpent's 
struggles grew slower, then feeble, then stopped 
altogether. Only when it disappeared out from under 
him did Burke reform himself into his humanoid 
shape. 

"He's even better underwater," Chainer said 
happily. "He can smother gills as easily as lungs. The 
principle's exactly the same, keep air from entering the 
body." 

Burke stood tall and silent, awaiting his next 
command. Laquatus woodenly began to clap, slow, 

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measured applause that gave him time to think. 

"Absolutely marvelous," Laquatus said. "Forgive 
me, Master. I did not fully appreciate the value of your 
gift." 

Chainer smiled graciously. "Not at all 
Ambassador. There are many tasks a man in your 
position needs a reliable jack to perform. The Cabal is 
always willing to assist you." 

Laquatus was still staring at Burke, his mind 
furiously churning. 

"I'm sure," Chainer went on, "that you'll find 
something useful for Burke to do almost immediately." 

That caught Laquatus's attention. "There are 
many ways I could employ such a champion. Some are 
more urgent than others." 

"I also have urgent matters to attend to. Matters 
far less enjoyable than meeting with you, Ambassador. 
I wonder if we were to discuss these matters together, 
would we find a way to help each other, as we have 
done today?" 

"I would be most interested in finding out the 
answer to that question, Master Chainer. I would 
welcome the Cabal's help and the chance to help the 
Cabal in return." 

"Perhaps we should meet again before you head 
back below the sea. Tonight, for example. Over 
dinner?" 

"I would be honored. Come to my embassy this 
evening, and we'll discuss the future." 

"I am looking forward to it. Ambassador?" 

"Yes?" 

"I've heard wondrous tales of the great libraries of 
Mer. Is it true that they go back thousands of years?" 

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"Absolutely true." 

"And if you had access to certain other ... special 
documents ... a man of your talents could uncover a 
secret that has been hidden for generations?" 

"It would be my pleasure to try. More, it would be 
my duty. You have done me a great service here today, 
Master Chainer." 

Chainer offered the ambassador his hand, and 
after a conspiratorial smile, he took it. 

"The Empire and the Cabal," Chainer said. "May 
their interests always coincide." 

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PART FOUR: 
MASTER 


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Scott McGough 

CHAPTER 23 


"Master Chainer?" 

Chainer started and looked for the speaker. He 
was in his private chambers with his hands in casting 
position, facing the corner of the room. Deidre stood in 
his doorway, all eyes and sharp edges. She appeared 
more nervous and timid than Chainer had ever seen 
her before. She seemed shorter and slighter, but she 
still had the eyes, the hair, the teeth and the nails. . 

"I thought you were dead," he said. He lowered 
his arms and bowed. 

"Oh. Uh, the First requires your presence, 
Master." Deidre's face began to soften and melt, 
running like candle wax. 

"Don't go," Chainer said urgently. His vision 
fogged, and in Deidre's place stood Fulla. She was 
smiling savagely. Slowly, she snapped her fingers in 
front of Chainer's face. 

Chainer shook his head to clear it. Fulla had 
vanished. Skellum stood before him, his hat tucked 
under his arm, his eyes shining and confident. 

Chainer's stomach froze when he saw Skellum. 
The fresh pain of his mentor's death told Chainer that 
the apparition before him was a lie. Rage churned up 
the pain and soon overwhelmed Chainer's grief. 

"Remember me," Skellum said. 

Chainer angrily waved the phantom away. He 
closed his eyes tight, then opened them again. The 
only other person in the room was the frightened little 
blond messenger. Hadn't she been bit by a rattler? 

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Chainer reached for the wall, but his depth perception 

failed him, and he almost fell to the floor. 

"Big brother?" 

Chainer found himself propped up between the 
wall and the messenger's birdlike hands. 

"Haven't slept. What day is it?" he said. He stood 
and dusted off an imaginary cape. The First wanted to 
see him about the ambassador's new jack. Or had he 
already seen the First about the ambassador's new 
jack? It was something about the ambassador's jack, 
but a new something. 

The messenger was staring at him with an 
absolutely hilarious mixture of pity and fear. Chainer 
laughed and stood up off the wall. 

"Always make that face," Chainer said. "It suits 
you." 

"Yes, big brother." She gave him a gentle shove 
and guided him out the door. 

He remembered now. The First wanted to ask 
him exactly how much control they would have over 
Burke now that he had bonded to the ambassador. It 
was a simple matter and wouldn't take more than an 
hour. He would lie down on his cot when he returned, 
force himself to rest. Not that he was tired, of course. 
He just wanted to stop thinking for a while. His 
thoughts were starting to intrude on his fun, just as 
the crusat intruded on his time in the pits. 

He watched the back of the messenger's head as 
they walked, and he felt more and more clear with 
each echoing step they took. 

* * * * * 

"The ambassador has expressed his satisfaction 

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with your efforts, Master Chainer. Another job well 

done." 

"Thank you, Pater." 

"I understand that the demonstration was quite 
impressive." 

"It was glorious, Pater. Burke performed even 
better than we'd hoped." 

"And he is still under your influence?" 

"Yes. He is bonded to Laquatus and will obey the 
ambassador's every command. But his essence is 
Cabal. Cabal magic, Cabal methods. He is Laquatus's 
slave, but he is the Cabal's asset." 

"And if you wanted to, you could make another?" 

This caught Chainer off-guard. "I suppose I could, 
Pater. Yes. If I had the Mirari to power the casting, a 
second Burke would be as powerful and as real as the 
original." 

"Outstanding. Let us retrieve the Mirari from the 
vault. I would like you to create a duplicate of the 
ambassador's familiar for me." 

Chainer felt an idea forming, and the first tingles 
of anticipation before a major challenge. "Such an 
attendant would be more durable than your human 
ones." 

"Precisely. And in these troubled times, I need to 
move about quickly. My retinue of guards and 
attendants is too large and unwieldy. If I could replace 
half of them, even a third, with a single body, it would 
be a great boon to my work." 

"It would be my pleasure, Pater." 

"Of course, you would be rewarded for this 
service. Is there anything you desire? If it is within my 
power, it shall be yours." 

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"I can think of nothing right now, Pater." "Well, 
keep thinking. But now, let us go to the vault." As they 
returned, the First peppered Chainer with questions 
about Burke's capabilities, and Chainer dutifully 
reported the answers. The First was more excited than 
Chainer had ever seen him, gesturing emphatically 
and waving his arms wide. His attendants were hard-
pressed to stay close by without being accidentally 
brushed. Chainer carried the Mirari reverently 
between both hands. 

Back in the First's chamber, Chainer called for 
space, and the First had his guards and attendants all 
huddle against the far comer of the room. The First 
waited eagerly opposite his servants, and Chainer 
stood between them. He held the edge of his left hand 
against his stomach with the Mirari floating above his 
palm. He held his metal hand palm-down over the 
Mirari, and closed his eyes. He held this position and 
concentrated for a long time, until some of the braver 
guards began to grumble and jostle the people around 
them. The time was now, he told himself. This was 
what he had been preparing for. It was time to truly 
impress the First. 

"Pater." 

"Yes, my child?" 

"There are two things preventing me from doing 
what you have asked." 

The First frowned. "What are these things? Can 
they be removed?" 

Chainer's eyes snapped open, the void in his 
sockets endless and impenetrable. "I thought you'd 
never ask. The first impediment is that it's far too 
crowded in here." He unfolded his left arm and left the 

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Mirari hanging below his right. A yellow glow shot out 
of the sphere, up Chainer's arm, and traveled across 
his body to his outstretched left hand. A massive bolt 
of black light exploded out of Chainer's hand and 
slammed into the throng of guards and attendants in 
the corner. The room shook as the death bolt impacted, 
and some of the servants screamed before the entire 
group fell dead where they stood. 

"Chainer! What are you doing?" 

"The second impediment," Chainer said evenly, 
"is that you sent Skellum into the pits to die." 

"Mazeura," the First was regaining his 
composure, "attend me." Chainer felt the dominating 
power of his secret name take hold, and his muscles 
froze where they were. 

"I am the Cabal First," he snarled, "and I do not 
explain my actions. Look at what we have gained, 
what you have gained, from the death of a single man. 
Skellum's time had passed, and he knew it. I think you 
know it, too. These are dangerous times, my child, and 
not everyone is going to survive. You are the future of 
dementia, you are the future of Cabal. That future 
needs to be fast, focused, versatile, brutal. We need 
you more than we needed Skellum." 

"Do not say 'we,' Pater. You do not speak for me 
in this." 

"I speak for the Cabal in all things. And you are 
Cabal. The oath you took is not some clubhouse 
initiation ritual, it is a powerful magical bond. You 
don't just quit the Cabal because your best friend is 
gone. You are mine, body and soul, for as long as I 
want you." 

"I've been thinking about my oath lately. In Mer 

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they say an oath is nothing more than a contract, and 
all contracts have loopholes." 

The First crossed his arms behind his back. 
"There are no loopholes in your sacred oath, Mazeura." 

"My name is Chainer," he said. "And of course 
there are. You only have power over me because I gave 
it to you when I accepted my secret name." 

"You accepted much more than that." 

"True. But if I could discover your secret name, 
Pater, wouldn't the roles be reversed? Wouldn't you be 
as docile before me as I am before you now?" 

"No one has known my secret name for a hundred 
years." Chainer heard the initial strains of uncertainty 
in the First's voice, and he breathed it in like delicious 
incense. 

