not have believed that it was him. His skin was slate gray, strange faceted jeweled armor covered his shoulders, his hands and feet were mutated, and his mouth was segmented.
It was the most foul creature Karalith had ever seen-and she had seen the foulest creatures Athas had to offer.
And somehow it was Rol.
“If we can determine how to control that creature, then our army will be a wonder to behold.” Hamanu spoke almost dreamily.
Karalith’s idea started to coalesce in her head. “What if we adjusted the terms of the contract in such a way that benefits you in the long term?”
Hamanu frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Instead of you subsidizing the arena, as you put it, what if we instead consider it an investment?”
That got Hamanu to raise one white eyebrow. “So the money I provide would be repaid?”
“With interest,” Karalith said.
“And what would you require in return for this particular amendment, which doesn’t benefit you in the least?”
“On the contrary,” Karalith said with a smile, “it benefits us tremendously to create good will between us and our new landlord. But, as it happens, there is one thing that we would humbly request, if you’d be willing to give it.”
“And that is?”
She pointed at the door. “Him.”
“He was removed from the arena.”
Komir stepped in then. “And what has he done for you? At least in the arena, he can be earning profit- Drahar and his psionists can continue to study him at the Pit, but he’ll be earning you coin so you can raise that army you want.”
Hamanu stroked his beard. “An interesting proposition. I must admit, having that creature in the arena will be a draw.”
“Exactly,” Karalith said. “You’ll make back your investment within a week of opening. And we’ll continue to provide you with a share of the profits, which you can use to raise your army.”
The king’s face split into a massive grin, one that Karalith would have found disturbing before she saw what Rol had turned into.
And right then, Karalith knew that they had him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The happiest day of Barglin’s life was when that big mul kicked the rusted metal gate to the arena in, allowing all the fighters to escape.
The thri-kreen who was working with the mul had told everyone that if they wanted paying work, to meet in three days at sunset at Dedie’s Tavern on Geros Way in Potters’ Square.
A goodly number of the fighters, Barglin knew, would take advantage of the opportunity to get the hell out of Urik, and Barglin didn’t blame them.
But Barglin was escaping from a prison sentence. When you were arrested in Urik, the Imperial Guard tended to take anything of value you have on you, and they had done so to Barglin. It wasn’t much of a haul for the two soldiers in question. Most of Barglin’s net worth had gone toward the drinks, the imbibing of which led in part to the altercation that had preceded his arrest.
Still, he had nothing save the clothes on his back, so he figured he’d keep that appointment.
The only problem was that he had to sleep in the streets, since lodging was out of the question. That was something he’d never done before while sober. Two nights of tossing and turning on cobblestone convinced the dwarf that it was an experience best enjoyed while unconscious from ale.
So it was with a very sore lower back and a growling stomach that Barglin entered Dedie’s at sunset. He recognized about half a dozen of the fighters from the Pit-a mere fraction of the total who were freed by the mul and the thri-kreen-all sitting in a corner, talking about this and that, and Barglin joined them.
“Barglin,” cried one of the other dwarves. “Welcome. Have an ale. It’s on our benefactors.”
An objection that he had no coin died on his lips. If they were paying for drinks too, he definitely wanted to hear their pitch. He signaled for an ale and squeezed in between the dwarf who’d spoken and a five-legged thri- kreen.
“I expected to see Jono here.”
“He got himself hired to guard a caravan.”
“Wish I’d thought of that.”
“Right, like anyone’d hire
“Wonder what the deal here will be.”
“Didja hear? They killed Calbit and Jago.”
“Good riddance.”
“Hope they killed that bitch of a daughter of Calbit’s too. You know what she did to me?”
“Nothin’, prob’ly, but I bet she promised a whole helluva lot.”
“Yeah.”
A barmaid brought over Barglin’s ale, which he sipped eagerly, foam getting into his mustache, and some of the ale dribbling down his chest. He didn’t care. The crisp sensation of the ale cascading down his throat was the most wonderful feeling in the world right then.
“A little thirsty, there, Barglin?”
Barglin swallowed, paused, let out a loud belch that echoed off the tavern walls, then smiled. “A bit, yeah.”
A voice from behind him said, “There’ll be more where that came from.”
Turning, Barglin saw the one-eyed human who’d come in with Rol Mandred. “Gan, I thought they traded you out for that mul.”
With Gan was a curly-haired blonde. “They did,” she said with a smile. “My name is Feena-I’m Gan’s sister. And we have an offer for you gentlemen.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Barglin said.
“What is it?” another asked.
“Simple-we want you to return to the Pit.”
Silence fell over the table.
Barglin burst out laughing. “Good one, Gan. You and your sister have a great sense’a humor.”
“We’re not kidding, Barglin,” Gan said. “But it’ll be different this time. For starters, it’s only for a day or two. For another, you won’t have to fight.”
A half-giant asked, “What do we have to do?”
Feena said, “Sit in the cubicles while we pretend to be fixing the place up for the grand reopening. Once we’re done, you’ll each get three silver and be on your way.”
Gulping down some more ale, Barglin then wiped more foam from his mustache. “We don’t have to fight?”
“No. You’re just there to make it look like we have fighters ready to go once we open. There’ll be mind- mages there, so we need to have people who are used to being in those cubicles. The mind-mages will be busy elsewhere, but we don’t want to take the chance.”
“So basically,” Barglin said, “you’re paying us three silver to sit on our asses?”
Gan chuckled. “Pretty much, yeah. Think you can handle that, Barglin?”
Three silver would pay for a corner of a carriage in a caravan that would get him away from this town with
