Gamon and Tyrel joined the three women, and then they were all ushered out into the hall, up the stairs, and through the guardroom. Dion fought down the urge to slap the leering grins off from the soldier's faces as she tried to pull the front pieces of her tunic together.

  At last they were led into a bare bathroom, where the dim light was still too bright for their near-blind eyes. They were forced into a standing trough that smelled like a combination of burned oil and piss, which the guards said would rid them of vermin, then were taken to another bathroom where the waters smelled more pleasant. At the shock of fresh air, Dion found herself breathing deeply, as if she could not get enough of it into her lungs. But they were given little time to enjoy the experience. They were hardly out of the baths and into cleaner clothes when a door opened and a captain strode in, fingering a bronze medallion in his hands.

  “Finish quickly,” he ordered the guards. “Longear will see them now. And you,” he snapped, dropping the medallion into his pocket and spearing the group of prisoners with disdain, “address Longear as 'sir' if you want to keep your tongues.” He turned irritably on his heel and left.

  Gamon shot the others a quick look. “I was hoping Longear had gone to the moons for judgment,” he said in a low growl.

  One of the guards shivered. “That you should be so lucky,” he muttered. “That's the name of the post, not the man.”

  One of the other guards gave him a dark look. “As if a man would do those things.”

  “What things?” Gamon could not help asking.

  “Shut up,” the first guard said, looking nervously around.

  Gamon gave him a speculative look. If “Longear” was the name of the post, then there had not been just one Longear to advise Zentsis. There could have been several men in that post, each with different ambitions ...

  The guards marched the five prisoners in a ragged line down the corridors and through another courtyard. Day was a new experience: the light caused their eyes to cringe, blinding them, and they tripped and stumbled their way between the cool pillars until they were led into another set of halls. As their eyes adjusted, they could make out paintings and maps on the walls, and tables covered with papers in the open spaces. Fi­nally they came to a large room, which opened into dark cor­ridors on many sides, and stopped finally before a desk behind which sat a small woman with a hard, bitter face.

  “Sir.” The soldiers saluted.

  “Leave us,” she commanded in a disinterested voice. She remained seated and looked the ragged group over. For all that it was a quick glance, she clearly had taken them in completely in those few seconds.

  “So.” She leaned back and studied the haggard prisoners more slowly, her eyes finally resting on Gamon. “Gamon Aikekkraya neBentar. Weapons master of the Ramaj Ariye. We finally meet. I've been a great admirer of yours for a long time.”

  “The pleasure is mine, lady,” Gamon said politely, inclin­ing his head.

  Her face darkened for an instant. “I am Longear,” she snapped. She leaned forward and laughed at their stunned looks.

  Gamon wiped his face clear of emotion, but Shilia frowned in bewilderment, and Tyrel's mouth still hung open.

  The boy stared at her. “But—”

  Gamon poked Tyrel in the ribs, but Dion could see that the older man was as shocked as the rest of them.

  “You expected a man?” Longear asked mockingly. “That is natural, but not very intelligent.”

  Gamon's eyes narrowed, and his face set in a hard line that Dion had not seen before. “It was there in front of me all the time,' he said to himself. “And I never guessed.”

  Dion felt a chill. Longear a woman? If this woman had merely wanted a position of power, she would have been a elder on Zentsis's council. But to be Longear, the Lloroi's top aide—the woman they stood before would have ambitions stronger than any woman Dion had yet met. The small, bitter woman in front of them could never be Lloroi, but she could wield Zentsis's power from her desk. And, knowing Zentsis's secrets while she held the power of his army, and adding her control over the raiders on top of that, Longear could guide not only the Lloroi's county, but Zentsis himself. Dion glanced at Gamon and saw that the old weapons master had followed the same line of thought. She and Gamon exchanged a long look as Longear watched in amusement.

  “Poor Gamon,” Longear said. “How does it feel to be outsmarted even in this?”

  His jaw tightened, but he forced a smile and edged away from Dion.

  “Don't count on heroic actions and dramatic escape,” Longear said dryly. “There are guards in each of the openings. And there has been such a succession of people in this office that my death—to ensure yours—is of no consequence. How­ever, I intend to be here a long time. One trick, one move, Gamon, and I will have your legs and the legs of your darling little nieces amputated. You understand?” She paused and looked them over one by one. “I use the same rule for every­one. It is, and I pride myself on this, why the House of Crip­ples is so popular.”

  Tyrel flushed as his temper rose. “What do you want with us?”

  She leaned back. “Getting to the point, boy? I like that. And that is the question, isn't it? What do I do with you now? I have you, and I know you did not contrive to send any information to Ariye. But I don't have all of you.” She leaned forward again. “And I want all of you. My traps have been avoided— cleverly, I might add—and the rabbits still run at large. So what was I to do?” She shrugged delicately. “I've arranged a bit of entertainment for our Lloroi, the great Zentsis.” The scorn in her voice was unmistakable. “It will draw your friends, while the public and I will appreciate the entertain­ment. And I'm sure you'll enjoy it, too. After all—” she paused and looked at the five again, her glance resting longer on Shilia and Namina “—you are the entertainers.”