"I'm sorry, but that's no longer true . . . 
Calchexas." Chainer jutted both palms forward, 
leaving the Mirari to float freely at his chest. An even 
larger bolt of energy burst from Chainer's hands and 
totally engulfed the First. His panicked white eyes 
were the last thing Chainer saw before the First 
vanished behind a cloud of black light. 

Chainer continued to pour energy into the spell, 
keeping the First's body surrounded by the roiling 
field. The First had lived a very long time, he 
reasoned, and would take a lot of effort to kill. He 
hadn't dropped yet, and Chainer had never seen 
anyone withstand the death bloom for so long. In fact, 
the First was still standing upright as Chainer 
continued to hurl killing magic at him. 

"Die," Chainer whispered. With the Mirari he 
could keep this up for a week. He increased his efforts, 
and the First was physically driven back into the stone 

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wall. He still stood, however, straight and tall, against 
an attack that would have overwhelmed an army. 

After a full minute of pressing the First against 
the wall, Chainer broke off. The First's body had been 
crushed into the stone behind him, and his fine robes 
were in tatters. He was panting and shaking, but he 
was very much alive." 

"You cannot kill me Mazeura. There is no way 
you can kill me." 

Chainer blasted him again, a brief slap. "Chainer. 
My name is Chainer." 

"You can never kill me, Chainer. I am not merely 
called the First, I am the first. The first to worship 
Kuberr. The first to receive his gifts. The first 
Cabalist. I have lived for centuries. I have fed on 
bloodlust, greed, and brutality since Otaria was wild 
and the Mer empire was just another school of 
intelligent fish. I have been Kuberr's servant since the 
very beginning, and nothing you do, not even with the 
Mirari, can prevent me from serving him." 

Chainer ran his tongue over his teeth, perturbed. 
He expected the First to tell outrageous lies and 
convenient half-truths to save his own life, but here 
the old viper actually seemed to be telling the truth. At 
least, he was telling the truth about the death bloom, 
because it was having almost no effect on him at all. 

"So you're immortal?" 

"In a sense." 

"Then I really can't kill you." 

"No. You can't." 

Chainer sent a sharpened weight flying toward 
the First's face. It buried itself in the patriarch's 
forehead, and Chainer watched the 

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First's corruption crawl back along the links 
toward Chainer's hand. Chainer dropped his end 
before the toxic patina could reach him, and the First 
actually fell to his knees, clutching feebly at his 
wound. 

"I can try, however." Chainer returned his hands 
and the Mirari to their position in front of his stomach. 
The First slumped to one side, groaned, and then got 
back to his feet. 

"We need to settle our account, Chainer. This city 
... the Cabal itself may not survive an all-out conflict 
between us. I suggest we come to an understanding." 
With as much poise as he could manage, the First 
pulled the sharpened weight out of his head and let it 
clatter to the floor. 

"Very well. You ordered Skellum's death. In 
return I demand yours." 

"Your price is too high and can never be paid. I 
have a counter offer." 

"Name it." 

"Cabal City is yours," he said, "if you give me safe 
passage. The manor, the arena, the pits, even the 
Mirari." 

"And where will you go? Do you really expect me 
to believe that you'll just disappear?" 

"I will go south. Our . . . my stronghold in Aphetto 
City. The Parliament of Knives is weak and 
ineffectual. I have been ignoring them of late, and they 
could use a firm, guiding hand." 

"And in five years you will come back at the head 
of an army of mages to retake Cabal City by force." 

The First laughed. "That would be wasteful and 
unnecessary. In fifty years . . . less, given your 

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recklessness . . . you will be gone, and I shall return 
unopposed. The Cabal is here, and everywhere. I will 
take it with me, and it will be here when I come back 
for it." 

"You think so." 

"I know so." 

Chainer grunted. "I accept your terms. Here are 
mine." Chainer raised his arms over his head. The 
Mirari stayed between his hands. 

"You will use the city-wide grapevine to announce 
that you are leaving the City under my control. The 
Cabal still runs things, but now I will run the Cabal." 

"No one will follow you, Chainer." 

"Everyone will follow me. I am the Cabal's 
response to the Order crusat, as you always intended. 
The entire city knows and fears me. And I intend to 
keep everything running smoothly. The anniversary 
games will happen as planned. People will come from 
all over Otaria to claim the prize. And I will destroy 
them all in one fell swoop." 

"I agree to your terms," the First seemed sullen, 
angry, and Chainer wondered how long it had been 
since he had been at a disadvantage during 
negotiations. 

"I'm not finished yet. My personal representatives 
will be sent ahead to Aphetto to prepare it for you. To 
clear the road before you and to keep an eye on you 
once you arrive." 

"Spies, dementist? That hardly seems like a 
warrior's style." 

"Not spies. Cabalists. They do not report to me, 
but they are loyal to Kuberr. You may lead them, if 
you can. But they will be harder to dominate than the 

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Cabalists you're used to." 

"What do you mean, 'will be?' " The First sounded 
as if he already knew and dreaded the answer. 

"I mean they will be. Observe." Chainer put his 
hands out in the casting position with the Mirari 
between them. His eyes went black, and he shuddered. 
From between his hands, a long tendril of smoke 
curled outward, growing thicker at the front end. 
There was an implosion and a flash, and Chainer's 
new Cabalist stood ready before him. 

The creature was a huge, ten-foot serpent as long 
and heavy as an alligator. It sat on a coil of its own 
body, propped up by two small hornlike claws where 
the coil rose off the floor. It had thin, flexible arms that 
collapsed against its body for quick strikes or rapid 
motion. Its head was big enough to swallow a 
cannonball without dislocating its jaw. It appeared to 
be a rattlesnake man, complete with a warning shaker 
on its tail and venom dripping from its fangs. 

"I've been thinking about snakes recently," 
Chainer said, "and I've decided I like them better 
than.people. A snake only strikes to hunt or defend 
itself. It specializes in graceful motion and deadly 
accuracy. Nature designed them to be elegant killers. 
I, in turn, have designed them to be perfect Cabalists." 

There was another shudder and another flash, 
and a second snake-person appeared. This one was 
longer and broader, rippling with muscle. It had no 
rattle, and its fangs were dry. 

"The constrictor caste is especially good at stealth 
killings. Once it embraces you, you can't even scream. 
You should get along famously with these, Pater. You 
have so much in common." 

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Another shudder, another flash. "And the king 
snake. Bigger brain, stronger arms, and deadlier 
venom. They will be the ones who give you the most 
trouble as you try to take over." 

"What are you talking about, Chainer? How many 
of these things have you made?" 

Chainer grinned. "All of them." The final flash 
blew the First against the wall, and even drove 
Chainer back a step. The entire building shook. When 
the First had recovered, there was no one else in the 
room. No snakes, no attendants, only Chainer and the 
First. 

"My serpent Cabal is now on its way to Aphetto. 
Scores of them, hundreds. They will hunt and kill and 
feed and fight on the way. Those that are successful 
will become real—indistinguishable from things that 
were born instead of conjured. They will breed and 
spread throughout Otaria. Who is running Aphetto 
City for you now?" 

"The Parliament of Knives," the First said warily. 

"Within a week of their arrival, my snakes will 
have overthrown the Parliament. If I were you, I'd get 
down there quickly, before everyone who knows you is 
killed or driven out." 

The First nodded, angry but resigned to his 
defeat. He was staring at the Mirari as he spoke to 
Chainer. "Well done, my child. I can't help taking pride 
in—" 

"Shut up," Chainer said. "The only thing I want to 
hear out of you is your announcement to the city. And 
then, Calchexas, you will leave. If I ever see you again, 
I will make it my life's work to cut you to pieces, burn 
the remains, and scatter the ashes. I may not be able 

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to kill you, but I can make you wish I had." Chainer 
closed his eyes, the Mirari glowed, and the First was 
once again bathed in black light. This light did not 
harm him, however. It merely cascaded around him. 

"Speak clearly, Pater. All of your children are 
listening, and you won't get a second chance." 

The First folded his arms into his sleeves. After 
one final glare at Chainer, he began to speak. 
"Attention, my children. This is the First. . . ." 

Chainer tuned him out as his mind sizzled and 
sparked from one topic to the next. First, he would 
honor his agreement with Laqua-tus, who had been 
instrumental in pinning down the First's secret name. 
Then, Chainer would crush all who came for the 
Mirari, including the Order and Burke and Kamahl, if 
they were foolish enough to compete. 

And then, he would devote the rest of his life to 
punishing the First. If he couldn't kill the patriarch, 
then he would take the one thing from him that 
mattered most, the Cabal itself. With Chainer's snakes 
in Aphetto and the Mirari in his hand, it was only a 
matter of time before all of Otaria danced to Chainer's 
tune. In fact, he noted with a laugh, the music for the 
dance had already started in his head. 

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CHAPTER 24 


From inside the Otaria Chasm, Veza watched the 
conflict between Llawan and Laquatus escalate toward 
civil war. Since the water portals only worked from 
surface to surface, the two sides were forced to grind 
out a victory the old fashioned way, face-to-face on the 
battlefield. 

Llawan's first move was to send an armed force 
large enough to blockade the gorge, but not to storm it. 
Laquatus mocked her for not coming in person, and 
concentrated all of his mercenaries and undersea 
monsters at Llawan's end of the chasm. There were 
frequent skirmishes as the imperials tried to press in 
and the mercenaries labored to keep them out. The 
two forces continued to grow stronger and stronger as 
the days wore on. 

