Arena (magic the gathering) Read online

  Instantly his cry was picked up and echoed, a loud turmoil breaking out.

  Hammen settled back in his seat, waited for a moment, and then stood up to head back to the wall.

  “How are you betting?”

  Hammen looked back at him with a hurt expression.

  “Three to one against, we’ll clean up. Besides, if you lose, I’m dead anyhow, so what the hell.”

  “Thanks for the confidence.”

  Chuckling, Hammen went up to the wall and returned a moment later as the first of the warning trumpets sounded.

  “Naru bet on Garth.”

  Garth looked over at the grinning giant.

  “I win either way,” Naru announced as if he had figured out a monumental task of logic. “Make money or don’t have to fight and kill you later.” Naru roared at his own joke.

  The third trumpet finally sounded and Garth stood up, Hammen by his side, and stepped out from under the awning into the late-afternoon sun. The arena erupted with wild cheering that spread from Brown to the other three-quarters of the stadium.

  Garth, ignoring the cheers, walked toward his assigned circle and stepped into the neutral box, which was stained with blood from an earlier death match. Hammen took his cloak and watched warily as Garth’s opponent came forward.

  “I know that bastard,” Hammen whispered. “He was captain of the guard down in Tantium. A killer. This doesn’t look good.”

  ***

  Zarel Ewine leaned back in his throne and chuckled softly. The captain knew his job and what was expected. Later it would be a simple task to eliminate him rather than have to worry about the fact that the man might talk about the violations of age-old traditions, the fixing of the match, the bribing of the monk, who would have to have an accident as well, and, finally, the fact that the captain carried a spell given to him by the Grand Master for use in the arena.

  Zarel took up his cup of wine and sipped at it contentedly, waiting for the fighters to get ready.

  ***

  The captain from Tantium walked calmly over to his neutral box alone, without a servant, unclipped his cloak, and let it fall to the ground. Ignoring Garth, he bent over and stretched lazily, his bare arms rippling with muscles.

  “He might try to take you physically,” Hammen whispered. “Watch out for his blade. Look at his left boot; there’s another dagger tucked in there for throwing. Poisoned most likely.”

  The final trumpet sounded and the circle master for Garth’s fight stepped into the center and then looked over at Garth.

  “How do you declare this fight?”

  “Spell match,” Garth said quietly.

  The circle master looked back over at the captain.

  “How do you declare this fight?”

  “To the death.”

  The circle master turned and went over to the pole at the edge of the circle.

  “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Hammen shouted.

  The circle master, ignoring Hammen, hoisted the red flag of a death match.

  “This is a fix!” Hammen shouted, turning to look back at the arena stands, his words drowned out by the eruption of screaming from half a million throats.

  Hammen looked back at Garth.

  “If I lose, get out of here quick,” Garth said quietly, and then he lowered his head and closed his eyes.

  “Fight!”

  Garth opened his eyes and stepped into the circle. Concentrating, he started to pull upon the power of his mana, upon which would be built the power of his spells. Instantly he felt a block. The captain had already drawn upon his own mana and cast a blocking spell, draining Garth’s power away. Garth felt a momentary flicker of fear. The man was powerful, extremely powerful, and skillful in his tactics.

  Smoke swirled up in the center of the circle and half a dozen decaying corpses stepped out of the cloud, the stench of their corruption washing over Garth. He stepped back, still struggling to bring forth his mana as the first corpse staggered up, pale bone showing through the rotting phosphorescence of its face. Garth struggled to suppress a gag, his concentration broken as he had to dodge out of the dead man’s grasp. Another one caught him on the shoulder, icy fingers digging into flesh and wrestling to draw away the spirit of life. Garth tore free and quickly moved away, feeling his strength draining away. In the center of the circle more forms appeared, plague rats, their green eyes glinting evilly. The rats charged. Garth danced about, crushing several under his boot but two managed to leap upon his legs, sinking their teeth in, their poison seeping into his blood. Staggering, he kicked them off.