  Gamon cleared his throat. “What kind of entertainment did you have in mind?” he asked flippantly. “I can't answer for the others, but I don't dance or play music, and my singing voice is terrible.”

  “But you don't have to sing for me, Gamon Aikekkraya. I've been waiting years to see you in action.” She stalled his automatic protest with a wave. “Oh, I know you're a veritable old man now, but it just gives my guards the chance they wouldn't otherwise have, doesn't it?”

  Gamon bowed as well as he could in the chains that still bound him. “I would fight almost any number for the chance to lay eyes on your lovely countenance again, lady,” he said deliberately.

  Longear's expression darkened further. “I worked many years to reach this post,” she said softly. “You will address me as befits this office.”

  “Most certainly, lady,” Gamon bowed again. “But do I address you as Lady Longear, which is a singularly unfeminine name, or lady sir, equally as masculine, or—”

  “Enough!” The woman's face paled. “I will be addressed as 'sir' by you as by everyone else. You want to play games, Gamon, well, so be it. Our Lloroi loves a good match, and we need some new fighters for the rings. You and the boy will champion your women against say, five of my men. The win­ners can take the women for themselves in the ring or elsewhere, and you may watch before you're given over to the dark healers for experiments.”

  “And if we win?” Gamon asked with a relaxed smile, hid­ing the shiver he felt at the mention of dark healers.

  “Do you expect to win at such odds? Then I will make it more of a challenge. You may choose the squad you wish to demonstrate your skill upon. We have any number of them and they are of many sizes, as I'm sure you know. Pick one.”

  Two men entered the area to the left, and as Longear saw them, her eyes narrowed, but she smiled ingratiatingly. “Ah, Lloroi Zentsis. And Conin neZentsis,” she added quickly, with a glance at the younger man.

  “Longear,” Zentsis acknowledged. He looked at the small group. “These are the spies?”

  She nodded. “And also the entertainment for Conin's birth­day celebration. I've been saving them for something special, and what better time to bring them out than now, when your newfound son is celebrating his twenty-third birthday and his rise to political power?”

  Zentsis looked the group over again, judging and dismissing each one as if too inferior to be of interest. “They will fight?”

  Longear nodded. “That one is a weapons master of the Ramaj Ariye: Gamon neBentar.”

  Zentsis looked at Gamon's old but proud face. The Lloroi's own face was hard and bony, with heavy lines above his brows. He was a big man, and he had a heavy laugh to match. “This? This old man is a weapons master?” He turned to the young man, who smiled politely at the joke. “What will he be doing? Demonstrating how to use a cane to defend himself?” He laughed, and Longear chuckled.

  “I thought of giving one of our squads some exercise, Lloroi. The winner can have the women. It gives Gamon something worth fighting for, I'm sure, to have his nieces as the stakes. You remember that he is the Lloroi's brother?”

  Zentsis nodded reflectively. “The woman are the Ariye Llo­roi's daughter and niece then? A nice capture, Longear.”

  Longear smiled thinly. “I've given Gamon the choice of a squad to fight, but he has not yet chosen. Since you've just gained a son, Lloroi, I thought it fitting that his birthday feast sport unusual skills in areas I'm sure he'll find most interest­ing.”

  Dion had not thought she had heard the woman correctly before, but now she knew that Longear was serious. The man with Zentsis was his son? Zentsis was supposed to have got only daughters by his wives and concubines. And what did “just gained” mean? Had Zentsis just found out he had a son? Had some whore or poor man's daughter delivered what he had always wanted and hidden the child until he was grown? The son would have to be truly his, she realized, if he was to follow his father as Lloroi. This Conin was twenty-three. Old enough, if he took after his father, to be twisted in thought, she mut­tered bitterly. What game would he have them play for his birthday feast?

  But when Conin looked at Namina, Shilia, and Dion, the wolf­walker was startled to see pity in his eyes. “Father,” he protested, “you cannot put the women in the ring—”

  “Women have been prizes before.” Zentsis waved him off, unconcerned. “They always draw a good crowd. Besides, it's for a good cause: national security.”

  “Well, isn't that one a healer?” Conin tried again. “It would be a shame to throw away skills we need so desperately right now.”

  Zentsis scowled. “Is it true, Longear, that the one is a healer? Or is that just a bauble picked up on the street that she's got around her head?”

  Dion's jaw tightened.

  “It's true, she's a healer,” Longear answered, “but one never knows how well a stranger has been trained. She might be more sport in the ring than useful in town.” Conin's face blanched at her blunt words and he looked away to study a map on one of the walls.

  “Say what you mean, Longear,” the Lloroi commanded with a frown.

  “She's trained in Abis, Lloroi. The martial art of Ramaj Randonnen. You might get a good fight out of her before she's taken as a prize.”

  “A healer? Trained in Abis?” He gave Dion a calculating look. “How much does she know?”