Veza had never witnessed a full-scale military 
engagement before, though she had heard vivid stories 
from her grandfather describing Aboshan's 
predecessor's rise to power. Where her grandfather 
described noble duels and magnificent noble beasts, 
Veza saw ambush and sniper attacks alongside the 
hideous spectacles of razor rays tearing into 
leviathans. 

Massive orcan warriors surged out of the chasm 
to engage the empress's troops, and though each was 
driven back, each took its toll on the imperial guard 
with their massive fists and powerful jaws. Laquatus's 
mercenaries were unwilling to fight hand-to-hand. 
They preferred to pounce from the shadows in 

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overwhelming numbers, or to not leave the safety of 
the chasm. 

The ship-to-ship combat was even worse—giant, 
graceful, deep-sea creatures roaring and tearing at 
each other like wild dogs. Llawan's troops took heavy 
losses to the razor rays until they began using a school 
of electric eels that cooked the giant fish in mid-battle. 
Huge, paddle-footed beasts with long necks grabbed 
guards like fruit from a tree and were in turn choked 
by sargassum blasts or poisoned by lances coated in 
lethal puffer-fish extract. 

When she wasn't watching the endless stream of 
carnage and patrol ships, Veza spent her time sifting 
through the survey data she'd collected. She couldn't 
reconcile what she'd seen in the chasm with what she 
reviewed. The data indicated gemstone deposits, 
precious ores and metals, and a freshwater 
underground river that could easily be tapped for 
drinking water. Laquatus was delighted, and the more 
value she discovered, the more troops he brought in to 
hold it. 

Veza also had duties assigned to her by Laquatus. 
With the ambassador's armed guards by her side, Veza 
inspected the canyon walls for stability. Under their 
careful watch, she enchanted a series of blue crystals 
and affixed them to the walls along the entire length of 
the chasm. They crystals could relay magical impulses 
to one another. Veza used them to transmit data up 
and down the length of the flood zone. She also knew 
Laquatus intended to use the crystal arrays as a 
weapon. If he were forced to quit the chasm, he would 
send a signal to the crystals that would bring the walls 
crashing down around whoever was inside. He smiled 

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when he told Veza of his plans, but he made it clear he 
did not fully trust her yet. He made sure that she was 
not allowed to alter the spell that powered the stones, 
so they could only transmit magical impulses, and only 
within the chasm. If anyone but Laquatus tried to use 
them in any other way, they would shatter. 

Finally, Llawan herself arrived at the head of 
another flotilla of ships and leviathans. Laquatus had 
sent Burke to collect Veza and politely forced her to sit 
and watch the show. 

Beyond the front, safe from the fighting, sat 
Llawan's private yacht, a smaller, slower version of 
her transport leviathan. Laquatus made sure the 
empress was indeed on board, and that Veza had an 
excellent view before he rolled out his surprise. The 
long, familiar shape of Llawan's transport leviathan 
streaked out of the chasm and plowed through her 
forces on a direct line of attack for the empress. 
Laquatus had not in fact slaughtered the empress's 
transport vessel, he had commandeered it and sent it 
into battle against her. Veza almost wept when the 
empress's troops were forced to strike the leviathan 
down with spell blasts and giant ballista bolts. 

Hours after the destruction of her transport, 
Llawan unleashed a squadron of heavily armed 
cephalids. Just as they came into range of the 
mercenaries' weapons, the squadron vanished from 
sight. The invisible squadron did a lot of damage to 
their unsuspecting foes before the enchantment wore 
off, and they were only captured and killed when they 
tried to storm Laquatus's command ship. 

After the initial exchange of hostility, the front 
stabilized just outside the chasm and each side settled 

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in for a long siege. Not in the strictest sense of the 
word, Veza knew, because either side could abandon 
the battle any time they pleased by simply turning 
around and swimming away. Veza had been close 
enough to both Laquatus and Llawan to know that 
neither of them were going to do that. The entire 
empire was watching this conflict, and whoever came 
out of it victorious would have enough political and 
popular support to claim the imperial throne. 

Meanwhile, Veza continued to watch and 
research, Laquatus stayed safe in his canyon, and 
Llawan stayed safe in her luxury vessel while their 
troops tore each other to bits at the mouth of the 
canyon. 

* * * * * 

Kamahl strapped on his broadsword and took a 
few tentative steps across his tiny room. He was 
nowhere near full recovery, but he could walk. If he 
could walk, he could fight. 

Kamahl was sensitive to the Mirari, and he could 
feel the powerful forces gathering around it. He was 
uncertain but unafraid. Unknown challenges were a 
barbarian's stock in trade, after all, and the promise of 
a good contest was more than enough incentive for 
Kamahl to meet this one. 

Kamahl left the public house and joined the 
crowds of people heading for the Cabal City pits. 

* * * * * 

Cabal City's anniversary games drew more 
spectators and more combatants than any event ever 
before. Everyone in and around the city either wanted 

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to take a shot at the Mirari or wanted to watch others 
do so. From his vantage point high above the arena 
floor, Chainer watched the crowds and the fighters 
buzz and vibrate like a huge hive of wasps. 

Chainer looked around at the former First's 
private box. It was a luxurious, round, floating 
platform with all the amenities visiting dignitaries 
expected. The First often watched important games 
from here, or rather, watched the crowd watching the 
games. Among the First's finery, with the Mirari safely 
hidden in his chambers, Chainer understood what 
Skellum meant when he spoke of the good things in 
life. 

Chainer leaned over the side of the platform with 
a dizzy grin on his face. All of the contestants had been 
assembled in the main pit below, and it was literally 
full of hundreds of humans and monsters crammed 
together under Chainer's box. Down there, they were 
waiting. Up here, he simply was, and would be until he 
decided to start the action. 

"Ladies, gentlemen, and others!" The announcer's 
voice was much louder up here than it was at ground 
level. "Welcome to the Mirari Games." A small cheer 
went up through the crowd. 

"Today we have something truly unique in store 
for you. The largest collection of fighters in the world 
has gathered for the right to claim the Mirari, the 
sphere of wonder. There will be only one winner. 
There—" 

A bolt of lightning shot up from the floor into the 
magical apparatus that amplified the announcer's 
voice, and his introduction sputtered and choked. 
Intrigued, Chainer peered more closely at the tall 

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figure standing alone at the center of the only clear 
space on the arena floor. 

"Murderer," the figure cried, his voice echoing 
like a gong. "Destroyer of the innocent. The Order is 
here for retribution." 

"I know, justicar," Chainer said softly. "I've been 
counting on it." 

Justicar Gobal's hood and robe had been burned 
off by his initial blast, and he stood sparkling and 
crackling in his polished armor. Beside him, three 
more robed figures cast off their outer garments to 
reveal terrible, white-winged angels armed with 
flaming swords. All around the arena, other fighters 
began to unsheathe their weapons. Others who were 
wiser, or perhaps more cowardly, quickly tried to exit 
the arena. 

"Your attack on our hospital killed more than 
healers and wounded soldiers. It killed the angels. In 
their place, Angels of 

Retribution have arisen. Your end comes now, 
Cabalist." The jus-ticar pointed his hand at Chainer, 
and the angels took wing. The justicar sent another 
bolt of lighting up toward Chainer's platform. The 
platform was thoroughly warded against all types of 
attack, however, and the justicar's bolt faded into 
nothingness before it ever touched Chainer. 

"Oh, no," Chainer said dramatically. "Angels and 
justicars! The Order has come for me! Whatever shall I 
do?" He focused on the Mirari back in his chamber, 
concentrated, and every door in the huge arena 
slammed shut and melted into the wall around it. His 
eyes were long gone, and his voice boomed out louder 
than the announcer's. "Come one, come all. The Mirari 

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awaits. Who is strong enough to take it from me?" 

* * * * * 

Veza was poring over a scroll when Burke 
entered her chamber. The gel man wore a small, 
circular hand mirror around his neck, and from it 
came Laquatus's voice. 

"Please follow my jack," Laquatus said. "There is 
something ! want you to see." 

Burke kept pace as Veza swam through the ship. 
She noticed that his hands and feet became flatter and 
wider when he swam, and he stayed by her side easily 
no matter how fast she went. She stole as many 
glances at his expressionless face as she dared, 
searching in vain for some flicker of recognition, or at 
least independence. Burke was as inscrutable as a 
mask. 

Laquatus had taken to filling his command ship 
with air, both for his mercenaries and in case anyone 
tried to teleport in. A cephalid assassin would find 
himself floundering on the floor as soon as he arrived, 
and they would drown without so much as touching 
Laquatus. Veza and Burke stepped into the chamber, 
and Laquatus greeted Veza with a warm, loud call. 

"Hello, Director. I'm about to contact the former 
empress to discuss terms of her surrender." 

Veza's eyes darted to the viewscreen, which 
showed the exact same standoff she had seen for the 
past week. Laquatus nodded, Burke gently nudged her 
forward, and Veza took the seat Laquatus offered her. 

"Get Llawan on the scrying screen," Laquatus 
said. He took out his own hand mirror, and Veza 
watched him whisper into it. She could see a thin man 

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with braided black hair, but she did not recognize him 
and could not hear his voice. Finally, Laquatus said, 
"Done. A pleasure doing business with you, as always. 
And may I add, congratulations on your recent 
ascension." He paused while the other man spoke. 
"After today, you will be able to offer me similar 
sentiments." The mirror went dark, and he put it away 
with a smug little smile. 

"We have the empress, my lord." 

"Excellent. Put her on, and have the troops in the 
chasm stand by." 

Llawan appeared in the screen, with the mystic 
Olsham—his eyes closed—and another cephalid officer 
at her side. "What do you want, Laquatus?" 