  At last Garth was able to raise his hand, the mana of the forest drawn into his control at last. A dark green fog swirled around him, blinding the undead. For a brief moment the attack was thrown off and he raised his hands, a cool stream of water cascading down from above, washing over his body, drawing out the poison.

  His draw of mana continued to strengthen and yet he could sense that his opponent’s was increasing as well. The fog started to disperse and Garth extended his hands outward and drew an image in the air. A second later there was a burst of light and a form coalesced, the mob roaring its approval at the appearance of a white knight mounted upon a rearing charger. The knight, swinging a mace, trampled down the corpses that started to close in again on Garth and then turned to charge the captain. The knight’s attack slowed and then came to a stop as if he were trapped in a dark web. The horse tried to rear up, neighing in pain, and then rolled over, crushing the knight beneath him. With his opponent diverted by the attack of the knight, Garth was freed to counter the plague rats which still pursued him, by unleashing a swarm of stinging hornets that harried and tormented the rats, stringing with such viciousness that the rats, one after another, curled up and died.

  Another strike lashed over Garth and he felt his mana withering away, his power draining down. His opponent, Garth realized, held powers equal to that of a House Master, or even a Grand Master, and as the thought raced through him, he looked at his opponent and saw the man’s mocking gaze, as if his opponent were simply playing with him and held supreme confidence in the final outcome.

  Garth waved his hands in a circle and managed to erect a circle of protection from his opponent’s onslaughts. Then he doubled the circle. Though he was doing no damage to his foe, at least his attacker was no longer damaging him. More undead appeared, but were repulsed by the screen. There was another strike toward his mana, but it was stopped as well. The captain now turned his attention toward the hornets, which were swarming toward him, and in an instant they fell to the ground, their power to fly drained away. Writhing about, they curled up and died.

  For a moment there was no attack from either side. Garth spared a quick look around and saw that nearly all the other combats were finished. The attention of the mob was entirely focused on the death struggle in the middle of the arena. In the center of the circle a darkness appeared and started to drift toward Garth, a frozen shade of terror. He felt his outer circle of protection fall beneath the attack. Garth raised his hands and an instant later a stand of trees appeared to encircle him. He stepped out of the circle of protection and then moved like a shadow himself, drifting silently. The frozen shade floated past him, looking, probing. Garth extended the line of trees so that they filled his half of the circle. He felt his power growing and, with a snap of his arm, he pointed behind the frozen shade. One of the trees came to life and grabbed hold of the shade with branchy arms, tearing it apart.

  The mob, unable to see what was happening, cheered with a wild frenzy so that the sound of the struggle was drowned out. Moving stealthily, Garth darted to the edge of the forest he had created. His opponent was moving to the edge of the woods, hands raised. Bolts of lightning came down out of the sky, blasting the forest with blow after blow. Garth motioned toward the captain and the tree-walker crashed out of the woods. Reaching down, it snatched at the captain, lifting him up into the air. A wild frenzy of cheers erupted as the fight again became visible.
The captain, writhing in pain, pointed both hands at the tree-creature’s face; the creature staggered backward, fire burning its eyes. Howling with pain, the creature staggered around in a circle, the mob laughing at its antics.

  Garth raised his hand and the creature disappeared, its torment ended. At the same instant he raced up to the captain, lashing out with his feet, kicking to break the man’s knee. The captain dodged the blow, tripping Garth to the ground. Laughing sardonically he lashed out in turn, kicking Garth’s side so that the sound of ribs cracking could be heard. Garth rolled away, raising his hands. Tiny forms appeared, looking almost comical, for they were nothing more than woodland fairies. They buzzed about on silver wings and then closed in. They lunged at the captain’s eyes, with tiny spears causing him to howl with pain and back away. Behind Garth the forest he had created was in flames, thick coils of dark smoke soaring into the heavens, the fire crackling and hissing.

