The crowd, which had waited amid a murmur of conversation, erupted in applause and shouts. Rialus kept his gaze on Devoth, who was on his feet, roaring with the rest of them. Lucky, because Rialus would not have managed to hide his animus if Devoth had been paying attention to him. He felt his indignation rising again. It did not get far, because his eyes caught the motion on the field. His mouth opened, silent while those around him cheered.

From six different openings in the wall of the arena, columns of armed soldiers strode onto the field. By their relatively normal stature, Rialus could tell they were not Auldek, but neither did they appear entirely human. One group wore wolf-head helmets. Another was composed entirely of squat, muscled brutes, their naked torsos gray, metal barbs jutting from their cheeks. They bore curved short swords in both hands. Yet another group were slim as acrobats and wore light blue, with plumes on their heads in place of helmets. They carried only slender pikes.

“You understand this, Rialus Leagueman?” Devoth asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Rialus admitted.

The Auldek laughed. “Ah, I forget your ignorance. So much to learn.”

“Those soldiers, they are not Auldek?”

“Of course, not!” someone in the row behind Rialus exclaimed. “Auldek do not draw Auldek blood. What do you think us?”

Devoth explained, “It was agreed that we would not kill our own. That is why our ultimate punishment is banishment, not death. We fight among ourselves, yes.” He grinned, making the statement seem an admission of a guilty pleasure. “But in something like this—a matter to be decided in blood—we let our slaves represent us. It is an honor for them. These are special slaves, selected to be divine children. They are elevated above other slaves. Before you are totem warriors of the eight clans of the Auldek. Here. See over there?”

He leaned across Rialus, pointing first toward groups of warriors who had feline facial tattoos, and then the others as he named them. “The Shivith, the spotted cats. Those over there are the Kern, the blue cranes. They look slim, yes? Delicate? Don’t be fooled. They’re deadly. The Anet clan worships the hooded snake. The Kulish Kra—those with their backs to us—black crows. Those gray ones—Antoks. The wolves represent the Wrathic from beyond the Sky Mount. The Fru Nithexek are brothers of the sky bear, but they are weak, few in number. The Numrek … have no totem.”

“And there”—Devoth drew back so that Rialus could see past him to the last group—”are the snow lions, the Lvin. Those are mine. My lions. My totem.” He timed this announcement perfectly, for the Lvin were the last to enter. Though Rialus had no idea what a snow lion was, there was no mistaking the impact of the slaves so named. They came roaring like some beast of the Talayan plains. Most of them had white faces, sometimes tattooed or painted down across their torsos. In the center were the largest men, several of whom sported tresses as white as snow. As they marched and yelled and smacked life into those around them, their locks danced about them like snakes writhing.