"Greetings, Empress. I hope you are well. Isn't it 
a fine day?" 

Veza's dread was like physical pain. She didn't 
know what Laquatus was up to, but she guessed he 
had been preparing for it since before he captured the 
survey vessel. She continued to stare at Olsham, 
willing the mystic to hear her silent message of 
warning. 

"Speak, irritant. You waste our time." 

"This is something in the nature of an official call, 
I'm afraid. I'm here to offer terms." 

"Then you will abandon this farce and submit 
yourself to imperial justice?" 

"Actually, Empress, I was going to offer you one 
last chance to surrender. You have already lost here. If 
you leave now, and cede the chasm to me, I will spare 
you the embarrassment of losing each and every one of 
your loyal guards. I may even spare your life." 

Llawan chittered. "You are a fool, Laquatus. We 

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mock you and spurn your offer." 

"Are you sure?" Laquatus's obvious joy twisted 
Veza's stomach, but Llawan was unimpressed. She 
began to turn away from the screen. 

"Inform the troops," Laquatus said loudly. 
"Launch an all-out attack on the empress's forces. 
Begin immediately." 

Llawan paused and shook her head. "Your ego 
has finally grown past the point of your good sense," 
she said. "But the imperial guard will be happy to 
accommodate your lunacy." 

The occupants of both vessels heard the sounds of 
renewed combat. Llawan stared grimly at Laquatus, 
who stared, smiling at Llawan. Veza fought the urge to 
cry out to Olsham. Whatever was about to happen, the 
empress's ship would be better off if it were intangible, 
as her transport had been during the catastrophe that 
created the chasm. 

Olsham opened his eyes. Veza was the only one 
on board who had seen the empress's shield defenders 
in action, and so she was the only one who saw their 
almost transparent bodies stream up and encircle the 
empress. They did nor harden into their defensive 
formation, but they stood by, ready to do so. 

"Forgive me, Empress," said the yacht's cephalid 
captain. "But I think you should see this." 

Llawan turned, and Laquatus's bridge had a clear 
and unobstructed view of Llawan's, complete with the 
image that appeared on its scrying viewscreen. 

Both bridges stared silently at the images they 
saw. On Llawan's screen, a steady stream of dark, 
serpentine figures was pouring out of the chasm and 
surging forward to attack Llawan's troops. There were 

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thousands of them, a multitude. Along with the 
ambassador's mercenaries and monsters, they 
slammed into the empress's line like a crashing wave, 
and slowly drove it back. 

When the empress spoke, it was to her crew, her 
voice thick with anger. 

"What are we looking at?" 

"I don't know, Empress. Those creatures seem to 
be corning from just outside the chasm rather than 
inside it." 

Llawan turned back to Laquatus. "They attack 
our loyal guards. What are they? What do they want?" 

Veza stared as the skirmish grew steadily bigger. 
Her memory had been jogged by the sight. She 
remembered a Cabal barge that docked in Breaker Bay 
some years ago. The Cabalists had set up a makeshift 
arena and staged a fighting demonstration. A wild-
eyed woman with green eyes and a bald head 
challenged all comers, and she had beaten every one. 
Not her, Veza corrected herself. The monsters she 
created. 

"They are dementia creatures." Veza's voice was 
hushed, muted by fear. 

Laquatus beamed. "Yes," confirmed the 
ambassador, "and they are here to kill you, Llawan." 

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CHAPTER 25 


Kamahl watched Chainer release his reply to the 
attacking angels of vengeance. His casting matched 
the Order angel for angel, but Chainer's were raven-
feathered and armed with spiked maces. The dark 
angels each engaged a single counterpart, and the 
terrible cries of all six warriors could be heard 
throughout the arena. 

While the angels continued to battle high above 
the arena floor, old grudges erupted all around 
Kamahl and desperate fighters lashed out at each 
other in an effort to escape. The Mirari Games were 
quickly turning into a bloody melee, and the crowd 
loved it. Kamahl wondered how long they would cheer 
before they realized they, too, were in danger. Neither 
Chainer nor the Order seemed to care about protecting 
innocent bystanders. 

The crowd around them cleared, and Kamahl got 
what he'd been waiting for, a line of sight on the 
justicar. 

He sent a small fireball blasting past the armored 
visor, and called, "Hey, sparky!" 

The justicar turned. 

"That's more warning than you gave me," Kamahl 
said. "And more than you deserve. This is twice now 
you've attacked the Cabal at home. I think it will be 
the last." 

"Stand aside, barbarian," the justicar said. "The 
Order will settle with you later." 

"For you, there is no later." Kamahl hauled his 

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huge sword out and charged. 

The justicar sent a jag of lightning at Kamahl, 
but the barbarian easily drew it into his sword. "You 
think I don't know lightning? We pick our teeth with 
lightning up in Pardic." The justicar hurled another 
bolt which Kamahl also countered, then had to draw 
his own sword to defend himself. 

Kamahl's brass-colored blade rang against 
Gobal's silver one. The justicar tried to charge up for a 
larger bolt, but Kamahl was so close that he bled the 
armored figure's energy off before he could use it, 
storing it in the blade of his sword. 

"You fight like an officer," Kamahl jeered. He 
butted his head into the justicar's visor, denting it. 
"Welcome to the pits." 

Enraged, Gobal put a crackling hand on Kamahl 
and shoved him backward. Kamahl staggered but was 
able to block the justicar's sword stroke as it came 
down toward his head. 

"Is that it, shiny man? Are you really only 
dangerous when nobody knows your power?" 

Another Order soldier threw his spear at Kamahl. 
The barbarian caught the shaft in midair and burned 
it to ashes with a glare, but the distraction allowed 
Gobal enough time and space to raise his arms above 
his head. Hot, white light from all around the arena 
streamed into his hands, forming a swelling, crackling 
ball of energy. 

"You're done, justicar." Kamahl launched his 
broadsword with all his might, skewering Gobal 
through the chest. The energy stored in Kamahl's 
sword joined that in the justicar's body, and Gobal 
screamed. The circuit of energy fed on itself, and light 

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Scott McGough 

began sparking out from all the seams of the justicar's 
armor. Kamahl conjured a small throwing axe, 
knocked Gobal's visor back with a wide round kick, 
and jammed the axe deep into his enemy's armor. 

Kamahl dove to the ground and covered his head 
just as Gobal exploded. The combination of lightning, 
fire, and fury was so intense that the sharp metal bits 
of the justicar's armor melted even before the force of 
the blast scattered them across the arena. All around 
him, Kamahl saw warriors and monsters alike cut 
down by the hail of molten silver. 

Without the armor, Gobal was unable to control 
the electricity that gave him his power. He became a 
much smaller, broken figure draped in rivulets of 
melted metal, a figure that grew ever smaller as jags 
of lightning leaped off his body and dissipated. 

Kamahl picked up his sword and stood ready as 
the justicar collapsed into a ball of flaming debris. 
Except for a charred pair of footprints and a few 
droplets of steaming metal, there was no evidence he 
had ever existed. 

"Bravo, barbarian!" Kamahl looked up and saw 
Chainer politely clapping. Kamahl touched the tip of 
his sword to his forehead, a gesture of recognition. 

Then he pointed at Chainer and drew the tip 
across his throat, beckoning the dementist down with 
a wave of his hand. 

* * * * * 

Chainer laughed with delight at the shows both 
above and below his platform. On his level, the battle 
of angel versus angel prevented any other flying things 
from soaring too high. On the ground, Kamahl had just 

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revenged himself on the justicar, and all of the other 
contestants were either killing each other to get at the 
Mirari, or killing each other to escape from the pit. He 
had planned it carefully, but he hadn't planned it 
anywhere near as well as it was happening. 

One of the Order angels broke free of its 
nightmare twin and tried once more to reach Chainer's 
platform. He waited until it was almost on top of him 
and then threw one of his anaconda people into her 
face. The snake wrapped its twelve-foot-long body 
around the angel's wings and torso and sank its 
venomless fangs into her sword arm. The angel cursed 
the snake, and both creatures fell out of sight. 

"What are you staring at?" Chainer yelled at the 
dark angel who no longer had an opponent. "Fight!" 
The angel bared her sharp teeth and hissed, but she 
complied. She slammed her mace into the unprotected 
shoulder of one of the Order angels then followed the 
wounded creature to the floor as she fell, striking as 
often as time and gravity permitted. 

Chainer was starting to see why the First treated 
everyone like children. There wasn't a single Cabalist 
left who could think and act for himself. He took one 
last look at the carnage on the floor and suddenly 
became bored. Why was he offering the Mirari when 
he already had the Mirari? No one but he could use it. 
It was a cruel waste of time to even offer the illusion of 
obtaining it. 

Chainer flipped the control switch that would 
bring the platform down. It was time to end this 
charade, clear the building, and start from scratch. 
New Cabal City would be twice as grand as the 
original, and there would be no Order to interfere with 

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the Cabal's business. 

As the platform descended, Chainer hoped that 
Laquatus was putting his borrowed dementia 
monsters to good use. Once he had settled with the 
Order, Chainer vowed that the Mer empire woulc 
become nothing more than a subsidiary of the Cabal. 
He may have sworn an oath with Laquatus, but it was 
Laquatus who taught him that oaths could be broken. 

* * * * * 

Llawan's bridge was in chaos. Cephalid sailors 
and imperial guardsmen swarmed around the ship 
while her advisors counseled her to escape while she 
still could. She cleared the room of all but the 
command crew and Olsham, then she turned to the 
captain. "Take us into the battlefield." "But Empress— 
" the captain stammered. 