  Garth, gasping for breath and unable to take the time to heal himself, conjured yet again, sending a bear into the melee. The bear was blocked by Ironclaw Orcs, who hacked at it with heavy scimitars, the bear in turn ripping them apart. From overhead a rain of stones started to fall, smashing into what was left of the forest. Garth could feel his power draining away.

  He erected yet another circle of protection to buy time in order to replace the mana his opponent had rendered useless.

  The captain stood on the other side of the circle, streams of blood coursing down his face and arms from the attack of the fairies, who now lay scattered about. He wiped the blood from his eyes, his features contorted with rage. Garth reached outward, probing into the man’s thoughts in a bid to ascertain what he might attempt next. Garth smiled and, with a raised hand, sent another swarm of fairies in.

  They were dead within seconds but again they had managed to stab his opponent, and the sight of the captain flailing at them sent the mob into hysterical laughter.

  The captain turned his attention away from Garth for a second. His features contorted with anger as he hurled a curse back at the mob. Though his words could not be heard, his flash of temper set them to laughing even louder.

  The captain turned back and angrily pointed at the ground. Dwarven warriors appeared. He moved his hand again, and yet again, summoning forth creature after creature so that dwarfs, orcs, goblins, skeletons, and even demonic creatures were arrayed. As he prepared his attack Garth in turn gathered his own mana in, building up his strength. He came back up to his feet and walked back to the middle of the circle. His act of defiance caused wild cheering to erupt as Garth stood alone, as if ready to battle the summoned creatures without benefit of magic other than the dagger he now flicked out.

  The captain laughed with cold contempt, raised both hands heavenward, and then pointed them straight down. A fissure opened in the ground directly before him. An expectant hush fell over the arena.

  A black cloud rushed upward, like steam hissing out from the gates of hell. The shadow swirled about, turning and coiling, and took form.

  “A Lord of the Pit!”

  Garth turned and looked over his shoulder at Hammen, who was stepping backward in fear.

  “Pit Lord! Pit Lord!” The cry thundered from the mob, and those who had bet upon Garth groaned with despair even as they came to their feet to watch the finale of the show.

  The demon loomed upward, great clawlike hands stretching out, black mouth gaping open, flame washing over its teeth, its fire red eyes glowing like hot coals in a furnace.

  The captain lowered his hands, the demon looking back at him. The captain pointed at the dwarven warriors. The demon, laughing, turned and swept them up in his claws, devouring them as they screamed and yelled. The other creatures summoned by the captain, now realizing that they were called forth as a sacrificial offering to the dark power, tried to move away, but the captain pointed at them in turn, freezing them in place.

  After finishing his repast the demon, with heavy, lumbering steps, advanced on Garth. His mighty clawed hands reached out. Garth, in turn, raised his hands and a river of ice seemed to pour from the heavens, striking the monster on the arms, the ice instantly turning to hot steam. The Lord of the Pit, roaring with pain, staggered back.

  The captain next pointed at the berserkers and the creature devoured them in turn. His strength redoubled by the feast, the demon charged again, howling with mad fury. Garth waved his hands in reply and instantly he was encased in holy armor. The monster tried to sweep him up in his grasp but each time his hands touched the armor there was a flash of steam. For long minutes they struggled thus until the demon’s power slowly started to abate and the armor in turn became translucent and then disappeared. The mob was now at a fever pitch as the Lord turned away, its features contorted with rage, and started back toward the captain.

  Quickly the captain pointed next at the orcs he controlled. The demon pounced upon them, devouring them as they screamed and writhed. Garth did nothing, watching the captain’s actions. He had conjured forth a creature that was almost beyond his ability to control. He had to keep feeding it in order to keep it under his command. The captain waved his hand yet again, attempting to conjure up more replacements for the creature’s feast. But this time all he could bring forth was half a score of plague rats before he lowered his head in exhaustion.