  It was irritating to be spoken of as if she were not there, and Dion could feel her ire rising.

  “I am told she is a fifth, though the source was not reliable. You could match her against one or two, maybe even three of your own men, Lloroi.” Longear smiled persuasively “She is not from Ariye, and her fighting style might catch an inexperienced man off guard. I'm sure a well-placed wager would surprise many.”

  “I take your point. The boy?”

  “A good fighter, but inexperienced. I would suggest the two sergeants from squad eight. It would teach those two a valuable lesson, yet still guarantee the match.”

  Zentsis nodded. “A good program, Longear. We'll set the matches for midninan at the height of the feast. Well, son, how do you like the entertainment so far?”

  Conin opened his mouth, but Dion cut him off. “A man who wants to win his wagers would do better to hedge his bets,” she said scornfully, her voice carrying clearly in the room.

  Conin looked at her in surprise, and Zentsis looked shocked that she had spoken without being addressed. Gamon nudged her to shut up.

  “Keep your tongue still or lose it,” Longear snapped. “Lloroi, I apologize for her behavior. She obviously did not understand my explicit—”

  “No.” Zentsis waved her silent as he eyed the wolf­walker speculatively. “I would hear what she has to say.”

  “I mean only that you can't expect someone who is starved, whipped, and feverish to fight well. Lloroi,” Dion added, inclining her head at him disdainfully as she finished.

  Zentsis's face darkened with quick anger, but Conin looked appalled at her words. “Father, you had a healer whipped?”

  “Not specifically, no.” Zentsis shrugged disinterestedly. “It is a general order for troublesome prisoners. She must have disobeyed, or the guards would have left her alone by Longear's instructions.” Curious, he examined the woman with the flashing violet eyes. “How many lashes did she take, Longear?”

  “The report said fifteen,” Longear answered unwillingly. “Norshark. That would be nine days ago, Lloroi. Exactly one ninan.”

  “And moving so well now. This may be worth much to me.” He chuckled suddenly. “So be it. The best rooms in the house for my champions.”

  “I won't champion you, Lloroi,” Dion stated boldly. “But if you add my freedom to the pot, I'll guarantee you a show you'd be willing to pay thrice over for.”

  Zentsis looked her over as if she were a dnu for a race. He chuckled again, an unpleasant sound. “That would be a wager I could not afford to lose,” he said speculatively, “since your freedom is hardly in my best interest.” He made a gesture, and Longear smiled and sat back. “But I accept your offer. Of course, I will expect exactly what I am promised. No less. If the fight—or fights—” He paused maliciously. “—do not meet my standards, I will keep you for my own.”

  Dion nodded scornfully as if fully confident, but her stomach felt hollow. If she lost, she would be his. If she won, she would still lose, for Zentsis could not allow her to leave the ring alive. But fighting rings were large, and stadiums larger; the chance was worth taking.

  “Lloroi, there is also this,” Longear suggested, displeased at her loss of control over the situation. “There are two Other members of their party. I suspect they're in the city now, plotting a rescue attempt. I would draw them to the fights and see if they will expose themselves to save their friends. Then we will have all of them, and the knowledge they carry will die with them.”

  “Yes.” Zentsis considered that. “If they lose,” he added. “The threat of a chancy fight should draw them. Well, old man?” he said mockingly to Gamon. “Would you also fight better for your freedom?”

  “I'd fight four times my number for our freedom,” the weapons master answered truthfully, his eyes cold.

  “Then we'll make it six and let the boy fight with you.”

  “Father,” Conin cut in anxiously, gesturing at Namina and Shilia. “What about those two?”

  Longear regarded him speculatively. “They won't be killed, Conin. After they are used in the ring, they will be used again by me.”

  The Lloroi snorted at his son's expression. “They are the prize, boy. You're too softhearted, Conin. These are the en­emy. Take away their pretty faces and all you'll see are the traitorous thoughts of evil women. They deserve no better than they get.” The heavy man clapped his son on his shoulders. “It's time you learned what politics is about, son, especially since you'll be taking over from me a year from now. You know I have plans for Ariye. This will start them rolling just fine. By the time you take over, you'll have little to do but guide the action that follows and keep on reaping the rewards.''

  “A year from now—but you said—the healers said—you have at least three years!”

  “Wasted years in a wasted body. In a year I'll want to sit back and kibitz and make sure you understand what the posi­tion of Lloroi means. Because you, Conin, have to learn that there are things that must be done, no matter how unpleasant, for the security of the county. And you'll have to be willing to command them or do them yourself.''

  “Yes, Father,” Conin said quietly, “and I am willing to do what I have to. But these women—I see no point in putting them in the ring as prizes. They're so young ...”

  “Hells of all nine moons,” Zentsis swore. “That mother of yours nearly ruined you. She always was soft upstairs— probably why I was taken with her that time—and on top of that you've got as thick a skull as me.” Seeing Conin's face, Zentsis laughed. “If it's girls you want, son, take some from my own house. I have beauties from all over the world.”

 

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