"Do as we command. We will not allow our most 
loyal subjects to be killed by phantoms." She turned 
back down to the mirror clasped in her forelimb. 
"Silence! You have broken our bargain, Cabalist. We 
have a personal guarantee from the First!" she 
screeched. "There was to be no interference!" 

"The First has gone south to Aphetto," said a 
young man with black braids and a void in his eyes. 
"Who are you again?" 

"We are the Empress Llawan, rightful heir to the 
throne of Mer." "Never heard of you. Sorry." "We 
demand to speak to your patriarch." The young man 
paused. He seemed amused. "Who's we?" If the braided 
man had been in the room, the look on Llawan's face 
alone would have struck him dead with fear. "What is 
your name, Cabalist?" 

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"My name is Chainer, and if you don't leave me 
alone I'm going to change my mind. And then you'll be 
sorry." The connection broke, and the mirror went 
dark. 

Llawan lowered die mirror. "The man is mad." 
She turned to Olsham. "Have you any ideas, mystic? 
Can this endeavor end well for Llawan?" 

Olsham closed his eyes and bent his limbs into a 
complex sigil. "There is always a chance, Empress. But 
in this case, chance is not enough." 

* * * * * 

Laquatus sipped at a fine white wine as he 
watched the destruction of Llawan's hopes for the 
throne. With Chainer's monsters, his forces 
outnumbered Llawan's four-to-one, and he had major 
sea serpents and an orcan behemoth still in reserve. 

Burke stood at Laquatus's side, silent and 
subservient. Laquatus was sorry to miss Chainer's 
Mirari Games, but he knew the treasure would keep. 
Someday soon, he would sit in the First's luxury box, 
watch Burke tear the competition limb from limb, and 
finally lay claim to the prize. Laquatus smiled. That is, 
he would do these things if the foolish boy Chainer 
hadn 't destroyed himself and all of Cabal City by now. 
Laquatus truly hoped that Chainer was still alive, so 
he could watch his own creation steal the Cabal's 
greatest treasure for the glory of Mer. 

"Ambassador." One of his mercenary chiefs stood 
in the doorway to Laquatus's chamber. 

"Emperor," Laquatus corrected him. He sipped 
his wine. "We are forcing Llawan's guard away from 
the mouth of the chasm. We should have room to bring 

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Scott McGough 

out the behemoth shortly." "Excellent. Keep me 
informed." "There is one other thing, Amb . . . 
Emperor." "Yes?" 

"Llawan's command ship has left the edge of the 
battle." Laquatus rose and struggled to keep his voice 
calm. "She is abandoning the field?" He had expected 
more of a fight before she accepted defeat. 

"No, Emperor. She is joining the battle." 

"That cannot be. She would never . . ." Laquatus 
stopped as the chief pointed to the scrying screen. It 
clearly showed a host of Cabal serpents battling a host 
of Llawan's cephalids. It also showed Llawan's yacht 
and the obvious positive impact it had on her troops' 
morale. 

"Why, that reckless, soft-skulled witch," he said, 
amused. This was even better than he had dreamed. 
Defeating Llawan's army would earn him the throne, 
but killing Llawan in the process would ensure that 
his reign lasted for the rest of his naturally long life. 

"Take us farther into the chasm," he said. "Oh, 
and Veza? I heard you trying to contact that psychic 
octopus. I'm very disappointed." He turned to one of 
his mercenaries. "Kill her." The mercenary drew his 
knife and advanced on Veza. 

She had been waiting for this, fully aware that 
Laquatus would have detected her pleas to Olshatn. 
Veza was not a warrior, but she trusted her own speed 
and strength when compared to that of a surface 
dweller. The man's knife flashed, and Veza stunned 
him with a sharp blow across the face. Blood flowed, 
but the mercenary did not fall. 

Laquatus and the rest of the bridge crew laughed. 
"You're fired," Laquatus called to the bleeding 

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mercenary, and the man growled in anger. He drew 
his sword. 

Veza didn't wait for Laquatus to order more 
mercenaries into the fight. She ran from the room and 
hit the flooded corridor in a running dive. The laughter 
stopped, and Veza heard more bodies break the surface 
of the corridor as the mercenaries pursued. She 
pressed on, confident that no human being, no matter 
how well enhanced, could swim faster than a mermaid. 

She had been in and out of the ship numerous 
times, and she knew she could make it at least as far 
as the edge of the chasm. Better to die randomly in the 
battle as a subject of the empire than as a coward on a 
traitor's command vessel. 

Veza found the exit hatch and opened it wide. 
The last thing she heard before plunging into the frigid 
waters of the chasm was Laquatus's amplified voice, 
echoing throughout the ship. 

"Burke?" he said. "Retrieve the prisoner." 

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CHAPTER 26 


Chainer made his way back to his chambers. He 
did not go unchallenged, but he might as well have. A 
small band of Nantuko pounced on him as he came off 
of the platform, but they were quickly collared and 
absorbed. Chainer broke a few bones with weighted 
chains as he went, but for the most part the fighters 
gave him a wide berth, and the spectators ran at the 
sight of him. 

One of the First's toys was buzzing as he opened 
the door. It was a handheld mirror with a talking 
octopus in its glass. Chainer made a half-hearted stab 
to figure out what she wanted, then shattered the 
mirror over his knee. He had more important things to 
occupy his time. 

The Mirari was where he left it, under the 
pyramid of paper in the corner of the smallest room. 
No one dared enter his chamber after he had deposed 
the First, and he doubted anyone would have believed 
him audacious enough to hide it there anyway. He 
took the glowing black sphere in his hands, and once 
again marveled at the depth of the power it contained. 
He should have used it to find a way to kill the First. 
Cabal City was nothing to him now, and worse, it was 
an obstacle. He would have to tear it all down before 
he could build it back up again properly. 

Chainer drew the power into him and began to 
shape it. What he had in mind was complicated and 
would happen on a scale undreamed of even by the 
most fervid dementist. He reached out into Cabal City 

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and beyond to Aphetto. His mind flew out past Krosan, 
across all of Otaria, and beyond into the depths of Mer. 
He could see and feel every dementia caster there was, 
each of them linked by their power and their oath to 
the Cabal. He felt a few dead spots in his continental 
sweep, a few individuals who could not be contacted. 
Fulla, for example, and a handful of casters in 
Aphetto. Perhaps the truly disconnected were beyond 
even the Mirari's reach. 

No matter, he thought. He had more than 
enough. The Cabal taught them the ways of power, 
and they in turn used that power to benefit the Cabal. 
But the Cabal was dead now, just waiting to be buried. 
It was time for a new covenant, one that Chainer 
would enforce. 

All across the land, he felt casters stop, freeze, 
and remain rigid. Skellum had always said that a 
master needs pupils, and in one stroke Chainer had 
more than any master who had ever lived. With the 
Mirari, he could enter each of their minds and 
commandeer them. He could occupy all the dementia 
space there was and turn it toward his goals. He could 
assemble the largest and most diverse army of 
dementia monsters that had ever been. 

"Like this!" he cried, and he was suddenly back in 
his own dementia space even as he remained in his 
chambers. Both locations superimposed on top of each 
other, fusing and separating over and over. It was as 
empty there as it had been when he first arrived, and 
Chainer suddenly felt very small and lonely. He had 
been expecting a multitude, and he was unnerved by 
the complete lack of company. Where had they all 
gone? 

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Scott McGough 

He heard a fresh scream nearby, and he appeared 
back in his chambers. They were all around him. 
Sprawled across his floor and spilling out in to the 
hall, visible in the courtyard outside his window and 
throughout the streets of Cabal City, a million 
monsters or more howled and hunted and rampaged 
and roared. Twisted nightmare versions of people, 
animals, birds, snakes—fantastic beasts of the forest 
and terrifying monsters from the depths all lashed out 
at themselves and the world around them. Chainer 
had opened the floodgates of his mind, and the Mirari 
was keeping them open. 

Chainer laughed and sat on the pile of paper with 
the Mirari in his lap as the entire city wailed in horror. 

"The Cabal is here," he cackled, "and nowhere 
else." 

* * * * * 

Kamahl had never seen such chaos. It became 
difficult to tell who was real and who was a 
summoning, and impossible to tell which side they 
were on. Harpy fought angel, zombie fought trooper, 
and all manner of things that never had names fought 
beasts from the forest that had never been seen. 
Kamahl did not consider himself a brilliant man, but 
he knew how to learn from experience. An out-ofcontrol 
catastrophe spelled Mirari, and a flood of 
monsters spelled Chainer. Kamahl concentrated. He 
could feel the sphere's presence. His former partner 
had finally fallen victim to the Mirari's curse. 

It was not hard to locate the Mirari, and Kamahl 
made his way through the killing floor as fast as his 
wounds permitted. There were plenty of victims to go 

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around, and Kamahl encouraged a few of the monsters 
to find easier pickings with the tip of his sword. Before 
long, he was at the end of the long hallway that led to 
Chainer and the Mirari. 

"Chainer," he bellowed. A hissing snake man 
attacked him, and Kamahl burned its throat out where 
it stood. 

"Is that my old friend and partner?" Chainer's 
voice called back. 

"Come on out, 'old friend.' Let's finish this." 

The flood of sprawling monsters pouring out of 
the chamber door momentarily increased just before 
Chainer came through it. The creatures fled past 
Kamahl without looking at him. They were far more 
interested in getting away from their master. 

