“I’m searching for info about the Games,” Seth said.
“I figured as much,” Fenrick said. “We don’t get many participants down here who are not enrolled in the fighting. We’ve had one or two others recently. Even if you ignore the fighting, it isn’t safe down here. Some people come in looking for secrets and don’t come out.”
“What happens to them?” Seth asked.
Fenrick took a bite of chowder. “I don’t know. But they head down to the depths where the gladiators and the trainers are forbidden to venture.”
“Where is that?” Seth asked.
“They seldom return,” Fenrick said.
“I’m not going to learn what I need without taking some risks,” Seth said.
“Why would a boy your age care so much about the Wizenstone?” Fenrick asked.
“It’s not the stone I care about,” Seth said. “Humbuggle took my memories. I need them back.”
“Only the new fighters among us have their memories,” Fenrick said. “You have your freedom. Go make new memories.”
“It’s not like I forgot a few fights,” Seth said. “He took my whole identity.”
“You’re not the only one,” Fenrick said. “Some remember more than others. I don’t know my identity either.”
“You used to fight?” Seth asked.
“I suspect so,” Fenrick said.
“I heard you were good,” Seth said.
“You have to be good to become a trainer,” Fenrick said.
“I heard you almost won,” Seth said.
“Rumors,” Fenrick said with a snort.
“How long have you been a trainer?” Seth asked.
“A long time,” Fenrick said.
“Long enough to see the same fighters come back after losing?”
“From time to time,” Fenrick said. “The gaps tend to be long. There is a large pool to draw from.”
“Don’t you want these Games to end?” Seth asked.
“I surely do,” Fenrick said. “Look, you’re persistent, so you’ll find out sooner or later.” He pointed to a door. “You want to go where the action is? Head through there. Turn left, and descend the stairs. None of us can go down there. There are invisible barriers. But you can. Have a look if you must. But consider walking away.”
“I won’t quit,” Seth said.
“Then down you go,” Fenrick said. “You’ve been warned. You can eat here first if you wish.”
“I just had food,” Seth said. “Thanks.”
Fenrick gave Seth a long stare. “When these gladiators lose, they come back. Where you’re going, there are no second chances. I admire your determination.”
“Can you go back into the Games?” Seth asked.
“If I gave up my rights as a trainer, I could,” Fenrick said. “I’d rather watch and wait. Help the others.”
Seth glanced at the door. “Does anyone return from down the stairs?”
“Sometimes,” Fenrick said. “A few officials of the Games go down there routinely. Barruze. Humbuggle occasionally.”
“Humbuggle comes here?” Seth asked.
“Now and then,” Fenrick said. “He’s unpredictable.”
“Who is Barruze?” Seth asked.
“You really are new here,” Fenrick said. “The troll who announces the Games.”
“Gotcha,” Seth said.
“Well, stay on your toes,” Fenrick said. “Whether you remember or not, you paid a price for access here. Don’t squander the opportunity.”
Leaving the dining area behind, Seth went through the indicated door and turned left like Fenrick had suggested. He found a stairway and started down, stepping quietly to match the silence around him. The illumination now derived from crystals in sconces on the walls rather than from torches.
Seth searched inside himself for his power and reached out to feel for any undead, but sensed nothing. Then he switched his approach, crouching as he walked, keeping to the shadows, willing himself toward invisibility.
The bottom of the stairs led into a chamber where an ogre with gray, droopy skin tilted his wooden chair onto two legs, his feet propped up on a table. Three archways led out of the room. Skirting the edge of the chamber, Seth took the first archway he reached. The ogre never glanced his way.
Seth proceeded down a gloomy corridor. The masonry looked more ancient than up above, with no mortar between the rough-hewn and sometimes ill-fitted stones. At a junction where the passage forked, Seth heard footsteps coming his way from one branch, and he slouched against the wall in the deepest shadows he could find.
A striking woman strode into view, tall and lissome, with long green hair and penetrating eyes. She wore leather armor and was missing an arm.
“I see you, shadow walker,” she said.
Seth stepped away from the wall.
The woman gave a little gasp. “Seth Sorenson. What a surprise.”
“Do I know you?” Seth asked.
Her smile spread slowly. “Am I that forgettable?”
“My memory isn’t so good lately,” Seth said.
“We’re old acquaintances,” the woman said smoothly. “I’m Lydia. I know your sister.”
“Do you work here?” Seth asked.
The woman glanced around and shivered in disgust. “Thankfully, no. I assume you’re playing in the Games.”
“Trying,” Seth said. “You too?”
“Seems like one dead end after another,” she said. “Have you learned anything beneficial?”
“I wish,” Seth said. “I’m new here. I barely learned how the Games work for the gladiators.”
Lydia nodded. “I’m not faring much better. Want to hunt together?”
Something was off. The first expression on her face when she saw him had been panic, not relief. And now she was behaving too at ease. It smelled like an act.
“Why the green hair?” Seth asked.
“It’s my favorite color,” Lydia said.
“What’s Kendra’s favorite color?” Seth asked.
She hesitated. “I never asked.”
Though he couldn’t remember what colors Kendra preferred, the hesitation told him a lot. “How do you know her again?”
Lydia fumbled for an answer, then scowled and bared her teeth. “I’ve tasted her!”
Seth was surprised by her vehemence. “Who are you?”
She drew a dagger. “One who has had enough of you!”
She lunged at Seth, stabbing, and he sprang aside. She nimbly kept after him, slashing, and he backed into the wall. The surprise contact left him flat-footed, and Lydia surged forward, the dagger plunging for his chest. An instant before the tip would have pierced him, the knife disintegrated, as did her arm up past the elbow.
Lydia’s jaw dropped open, and she staggered back, staring in horror at what remained of her arm. There was no open wound—the fleshy
