Rialus really, really felt he was going to be sick. He motioned as much with the fingers of one hand, vaguely calling for attention. It was the type of gesture that would have brought a servant to his side in Acacia. It was ignored here. A hot sweat broke out on his forehead and spread throughout his body. Saliva surged into his mouth and stayed there, no matter how much he swallowed. What was wrong with these people? Looking about him, he could not match the merriment on their faces with the scenes of carnage that evoked it. Before long he sat with his eyes closed, “watching” only with his ears, which he would have stuffed with wax if he thought he could get away with it and had any.

Thus he passed what seemed like several hours. The clash of weapons, the cheers of pleasure and the boasting and the occasional screams of agony went on interminably. He had begun to think they would never end, and he was rather surprised when they stopped. A great ovation took over the arena for a time, and when it finally died the sound faded to a low murmur of conversation and movement.

Rialus opened his eyes. “Is it … over?”

“No, no, not at all,” Devoth said. “The cleaners will tend the field for a time, and then we have the mêlée. That is where matters are truly decided.”

The cleaners? As quickly as he thought the question he got the answer. Several other doors, different from the ones the slaves had entered by, had also been opened. From them emerged the monsters Rialus knew by description, though he had not seen their work on the plains of Talay Antoks. There was no mistaking the swinish enormity of them. Nor was there anything hiding the fact that they brought their crosshatched horrors of mouths down on the slain warriors with voracious enthusiasm. Rialus looked away, holding back the convulsions building in his stomach.

Devoth sat back in his seat again, relaxed once more. “So,” he said, as if he were asking how he liked the weather or the view, “Rialus Leagueman, will you do as we wish?”

“May I ask what you intend? Just so that I can better answer your question.”

Devoth thought about this for a time. He shrugged. Gesturing toward the garish units preparing for the next battle, he said, “See those? They fight for privilege. See how we honor our slaves? At times they decide our futures. The clan that wins here today will lead the invasion. They determine which clan will be the initial spear thrust.”

“The invasion?”

“Of your lands. They will beat the winter traveling over the north, Numrek showing the way.” He leaned in and whispered, “These honored ones will have the most fun. The rest of the Auldek will follow to complete the work.”

“Why?” Rialus asked.

Devoth looked at him.