Chainer's braided hair splayed out around his 
head like a crown. His eyes were black again, but the 
void had spilled out of his sockets and was obscuring 
the top half of his face. His feet floated six inches 
above the ground, and he held the Mirari in his metal 
hand. He was smiling. 

"Kamahl." 

"Chainer." 

"Have you come to apologize, or to kill me and 
take the Mirari?" 

"Neither. I've come to stop you." 

"Stop me? From what?" 

"From destroying yourself. From destroying this 
city." He shrugged. "From destroying everything." 

Chainer's smile faded. "Still looking out for me, 
big brother? I have a bad history with authority 
figures, you know. They always die or betray me." 

"I'm not your brother, Chainer. I'm your friend. 

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Listen to me. You've got to put the Mirari down. You're 
going to get us all killed." 

"We have to get killed," Chainer flared. "Have to 
destroy before I can rebuild." 

"If you don't put it down, I'm going to put you 
down." 

Chainer smiled again. "Aaah, threats. You don't 
really think you have a chance, do you?" 

"Enough talk." Kamahl drew his sword. "Now we 
fight." 

"You don't look healthy enough to fight." 

"I'm healthy enough to fight you. Not your 
monster pawns, not the Mirari. You. 

"I don't need pawns," Chainer said darkly. He 
gestured at Kamahl's weapon. "Don't you know that no 
one with a sword can get the best of someone with a 
chain? That's why I carry this thing." 

"Then let's go. You're right, Chainer, I'm not 
healed. But this isn't the pits. There isn't a scheduled 
conclusion to this fight. Care to test your skill?" 

Chainer's eyes twinkled. "Are you proposing that 
we come to some sort of arrangement?" 

"No arrangement. No tricks. Just a plain 
challenge. I say I can take you using nothing but my 
sword. Can you take me with just a length of chain?" 

"And my dagger. I used to use that, too." 

"And your dagger. Come on, Chainer, it's you and 
me. We both fought for the Mirari. Now we can fight 
fair, and may the best man win." 

"Done," Chainer said. He tossed the Mirari 
through the open door into the next room and squared 
off against his former partner. 

Kamahl breathed a sigh of relief. At least the 

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building wouldn't go up in a black cloud of debris and 
body parts while they were fighting. Now all he had to 
do was overcome the pain of his wounds and the 
fatigue in his body to defeat his insane ex-partner who 
could kill with a gesture and created both weapons and 
monsters out of thin air. 

After he had done that, Kamahl promised himself 
he would look into some other kind of work. 

* * * * * 

Veza swam for all she was worth, but Burke 
caught her just outside the chasm. He never seemed to 
get tired, and Veza simply could not keep up the pace. 
From the mirror around his bodyguard's neck, 
Laquatus watched as Veza was recaptured. 

"Now you are mine," Laquatus said, "along with 
the empire." 

Veza struggled in Burkes grip, but she was 
staring at the war being waged around her. In the 
distance, something new was happening on the 
battlefield. Veza allowed herself a small smile. 

"Nothing is yours yet, Laquatus." 

"Emperor," a mercenary's voice said, "are you 
seeing this?" 

"Seeing what?" 

"Look at the battle. Look! By the depths, what's 
going on?" 

Veza looked. Inexplicably, the hundreds and 
hundreds of serpent warriors who had been grappling 
with Llawan's soldiers were vanishing in mid-blow. 
His mercenaries found themselves face-to-face with 
trained imperial guards, and the guards adjusted 
much more quickly than their new opponents. Within 

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Scott McGough 

seconds of the final serpent's disappearance, a 
hundred of Laquatus's mercenaries fell dead, and the 
rest fell back in disarray. 

"Perhaps you only rented those warriors from the 
Cabal," Veza called into the mirror. "I'll bet it's not too 
late to get your deposit back." 

"Get my troops back inside the chasm. Burke, kill 
that wench and bring her body back here." 

Veza didn't wait for Burke to comply. Instead, she 
clamped on to the gel man's thumb with her short, 
sharp teeth. With a wrench that nearly dislocated her 
jaw, she tore the digit off and spat it back in its 
owner's face. Minus his thumb, Burke could not 
maintain his grip on Veza's wrist, and she was able to 
kick her way free and dart out into the open ocean. 

Burke was close behind, however. Apparently he 
took any order Laquatus gave him to heart. He 
elongated his feet to give him more drive, and with 
each stroke he stretched his arms a little closer to 
Veza. 

When his finger brushed Veza's foot, she 
panicked and dove for the sea bed. Burke changed 
course even quicker than she did and actually gained 
on her before she could hide among the seaweed and 
silt. She needed to go faster. She needed her tail. It 
was impossible, though. She couldn't change while 
moving, and the transformation was extremely 
painful. Burke would be on her before the process had 
even begun. 

Just as his hand closed around her leg, the 
empress's ship swam into view. Burke snapped Veza's 
ankle, and she sank painfully to the sand. She cradled 
her injured leg and wondered why he wasn't finishing 

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her off. She looked up, and saw the reason. 

Burke was beset by the empress's barracuda. All 
twelve of the spindly killer fish circled around him, 
breaking their teeth on his body and occasionally 
ripping small chunks off. The pieces of Burke's body 
immediately floated back and rejoined the main mass. 
The barracuda were ill-equipped to deal with 
something that didn't panic, bleed, or feel pain. 

Burke, on the other hand, was killing the 
barracuda with both hands. They were strong and they 
were fierce, but they were not faster than Burke, and 
they had bones he could break. Five of the fish already 
floated dead in the water around him. In a matter of 
seconds he would be through them and ready to finish 
Veza. 

Veza concentrated. Laquatus was wrong, magic 
wasn't about being mentally, physically, and morally 
flexible. It was about understanding the world and 
your place in it. Veza felt the powerful tides flowing 
out of the chasm, felt the palpable force of the civil war 
around her, felt the bond between the barracuda and 
Llawan. I am a servant of Mer, Veza reminded herself. 
I am of the sea. 

"Change," she commanded, and her legs merged 
seamlessly and painlessly into a powerful fish's tail. 
Burke was just finishing off the last of the barracuda 
when he noticed Veza's metamorphosis. He elongated 
his arm across the gap between them to clutch at her 
throat, but she shot off like an arrow through the air. 
She laughed, exhilarated as she screamed toward the 
empress's vessel, until she felt Burke's hand close 
round her lower extremities once more. 

The gel man's arm had continued to stretch after 

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her as she swam, and now he had her snared in a long, 
tough line of his own bodily substance. He didn't have 
much power at this distance, but he was able to hold 
her fast. She now outweighed Burke, so he couldn't 
draw her toward him, but he was quickly pulling 
himself closer to her by retracting his arm and letting 
her weight carry him forward. Veza thrashed and 
clawed at Burke s unyielding hand. 

Suddenly, the featureless killer stopped. Through 
the water, Veza could make out Laquatus's voice from 
the mirror around his servant's neck. Burke stood still, 
nodded, then released Veza's tail. He struck out, back 
toward the chasm. 

Laquatus must have summoned him home. There 
was a cloud of bubbles and a whirling sensation, and 
Veza found herself and the remaining barracuda on 
the bridge of the Llawan's vessel. 

"Greetings, Veza. We are so glad to see you alive. 
Is all as you described it to Olsham?" "It is, Empress." 

"Then, my mystic, if you would begin?" 

The cephalid mystic nodded and once more 
formed a complicated symbol with his multiple arms. 
Llawan joined him, and between the two of them they 
wound up looking like a strange new alphabet. 

Veza looked to the screen. All of Laquatus's 
mercenaries had retreated back into the chasm and 
were fending off Llawan's troops. Veza tapped the 
captain on the shoulder and said, "Pull those guards 
away from there." He looked dubious, but he decided 
not to question her authority. Several seconds later, 
the imperial troops backed off. 

"All clear, Empress." Veza anxiously counted the 
seconds. Once more, Veza spotted the flow of the shield 

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defenders' transparent bodies as they positioned 
themselves in front of the chasm. "The shield is in 
position." 

Llawan clicked, and her shield defenders formed 
their barrier, larger and thinner than they had ever 
created before. It sparkled like a sheet of ice, and Veza 
could even see a ghostly reflection of the empress's 
troops in it. Olsham reached out and traced a huge 
circle in the water before him, and the huge convex 
shield tilted slightly, sparking at its edges and 
reflecting the light back upon itself. 

At last, a huge silver-white plane of energy 
flickered across the transparent shield. The energy 
flowed past the empress's servants and continued out 
to cover the mouth of the chasm. It was almost a mile 
across, wide enough to overlap the chasm opening by 
several hundred feet on both sides. It stretched from 
the ocean floor to the water's surface, and Veza knew 
it would stretch across the entire chasm, the magical 
impulses relayed by the crystals she herself had 
installed, to enclose the entire flood zone in a huge 
tunnel of mystical energy. A cheer went up among the 
bridge crew. 

Olsham and Llawan opened their eyes. Olsham 
smiled and said, "Behold, Empress. The largest water 
portal ever created. Or rather, the largest portal 
barrier ever created. Nothing outside the chasm can 
get in, and—" 

"Nothing inside can get out. As always, Olsham, 
you exceed our expectations." Llawan turned and 
noticed Veza's wound. "All hail the noble sacrifice 
made by our comrades, warriors and defenders both. 
And captain, get a medic to the bridge," she snapped. 

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"Our valued sister is injured. Are you blind?" "Sorry, 
my empress." 

Llawan floated down and gathered Veza up in her 
forelimbs. "Is the damage permanent?" 

"No, Empress. I think it's a simple fracture." She 
flexed her tail and winced. "A very painful one, but a 
simple one." 