  The Lord of the Pit, satiated for the moment, turned back to attack Garth once more. It started to advance and Garth replayed again a power he had used before, quickly erecting a wall of living trees and then stepping behind it. The Dark Lord approached the woods, brimming with hatred for a creation of such tranquility. Rearing up, it started to slash at the woods with its mighty claws, as Garth reinforced his barrier of protection. The monter’s hooting roars thundered around the arena, drowning out even the wild, insane cheering of the mob which was beside itself with rapture over such a marvelous display. The demon finally tore into the line of trees, grabbing hold of the trunks. It howled with pain as if the silvery bark was made of nettles of pain. It tore the trees up, flinging them aside, crashing through to the other side.

  And then, exhausted, it sank down for a moment. Turning, it started to lumber back toward its master’s side of the circle, looking at the remaining feasts the captain had set out in order to maintain control.

  Garth leaped forward, hands raised, and within seconds the demons, skeletons and rats that the captain had prepared for the demon were gone, vaporized by Garth’s frenzied attack.

  The captain hesitated, shocked by the suddenness of Garth’s onslaught. The demon reared up, howling with rage that his meal had been denied. The captain quickly raised his hands but his own mana was drained in the act of creating the monster and the meals necessary to control it. He pointed, trying to bring forth another creature. There was a thin pop of light and the only thing that appeared was a lone tiny sprite which, at the sight of the Lord, took wing and flew straight up and away. The demon, its mouth lolling open, watching the sprite fly away, then it fixed its gaze on the captain.

  With a loud cry it lunged forward. There was a brief flash, as if a circle of protection was being raised. Garth turned and looked toward the throne, where Zarel was standing, his arms raised. Hammen, jumping up and down, pointed toward Zarel in turn and a wild, hysterical cry rose from the mob at the blatant interference on the part of the Grand Master. Zarel, looking around, dropped his hands, and the circle of protection disappeared.

  The captain, screaming in terror, was lifted up into the air. The Lord of the Pit, gloating over its prey, pulled in opposite directions, tearing the man in half and then devouring him in two quick gulps. As the life force of the captain disappeared the power which he controlled ended as well. With a flash of fire and smoke the demon disappeared.

  Garth slowly walked across the circle, not waiting for the circle master to reach the prize first. Reaching down he picked up the blood-soaked satchel of his opponent and held it aloft. The mob broke into an ecstasy of cheering. The Bolk section of the arena sw
armed forward, leaping over the barriers, ignoring the blows of the warriors who tried to stop them. By the tens of thousands they swarmed onto the arena floor.

  “One-eye, One-eye!”

  The circle master came up and reached toward the satchel of the captain. Garth fixed the man with his gaze.

  “It was you who made it to the death; the prize is mine.”

  “It belongs to the Grand Master,” the fighter hissed.

  “Then try and take it now.”

  The man looked at him, and then back toward the throne, where Zarel stood. The mob swirled in around Garth, swarming about him. Hammen pushed his way through to Garth’s side.

  “Thank the Eternal for his mob; I think Zarel was going to come down and fight you right now.”

  The referee backed away and then extended his hand.

  “Mana payment for a death fight.”

  Garth reached into the satchel taken from his foe, drew out a small silken bundle of black mana, and tossed it into the outstretched hand of the referee, who quickly scurried away.

  Putting his arm around Hammen’s shoulder for support, Garth forced his way through the mob, sensing the rage that Zarel was now feeling at the humiliation he had endured and the loss of one of his most powerful spells.

  “Master, how are you?” Hammen asked anxiously.

  “I managed to heal the ribs but I’m still hung over,” Garth replied. “Let’s go find a drink, and then there’s some things I need you to get for this evening.”

  “What things?”

  Garth simply smiled.

  ____________________

  CHAPTER 12

  THE CITY WAS IN A STATE OF BEDLAM. DURING the games rival gangs, taking advantage of the fact that nearly anyone who could afford it had gone to the arena, had set to looting. Supporters of Ingkara had raided Fentesk sections of the city and a mob of Kesthans attempted to loot Purple, while Bolk had simply gone after everyone else. Fires had broken out in several quarters of the city and the glare of the flames filled the midnight sky.