Theodenes had had enough of the spectacle.
He’d watched the whole contest at Rivven Cairn’s side, under the cover of the canvas awning stretched over part of the balcony, but the rain still soaked his boots as it showered upon the balcony floor. The highmaster, meanwhile, kept dry by some minor cantrip.
Theodenes had watched it all, occasionally wincing but steadily becoming confident that the dark-skinned stranger in the scale mail shirt and helm who had fought his way to the chariots would win.
The highmaster must have recognized Vanderjack too, but she didn’t move to do anything about it. In fact, as Vanderjack and his last gladiatorial foe raced their chariots toward each other, he had decided that Rivven wasn’t going to lift a finger until Cazuvel was drawn out of hiding.
Then the arena’s big seventh gate was lifted and Star emerged, crazed, not at all the warm, intelligent creature he’d grown fond of. Theodenes was certain that they had done something to the dragonne to reduce him to that angry, almost mindless brute. Was it Rivven’s magic? Perhaps some herbal concoction prepared by the beast masters of the Horseman’s Arena to whip animals into a state of rage? Either way, Vanderjack looked in serious trouble.
Rivven continued to do nothing as Vanderjack tried pathetically to counter the berserk dragonne. She turned her head just enough to meet Theo’s gaze and smiled.
Theo had most definitely had enough.
It was a widely known fact that gnomes have a low resistance to stress. Never in his entire life, however, had Theodenes responded to stress by running into a room, the chains on his ankles clanking and bouncing, grabbing a polearm from a guard, running back out of the room, hooking the polearm onto the canvas awning above the balcony, then leaping from the balcony into open space in a vain attempt to use the awning and polearm together as a makeshift hang glider. And yet, that is exactly what he did.
The guards were astonished, no less Rivven Cairn, but the gnome was already up and over the rail of the balcony before they could do anything but stare and gape and point.
“What in the name of-!” was all Rivven could get out before she watched Theodenes vanish from the railing.
Theo hung on to the polearm, jaw set, wind catching in the awning and lifting him swiftly up and into the air, easily putting some distance between himself and the palace. He made a mental note to add a glider function to his ultimate melee weapon device, for it was extremely useful and more than a little exciting. One end of his stolen polearm was a standard axe blade backed by a spike, the spike firmly hooked into one corner of the awning. The other end of the polearm was fortunately caught up in a loop of cord lining the other end of the awning; otherwise Theo would be dropping like a stone.
The triumphant gnome managed a sort of strangled war cry as he angled himself toward the far end of the arena, where Star and Vanderjack were circling each other. Star was busy straining against his chains, and the links stretched, groaned, and finally gave way against the dragonne’s monstrous strength. The crowd was busy flinging itself toward the edges of the stadium seating, looking down over the high walls into the arena below, shouting and gesturing at the frightening display of bestial power.
Somebody in the crowd noticed Theo’s rapid descent and pointed upward. The cheers of “Ergoth! Ergoth!” were joined by “Kender! Kender!” As drenched and worn out as Theo was, with his luxurious white hair clinging to his scalp and his fine traveling clothes hanging awkwardly off his limbs, he looked to the idiot masses like a wet kender.
He landed in a sodden, muddy heap near Vanderjack. The awning fell forward, flapping in the wind, and, as luck would have it, flew right into Star’s face. The dragonne, finally free of his bonds, sailed right over Theo and the prone sellsword, jaws and forelimbs caught up in the canvas. Theodenes lifted the polearm out of the mud where it had landed and stood, prepared to defend himself and Vanderjack-once and no longer his enemy-against all comers.
“Star!” he shouted, watching the dragonne leap and flap crazily around the arena until he managed to claw the canvas away from his face. “Star, you are under the effects of some kind of pharmaceutical or metaphysical stimulant! Remember who we are! Theodenes and Vanderjack!”
The dragonne spun around, spraying water so hard that it splashed all the way up the nearby wall and into the faces of the throng watching from high above. There was more cheering, but the crowd’s mood had sobered somewhat. It was strange entertainment, a kender fighting a dragonne that flopped around as though it were confused.
Star tensed, his muscles bunching up, drawing himself back on his haunches. His wings spread wide and angled upward, as a bat’s might before it propels itself forward to snare an insect from the air. Theo gulped. Star was big enough that he could swallow the gnome in one bite if he wanted to.
Theodenes felt rather than saw the stirring of the sellsword beside him in the mud. Vanderjack was trying to pull himself up into a sitting position, but he looked terrible.
“No good,” said the sellsword. “May as well say whatever prayers you gnomes have to whatever gods you have, Theo. Star’s-”
Theo finished the sentence. “Charging right at us,” he said, gritting his teeth. He thrust the butt end of the polearm into the thick clay and braced himself for the impact. He thought of closing his eyes, afraid to look, but something made them stay open. Gnome curiosity, perhaps?
The dragonne beat his wings and launched himself up and into a swift and deadly arc, claws outstretched on the way down, wings pushing him halfway across the arena in the direction of the gnome and the Ergothian, jaws opening. Then, at the moment of impending collision, the wings beat once feverishly, and Star flew past overhead.
“He missed!” said Vanderjack, seized by a coughing fit.
“No, he didn’t,” said Theo, smiling. “Look!”
Star was flying around in a lazy arc over the stands of spectators. There were screams and cries of “The beast is loose!” and “Call for the guard!” and “It’s all the kender’s fault!” Then, without any signs of wrath or madness, he landed before the gnome and breathed a warm, wet greeting in his face.
“I apologize,” said Star. “It took me this long to overcome the enchantments the bozaks placed on me.”
“No apologies necessary, Star. We are simply glad that you have come to your senses.”
Star looked at Vanderjack, who was kneeling and trying to stand up all the way. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Never felt better,” said Vanderjack. “Feel like I could go a few more rounds with those gladiators.”
Star suddenly whirled around, and the large feline eyes widened. “Be ready!” he bellowed. “Cazuvel comes!”
“Is that Etharion talking to you? Are the Sword Chorus here?” asked Vanderjack, using Theodenes as support. “Where’s Cazuvel?”
Star looked down at the ground. With a thunderous rumble like the sound of a hundred chariots clattering over rock, a colossal mechanism beneath the arena began its work. The puddles and lakes of water on the surface trembled, ripples disturbing their surfaces. The crowd fell into a hush, and the rain had stopped for the time being. Star said simply, “Cazuvel rises.”
The sucking sound of mud disgorging its contents followed as enormous doors in the arena floor lifted and slid open. Hundreds of gallons of water drained around the doors, but from inside the dark cavity, the rumbling noise grew even louder. A stone platform, clearly designed to lift large numbers of people or animals into the arena, rose from the new opening at the center of the arena. Underneath it, four columns of stone rose, forming a solid foundation for the structure as it climbed into the air above the arena with surprising speed and stability.
Upon the platform was what appeared to be an elaborate cage fashioned from iron. It was the same cage that Star had been locked up in at Castle Glayward. Even from that distance, Theodenes could see that on one inside wall of the cage a woman’s body was chained up; her wrists and ankles had been secured to the bars.
“Gredchen!” said Vanderjack, pointing. “What in blazes has Cazuvel done to her?
On the opposite wall of the cage was a rectangular object that both Theo and Vanderjack recognized as the painting of the baron’s beautiful daughter.
Cazuvel himself, still dressed in black robes, his hood thrown back and gaunt albino features boasting an exultant grin, stood on top of the cage. His arms were raised in the air. All of the crowd’s eyes were on him,