"Veza," Llawan said softly. "Are you sure that 
Laquatus and all his troops were inside the chasm 
when the portal was created?" "Yes, Empress." 

Llawan smiled. "Then we have won." She handed 
Veza to the medic, then began floating back toward the 
view screen. 

"Empress," Veza called. "You planted the survey 
data that proved the chasm was valuable, didn't you?" 

Llawan smiled. "Olsham altered the recording 
device before he teleported off the ship." 

"So you used me." 

"Not at all. We employed you. We assigned you a 
task, and you performed it. It is the right of the 
empress to demand service from her subjects." 

"Service, Empress, or sacrifice? Your leviathan, 
its crew, your soldiers and shield defenders. Even me." 

Llawan scowled. "What is your point, Veza? 
Laquatus would have sunk the entire empire into 
economic warfare and decadence. This is why civil 
wars are fought. To preserve that which is worth 
preserving, at any cost." 

Veza nodded, then floated quietly as the medic 
examined her tail. "Forgive me, Empress. My wound 
has made me light-headed." 

"Of course. When you are healed," Llawan said, 
"you will join us in the palace as our Imperial Counsel. 

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We have risked much together, and we do not refer 
exclusively to our personage. You and all of our loyal 
subjects either made us empress, or welcomed us as 
empress. Now that we have earned that title fairly in 
combat, we will not forget those who made it possible. 
We expect a steady flow of consistently good advice 
from you, Counsel." 

"Yes, Empress." Veza felt herself being taken 
away, and though she didn't know exactly where she 
was going, for the first time in months that wasn't 
something she had to worry about. 

* * * * * 

Chainer sent three separate chains screaming at 
Kamahl's sword. The first two locked and held onto the 
blade, while the third snared Kamahl's wrist. Chainer 
hauled with all his might, but he could not pull the 
sword loose or Kamahl down. 

Annoyed, he sent another chain coiling around 
Kamahl's foot. With a brutal tug, he finally hauled 
Kamahl off his feet. Kamahl dropped his sword as he 
fell, and took hold of the chains himself. When he hit 
the ground, he yanked hard to pull Chainer toward 
him, but the chains vanished before Kamahl could 
bring his superior strength and weight into play. 

A rounded weight broke Kamahl's jaw before he 
could get up. "Guess you'll have to learn how to fight 
without teeth now too, won't you barbarian?" Chainer's 
voice was high-pitched and grating. Kamahl sneered 
and spit blood at Chainer. He reached for his sword, 
but Chainer struck it and sent it skittering across the 
floor. 

"I'm getting bored now." Chainer sank a 

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sharpened weight into Kamahl's thigh, and another 
into his shoulder. "I can stand here, twenty feet away, 
and whittle you down to nothing. I told you. The sword 
is useless against the chain." 

Kamahl stood firm, his breath ragged and blood 
streaming from his wounds. "You should just kill me 
now, then. There's no audience to be disappointed by a 
short bout." 

Chainer wagged a finger at his partner. "Now, 
now. We both know you're not that weak." He slashed 
another chain at Kamahl, but the barbarian ducked 
under it. "Not yet, anyway." 

Kamahl conjured an axe and hurled it down the 
corridor at Chainer. Reflexively, Chainer threw out his 
hand and released a large, gelatinous mass which 
absorbed and muffled the explosion. 

"I thought you said no magic." 

Kamahl shrugged. "I was just trying to clear us 
some space." 

"Now you've done it," Chainer said. "You've made 
me angry." He jutted both arms out in the casting 
position, but instead of the death bloom or a nightmare 
casting, ten sharp chains exploded out of his hands, 
streaming and curling in twisted spirals as they flew 
toward Kamahl. The hallway was not wide enough for 
him to dodge them all. Six of them found their way 
into his body, linking his sword arm and both legs to 
Chainer. Kamahl stiffened but did not fall. He couldn't 
move, but he would not go down. 

"The best man wins. That's what you said, isn't 
it?" Chainer walked casually toward the immobilized 
barbarian. He waved his hand, and the Mirari 
appeared in it. "I think I'll do something really special 

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for you, Kamahl. You rejected my gifts once. If I 
remake you from the bones out as one of my snakes, 
however, you won't have any choice but to accept it." 
Chainer stood less than an arm's length from Kamahl. 
He reached out his metal arm and daintily flicked 
Kamahl in the chest. The nudge sent Kamahl teetering 
backward, and he began to topple like a great tree. 
Before he fell, however, Kamahl reached out and 
grabbed on to Chainer's metal arm. 

"Let go of me, you lump of rock." Chainer jerked 
his arm back, but Kamahl didn't let go. He clamped 
onto the artificial limb with the other hand and 
steadied himself on his feet. 

"I'm sorry, Chainer," he said, and channeled a 
withering blast of heat from his own body into 
Chainer's arm. 

The metal limb instantly became red-hot, and 
Chainer screamed. He dropped the Mirari and drew 
his dagger, stabbing it into Kamahl's forearm, once, 
twice, a half dozen times. Kamahl grimly held on 
through it all, pumping more heat and more energy 
through his hands. 

Chainer's arm melted into slag with a wet, angry 
hiss. He fell backward and lashed his foot out at 
Kamahl, finally knocking the barbarian onto his back. 

"That was a gift from Skellum," Chainer hissed. 
"Can't you barbarians lay off my thrice-damned arm?" 
He kicked Kamahl in the ribs as he stepped over his 
prone body to retrieve the Mirari. He took the sphere 
in his remaining hand, closed his eyes, and 
concentrated. The smoking end of his stump started to 
swell, and a new arm began to unfold like an inflating 
balloon. It wasn't Chainer's arm, or any human's. It 

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was a thin, segmented claw like an insect's, and 
Chainer looked at it in confusion. 

"That's not right," he said. The insect claw 
vanished, and in its place a large, black rattlesnake 
sprouted. Chainer scowled at it until it withered. 
Another attempt produced a mewling, eyeless 
monstrosity that wailed like a baby until Chainer 
shook it away. 

"Chainer, what's happening?" 

"I don't know," he said. What was happening? 
How could the Mirari keep failing? 

Unless he had overtaxed it. Of course. He had 
been communing with the sphere for days, actively 
using it for the past half hour, and then had simply 
cast it aside. Of course it was malfunctioning, he 
wasn't using it properly. He ought to have pulled 
himself out of the sphere's bottomless well of power 
before he tried to do something else. Also, it was 
probably mad at him for abandoning it. 

"Chainer, wait." 

"Shush." Chainer absently flicked his arm toward 
the helpless barbarian, and a torrent of misshapen 
snakes and monsters swamped Kamahl where he lie. 

Chainer tried one final time to make himself an 
arm, but it came out as a lifeless and callused roll of 
flesh. Nearby, Kamahl was grappling with the tangle 
of horrors and losing. Chainer shook his head. That 
wouldn't do. He had promised Kamahl a fair fight. 

In fact, the entire building was getting too noisy 
and crowded. Chainer needed peace and quiet to kill 
his friend, and he held the Mirari up to help him get it. 

"Chainer," Kamahl gurgled from the bottom of 
the pile. "Don't." 

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"Hold on," Chainer said. "I'm almost done." With 
the sphere in his hand, he once again felt all of the 
minds he had broken into and pillaged, all of them still 
frozen and empty. Instead of reaching into those 
minds, this time Chainer reached out into the world. 
The other dementists were merely relay stations for 
his dementia space now, and there was no reason to 
give back what he had rightfully stolen. He wanted to 
finish Kamahl man to man, however, and for that he 
needed quiet. 

Chainer used the Mirari to locate each and every 
one of the monsters he had unleashed since the games 
began. He was surprised how many of them were left. 
In fact, there were very few people left alive in the 
arena around him, and the monsters there had turned 
on each other. All the more reason to call them home, 
he thought. The battle's nearly over, and we've already 
won. 

All around Otaria, the flow of power reversed as a 
million nightmares began to flow back into the 
fragmented brain that created them. 

"This kind of hurts," Chainer said. "Is it supposed 
to hurt?" 

* * * * * 

Buried by hostile monsters, Kamahl was helpless 
to stop Chainer. He watched the Cabalist as the Mirari 
sent blasts of light out in all directions, and then a 
thousand smaller beams began flowing back into 
Chainer's body. 

"This kind of hurts," Chainer said. "Is it supposed 
to hurt?" 

"Drop it, Chainer!" Kamahl tried to yell more, but 

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something with hooves instead of fists punched him in 
the mouth. 

The swarm of monsters stopped tearing at him as 
the lights beaming into Chainer began to grow larger, 
faster, and more frequent. Kamahl was still unable to 
move, but at least he wasn't being damaged any 
further. 

Chainer was screaming now. They were no longer 
merely beams of light slamming into him, but 
elongated streamers of flesh, eyes, fangs, stingers, and 
claws. Not just energy, but mass was pouring into him, 
and his physical form was not prepared to deal with it. 
In a final burst of triumphant, agonizing sound, the air 
around Chainer's body imploded and a flash of purple 
light blew outward, knocking stones loose from the 
wall and almost reburying Kamahl in rubble. 

Many silent minutes passed. Then Kamahl broke 
the silence by shoving one of the larger stones off of his 
chest and letting it crash loudly to the floor. The 
barbarian painfully got to his feet and limped down 
the hall to where Chainer writhed. 

