empty seats farther down; there was barely standing room. Torches lit the darkness at the rear of the structure in a smoky haze, but at the arena level smokeless lamps cast a clear, sharp light. Usurient watched expressionlessly while Mallich’s black-as-coal drask tore the opposing animal to shreds in under a minute. It was brutal and final, an overwhelming victory meant as both an object lesson and an arrogant challenge. Fight Mallich’s drasks and you took your chances. Go up against his animals at your peril.
When the bout ended, Usurient kept his seat. He studied the crowd, picking out men and women he knew. Several were from the Red Slash, come for an evening’s entertainment. None of them approached him. Even if they recognized him, they would keep their distance.
The second bout took a little longer than the first. The drask challenger was a sturdy, low-slung creature, its body scarred and ridged with muscle, its head not much more than eyes and jaws. Huge paws and thick legs supported its odd, piggish frame. It was durable and vicious, trained to go for the eyes and legs, and seemingly impervious to pain. What saved Mallich’s reputation was most likely the homework he had done on the animal ahead of time—something he did as a matter of course in order to select the proper opponent from among his own stock. In contrast with the challenger, his drask was lean and lanky and cat-quick—the kind of gray ghost that was there one minute and gone the next, so quick you could barely follow its movements. It dodged the other animal with practiced ease, snapping and tearing in a flurry of strikes while keeping carefully clear of the arena sides and corners where it might become trapped. If the attacker had been able to pin it down, the fight would have ended quickly. But Mallich’s drask was too quick. The minutes dragged on. Though the attacker kept coming in spite of the injuries being inflicted on it, the damage began to tell.
When finally it tired and went down, helpless to rise and defend itself, Mallich’s animal carefully circled behind it, seized its neck, and bit down with an audible crunch that signaled an end to the battle.
Usurient waited until Mallich had led his blood-smeared drask from the ring and the process of mopping up the remains of the loser had commenced, then left his seat at last and went back down into the participants’ yard.
“Very impressive,” he acknowledged, coming up to the other and handing over a purse of gold coins. “I shouldn’t have bet against you.”
The gray man studied him a moment while he hefted the purse and then handed it back. “If I take your money, I will owe you. This is just a way to get me to consider your offer.”
Usurient smiled, accepting the purse back. “Why don’t we do this? You take care of your drasks and then come to the Broken Soldier for a drink. We’ll celebrate your victory. I will make my offer; you will listen and decide its merit.” He shrugged. “However it goes is how it goes.”
Mallich spit. “Waste of my time. Besides, I’m tired and I don’t need a drink. You’d best be on your way, Dallen.”
The Commander of the Red Slash shrugged. “Have it your way.” He turned to go, and then stopped. “By the way. Did I mention that my offer concerns Arcannen?” He waited a beat. “So if you know of somebody who might be his equal, perhaps you could send word to me?”
Mallich did not stop what he was doing. He did nothing to indicate he had heard anything the other had said. But Usurient knew he had heard every word. He smiled. “I’ll be at the tavern, if you change your mind about that drink.”
Then he turned away once more, and this time he kept going.
He never once worried that Mallich wouldn’t follow him to the tavern. Any mention of Arcannen would be enough to draw Mallich’s attention. Any suggestion that there was an opportunity to track down his most hated enemy would win his active support.
Because Mallich did indeed hate the sorcerer worse than anyone.
And for a very good reason.
Five years earlier, Arcannen had murdered a minister of the Federation’s Coalition Council in the guise of a member of the Fourth Druid Order. It had taken the personal intervention of the Prime Minister and an agreement with the Ard Rhys of the Druid Order to unmask the deception, but