Billos chose the latter, urging his horse even faster. He launched the stallion over the lip, trusting the mount to find its own footing. It sailed into the air, over the stepped risers, dropped ten feet, and crashed into the stone steps just ahead of Darsal’s own horse, which launched itself into the air just behind.

This was why picking the horses was such an honor for the best fighters. Both steeds landed at a full run and descended into the stadium without slowing, sure-footedly placing their hooves in precisely the right spot.

The fire reached the edge of the stadium above them and shot out with searing orange heat. But without more fuel the flames collapsed back on themselves and swept to the right and left, ringing the stadium.

Billos and Darsal reached the field and raced across the flat ground toward the platform where Johnis and Silvie slumped in their ropes. They looked to be unconscious on the great wheel. Grayed with disease and lost to the world.

“The water, quickly,” Darsal yelled, searching the perimeter for signs of Shataiki. There were none that she could see. For the moment.

They slid from their horses, pulled out the bags of blue water they had filled at the pond, and bounded onto the platform.

“Just dump it?” Billos asked.

Without answering, Darsal yanked out the cork, lifted the leather bag over Johnis’s head, and began to splash the water over his face and shoulders. It ran down his chest like a river.

The transformation wasn’t unlike watching cool water wash over parched, dusty skin, or rain falling upon a dried riverbed. Each flake of flesh touched was restored to fresh skin on contact.

Johnis jerked his head up and gasped, just as Billos dumped his water over Silvie. Darsal continued to pour, eager for every square inch of Johnis’s body to be rid of the disease. More water, over his head now, flooding his eyes and nose with the healing water.

Johnis sputtered and coughed, and Darsal drained the last of it over him.

“My face,” he said. “Wipe my face!”

He was practically drowning in the water, she realized. Beside them, Silvie began to sputter as well. Billos was showing no more restraint.

Darsal reached up and wiped the water from his face. Johnis blinked the last of the moisture away.

“Darsal?”

“Who did you expect? Teeleh?” She gave him a grin.

His eyes scanned the fire sweeping on each side. He locked his gaze back on her. “You came back . . .”

“Forgive me.”

“You . . .” Johnis seemed too surprised to think clearly. “You came back.”

“I was a fool to leave you. I’m so sorry.”

“But you came back!” he cried.

“You can kiss her later,” Silvie said sharply. “For the sake of Elyon, get us off of here!”

“You were right, Scrapper,” Billos said. “I owe you an—”

“Cut us down!” Silvie cried.