At first Kamahl thought his friend was coated in 
some kind of undulating ooze, but as he looked closer, 
he saw the truth. It wasn't something on Chainer's 
body that squirmed, it was Chainer's body. Though he 
still had the same build and the same shape, Chainer's 
arms, legs, chest, head, even his hair was now a 
turbulent mass of wriggling monsters. Tiny eyes 
looked up at Kamahl, and miniature fangs formed, 
struck, then melted again. Sometimes a head or a 
hand would rise above the surface of his skin, and 
snakes swam all through the unstable flesh like 
sharks in a feeding frenzy. His nose and mouth were 

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only shapes, and those shapes were crammed full of 
tongues and scales and fingers and talons. Even his 
missing arm had been replaced with the cancer of 
living monsters. 

Worst of all were his eyes. Chainer's brilliant blue 
eyes had returned, and they bore mute and tragic 
testimony to the agony he suffered. 

The Mirari had rolled free and sat unobtrusively 
on the floor. It seemed smaller and drab, its eerie black 
glow extinguished. Kamahl marveled that he and so 
many others had fought and bled for something that 
appeared to be nothing more than a spent cannonball, 
or a discarded child's toy. He knelt down next to 
Chainer. 

The hideous parody of his friend's body reacted to 
his closeness, and Chainer clumsily flopped a boneless 
arm toward Kamahl's hand. Kamahl took it, and he 
fought the urge to release the hideous squirming thing 
and start hacking it with his sword. Chainer pulled on 
Kamahl's arm, and the barbarian leaned forward to 
put his ear next to the place that had been Chainer's 
mouth. 

"Mu. Ra. Ree." 

Kamahl had no idea how the sound was created, 
but he understood. He shook his head. "You don't need 
it. It'll only make things worse." 

Chainer shook his head, his eyes pleading. He 
tried to point at it with his free arm. 

"Yours. Take. You. Take it." 

"I'm not so sure I want it anymore." 

Chainer's horrid grip grew tighter. "Must," he 
gurgled. "Not. Safe." 

"All right, Chainer. I'll take it, and I'll keep it 

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safe." A hundred battles had taught him not to argue 
with a dying man. 

Chainer's grip relaxed. "Sorry," he said. "So 
sorry." 

Kamahl held his friend's hand until the 
squirming stopped and his ragged breath stopped 
completely. He stood, remembering the simple 
courtesy he had paid to dead enemies and allies alike. 
In this case, it was the least he could do to free 
Chainer's spirit from the hideous form it had been 
shackled to. 

With a wave, Kamahl burned Chainer's twisted 
body to cinders. When he was alone, he caught site of 
the Mirari once more, so unassuming in repose. He 
had told Chainer the truth. He wasn't sure if he really 
wanted it anymore. But he also had made a promise to 
his friend, and he thought he understood why Chainer 
had insisted and why he had agreed. 

After a few moment's hesitation, Kamahl bent 
and picked up the Mirari. For a brief moment, he saw 
a huge, smoking battlefield littered with corpses and 
an ocean of multicolored flames. And then he was 
alone, surrounded by the memory of monsters and the 
death of his friend. 

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Chainer’s Torment 

EPILOGUE 


Laquatus and his mercenaries had explored the 
length and depth of the chasm, and the news was the 
same: There was no simple way out. All the water in 
the chasm was surrounded by Veza's barrier, one 
giant, permanent portal that only led to itself. Anyone 
who touched the barrier from within or without 
instantly appeared on the exact opposite side of the 
chasm, on the same side of the barrier that they 
started on. Those inside couldn't step out. Those 
outside couldn't step in. 

The trap for Laquatus also served as a source of 
income for Llawan. While Laquatus and his forces 
were trapped inside, Llawan's functionaries, had 
already fixed a price for merchants to use the portal's 
external surface as rapid transit for shipping from one 
side of Otaria to the other. He was not only trapped, he 
was isolated from any and all Mer commerce. 

Disrupting the barrier from the inside was costly 
and difficult. Since the field was powered by the newly 
formed tides in the chasm, penetrating the field 
required enough magical power to baffle the elemental 
force of the tides themselves. For the time being, 
Laquatus couldn't do it alone for long, and he could 
only open a hole big enough for a few people at a time. 

Still, he had the resources and the time he 
needed to breach the barrier. He still had his contacts 
inside the Order, and a good working relationship with 
the First, should the Cabal patriarch ever return. And 
the Mirari was still out there, in the hands of one 

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ignorant savage or another. 

Laquatus accepted defeat as he did victory. Each 
was merely a shorter step in his lifelong campaign for 
greatness. He had been bested and embarrassed in 
Mer, and it was his own fault. His mistake was to go 
after the Mer imperial throne and the Mirari at the 
same time. In the future, he would focus all his 
attention on obtaining the sphere and then use it to 
carve out a kingdom for himself. Llawan may have 
temporarily exiled him from the deep, but that simply 
meant that he must turn his sights inland. There were 
a million land crawlers to conquer, a dozen factions to 
play against one another, and a priceless source of 
power to be obtained. 

First, the sphere. Then Otaria. Then, the empire. 
After that? Laquatus laughed in his spacious prison. 

If his ambition was as bottomless as the seas, 
why shouldn't his power extend as far? 

* * * * * 

Kamahl stepped out of the Cabal City arena and 
squinted in the bright, setting sun. He was 
preoccupied by thoughts of the Mirari, the way it 
reacted so swiftly to its handler's thoughts. Therein lay 
the real danger of it. Chainer's thoughts had been dark 
and troubled, and Kamahl's own were violent. He 
wondered what would happen the next time Jeska 
gave him lip. Would she spontaneously burst in to 
flames because Kamahl thought about it? 

The street was full of surviving spectators and pit 
fighters. The crowd was murmuring, and all eyes were 
on the Mirari. ". . . killed the entire Cabal ..." 

". . . the only survivor ..." 

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"I challenge you, barbarian." 

Kamahl looked up at the Order officer who had 
stepped forward. She was a tall and immaculate aven, 
almost blinding in her white robes. She drew a long 
sword and a short dagger. 

"For the Mirari," she continued. "I will fight you 
for the Mirari." 

"When you've killed her," said a burly Cabalist, "I 
will fight you for the Mirari." 

"Then me." 

"I will fight, too." 

One of Kamahl's own people, a barbarian from 
Pardic, stepped forward. "Forgive me, cousin. But I 
will fight you for the Mirari. It is our way." 

Kamahl stared out at the growing number of 
challengers. His sword felt heavy, and he had never 
felt so tired. His burns still ached, and for the first 
time in his short, brutal life, Kamahl wanted to rest 
rather than fight. The other barbarian was right, 
however. It was their way to compete for the things 
they wanted, to constantly improve their skills and 
their situation through combat. 

Reluctantly, Kamahl drew his sword and almost 
dropped it from his clumsy, aching hands. He looked at 
the long line of challengers, growing longer all the 
time, and the crush of others who edged closer, 
unwilling to wait for their turn. Warriors and 
monsters and dementia beasts all jostled for the right 
to kill him and collect the spoils. 

Kamahl snorted a bitter laugh. Improve through 
combat? If he survived the next few hours, according to 
the ways of his people, he would be very much 
improved. 

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* * * * * 

Fulla and Azza made their way through the 
plains due south of Cabal City without incident. Azza 
sometimes forced Fulla to get on her back as she was 
now, but the caster preferred to have her own feet on 
the ground. 

Azza's spirit seemed muted. She was still in 
mourning for Skel-lum. Fulla was also sad that she 
would not see Chainer or Skellum again, but Fulla was 
easily distracted when she was not in the pits. While 
she remembered that she was sad, she did not always 
remember why. 

For days before the First's surprise 
announcement that he was leaving, Fulla had strange 
dreams. They were of a jovial figure who sat on top of a 
huge pile of money. The figure's voice hurt Fulla's 
head, and he kept insisting that she should get out of 
Cabal City and head south. Fulla eventually agreed 
just to get the figure to leave her alone, and Azza had 
refused to let her make the dangerous trip by herself. 
They were hardly outside the city walls when the 
commotion at the arena began, but they were too far 
away to make it back in time for the fun. 

As they came over a rise in the road, they saw a 
tall man standing before them in the distance. Many 
bodies were strewn around his feet, as if his party had 
all fallen asleep at the same time. When the tall man 
turned toward them, both Fulla and Azza straightened 
up. "The Cabal is here," Fulla called. 

"And everywhere," replied the First. Closer to the 
scene, Fulla could see that the bodies of four or five 
snake-men lay dead and blackened around the First's 

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feet, along with a handful of humans in Cabal clothing. 
He smiled as his children approached, ignoring the 
corpses around him. 

"It seems we are all going to Aphetto," the First 
said. "Yes, Pater." Azza carried Fulla past the First, 
slowing her pace but not stopping. 

"I would offer you Azza's back, Pater," Fulla said, 
"but that wouldn't be good for either of you." 

"No, my child. You two go on ahead. I have 
already sent for an escort from Aphetto, which should 
be here shortly." He dipped his head toward the dead 
at his feet. "The first three escorts were waylaid on the 
road as soon as they picked me up. Then their 
waylayers fell ill. Such a waste." 

Azza and Fulla were now completely past the 
First, and the caster had to turn to continue the 
conversation. "We shall see you in Aphetto then, 
Pater." 

"Indeed. I have much to ask you about the final 
Mirari Games." 

"The First is wise." 

"Long live the Cabal." 

Fulla and Azza rode on over the next rise, and the 
First disappeared behind them. Azza began to trot, but 
Fulla tugged on her neck. 

"We're in no rush, sweet Azza," Fulla said. The 
hellhound dropped back to a slower pace, and they 
rode on. 

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