prisoners. It might look as if the sides were even, but the experience and brutal skill of the gladiators would almost immediately turn the tide in their favor. The crowds would cheer because most of their favorites would win and no one would pay any mind to the dead, who were convicted criminals, anyway.
Sylverlin was grinning with anticipation. Nelk was eyeing Tremaine with an almost indifferent expression. He had armed himself with a sinister-looking ball-and-chain mace that gave him almost half again the reach of his other weapon. Tremaine was somewhat startled by the change, and tried not to think of what an accidental blow might do to him. His only protection lay in a rusting shield, his sword, and his skill.
The horns sounded their death knell. The gladiators charged their chosen opponents. They all avoided the knight, knowing he was reserved for Nelk.
All except Sylverlin. He ran up behind Nelk. Tremaine shouted a warning.
The elf turned. Sylverlin shot past him, sword ready. 'You are mine, Knight!' Sylverlin hissed.
Tremaine moved to meet him.
Nelk ran up alongside his friend as if he now planned to join Sylverlin in the duel against Arryl. The spiked ball of the elf's mace swung back and forth, a wicked-looking pendulum. It grazed Sylverlin's leg.
The swordmaster howled in pain and collapsed into a writhing heap on the now-bloody surface of the field.
'The goddess has blessed it,' said Nelk, smiling at Arryl. Nelk was on him, mace cutting a deadly arc. The one-armed elf moved with far more speed than the Solamnian was expecting, struck at him with lethal skill. Had he not trusted Nelk, Arryl would have suspected that the elf was indeed trying to kill him!
Arryl brought up his sword and jabbed, keeping the other at bay, as they had planned. Nelk nodded and, his back to the crowd, he winked at Arryl. The two circled one another, feinting strikes, but, as far as onlookers were concerned, they were too expert to fall prey to such tricks. The crowd cheered.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Sylverlin appeared. Sword raised, he headed for Nelk, prepared to stab the elf in the back.
Arryl had no time to shout a warning. Nelk could not have heard him if he had. The knight thrust forward. Nelk reacted to the attack by stepping aside, still unaware of the true danger. Sylverlin's blow caught the elf's shoulder, but Nelk's movement left the human gladiator open to Tremaine.
The knight's blade sank to the hilt in Sylverlin's stomach. Arryl jerked his sword free. Sylverlin slid off the blade to the ground.
Arryl heard a rattling sound behind him. Instinctively, he started to turn, and forced himself to stand still. This was Nelk's plan.
A thick chain wrapped around his throat. Arryl pretended to struggle to free himself, then suddenly realized Nelk wasn't pretending to kill him!
The crowd had hushed, breathless with excitement.
'Sylverlin was mine!' Nelk shouted loudly, and wrenched the choking chain tighter.
Once more, Arryl thought, my beliefs have been betrayed… and this time it will be fatal.
He tried to lift his sword to strike the elf, but he lacked the strength. The blade slipped from his nerveless fingers. He tried to speak, to curse Nelk, to plead. All that escaped his lips was a pathetic gasp.
The dying knight saw the silver-and-white figure of the senior inquisitor rise to his feet in anticipation.
The chain crushed Arryl's windpipe. Bone crunched; the pain was horrifying. He fought to breathe, but he was choking on his own blood. He staggered and would have fallen, but the cruel chain held him upright. He saw the stands and then the sky, and then he was falling. Fire burst in his eyes, his head, his lungs. When the flames died, darkness.
'Trust in me,' a voice whispered… and laughed.
When Arryl woke, he realized two things.
The first thing was that, despite the knowledge that he had died, he was not dead.
The second was that he was lying on his back in a field that must be far from the arena, for he could neither hear the crowds nor see the high walls.
Dazed and confused, his hand instinctively reaching for his throat, Arryl sat up. He was well, whole, no trace of injury. Just like the cut on the elf's hand…
Arryl looked around, saw Nelk seated astride a tall black horse. In his hands, he held the reins of Arryl's own horse. Armor — his grandfather's suit of armor, packed neatly and strapped to a packhorse — glinted in the sunlight.
'The terror of death must have been worse for you than for most of the others I've brought back. I wondered if you were ever going to wake up.'
Brought back! The knight stood. He glowered at the amused elf. 'What do you mean, brought back? You killed me!'
'Yes. Then I brought you back to life. That is within my powers as a true cleric.'
'You are not a cleric of Mishakal!' The knight recalled his last thoughts. 'You told me you were a cleric of the goddess!'
'Ah,' said Nelk cunningly. 'You never asked which goddess!'
Arryl reached for his sword and immediately discovered that it was not at his side.
Nelk held up the scabbard and weapon. 'You chose to make me a follower of the gods of good, not me. I am not a cleric of Mishakal, true. I am a servant of Kinthalas, whom you term Sargonnas.'
Sargonnas, consort to the Dark Lady, Takhisis, Queen of Darkness.
'Why did you bring me back?' Tremaine demanded suspiciously. 'Why? For what purpose?'
Nelk considered the matter. 'What I said to you in the arena holds true, Knight. There IS a balance to maintain, though I must admit the Dark Lady would like to see it shift in her favor. I do what I can to help those I think will aid the cause. Those I rescue are beholden, however little they may realize, to my own patron.'
'You expect such thanks from me?' Arryl asked harshly.
'I expect nothing. I find it amusing to think that a Knight of Solamnia, imprisoned by the Order of Paladine, owes his life to a servant of his god's eternal foe.'
Tremaine could not deny what the elf said, but he was determined that neither Sargonnas nor Takhisis would ever own the knight's soul. He would die first… again. 'I am not your slave, dark elf! Give me my sword and we will fight. Fairly, this time.'
'I will return your sword, Sir Knight, and the rest of your belongings, which took some doing to procure. As for a battle, that may yet be what the future holds for us, but not now. I will not fight you. And I do not think you will strike me.' Nelk tossed the sword to the knight.
Tremaine caught the sheathed blade, but did not draw his sword.
'If it will ease your conscience, I have no hold over you. You may continue your way, free once more, but with perhap's a little more understanding of the world.' Nelk smiled. 'You have my word.'
'What happens now? Where am I?' Arryl asked gruffly. His greatest desire at the moment was to return to the master keep of the knighthood and reorient his own beliefs. The world that once had been black and white had become too complex, too gray.
'We are a half-day's ride northwest of Istar, a safe place, though we should not stay too long. You need to be on your way, and I have to return — '
'You are returning to Istar? To the Games?'
'Of course. I was on leave of absence to take Sylverlin's body to his kin,' Nelk said grimly. 'His kin were jackals. They enjoyed what was left. You did me that favor, Knight. Sylverlin had discovered my secret and threatened to reveal me. Sylverlin is dead and my secret is safe… for a time. Only you know that I am a cleric, and I doubt you would be willing to inform Brother Gurim, would you?'
Tremaine did not reply.
Nelk nodded. 'I thought not. It may be that Brother Gurim or Arack or some other will discover that I have been saving lives, but, until then, I will continue to serve the goddess. There will be more like you. The inquisitors are very busy men.' The elf smiled, looking much like Sylverlin at that moment. 'If you are strong enough to ride, I recommend you do. Best not to take chances.' He tossed the reins of both Arryl's steed and the pack animal to the confused and bewildered knight.
'I refuse to thank you.'
