Of course, many had come simply to view the spectacle and savour the spilling of red blood on the arena floor, as I had done as a youngster. Some were visibly salivating already.
On being led into position, all three girls looked terrified and sobbed hysterically. It was hard to believe that the real Nessa had been left behind in my quarters. It was a testament to the power of the human witch. A haizda mage must gather knowledge wherever he can – from friend and foe alike. Should I survive this encounter, I intended to learn from this witch assassin.
The purrai were tied to the posts by the Kobalos who served the trial judge while I waited patiently close to the pit where the Haggenbrood was confined. I glanced down through the grille. Nothing was moving. The creature was sedated. The moment the grille was removed, the first of three trumpets would sound and the creature would become aware, wishing to know more of the opponent it faced. At the second trumpet it would crawl out of the pit. The blast of the third trumpet would rouse it to extreme fury and blood-lust, and the battle would begin. Such was its conditioning. It was all very predictable – up to that point. But once the battle began, everything was uncertain.
During my earlier preparations in my quarters I had gone into a trance to summon into my mind all previous trials during the last fifty years. The Haggenbrood had proved victorious in all three hundred and twelve encounters, never once repeating the same pattern of attack. Most victories had been achieved within less than a minute.
Dressed in his black robes of office, the trial judge entered the arena and held up both hands for silence. He had to wait several minutes before the crowd calmed down sufficiently for the proceedings to begin.
In a loud voice he began to read out the charges:
‘The haizda mage known as Slither is charged with the murder of the High Mage known as Nunc and stealing from him the three purrai that you see before you.’
At this a great roar of anger erupted from the spectators and the judge had to hold up his hand to order silence again.
‘Secondly he is charged with the unlawful slaying of a Shaiksa assassin who attempted to prevent him from leaving with the stolen purrai. Thirdly he is charged with the unlawful slaying of the hyb warrior who was sent to execute him for those crimes.’
The spectators brayed out their anger once more, and the judge was forced to hold up his hand even longer to command order. Only when absolute silence was achieved did he continue.
‘The haizda mage refutes those charges on the grounds that the three purrai were, and still are, his property and that he killed lawfully to protect his rights. In addition, his mind has been probed thoroughly and he is convinced that he is being truthful. He would therefore have been released but for the fact that the Shaiksa Brotherhood has objected on the grounds of evidence supplied to them from the dying mind of the assassin slain by this haizda mage.
‘That communication asserts that Lord Nunc had paid Slither for the purrai and they were his lawful property. Lord Nunc is dead and therefore unavailable for questioning. Consequently, as this contradiction is impossible to resolve, we require this trial by combat.’
Then the judge pointed at me.
The auditorium had been absolutely quiet during the final part of the reading of the charge. Now he called out dramatically in a voice filled with authority, loud enough to reach every corner of the arena. ‘Choose!’ he cried.
I was being asked to choose my starting position. This had to be directly in front of one of the three posts. I had, of course, selected it long before entering the arena. I quickly stood before the semblance of Nessa. In my possession I had the sabre, which I now drew, preparing for battle. In addition I now had three blades; the extra one in my pocket was for the witch, even though I knew that behind the facade she projected, she had her own blades too. It was important for the maintenance of the magical illusion that the spectators see me hand her a blade.
The employment of magic such as cloaking or changing size were forbidden in the arena. I hoped the witch’s use of it would go undetected. Otherwise I would instantly be declared the loser and my life – and those of the sisters – would be forfeit.
The judge signalled again by raising his arms. This time three Kobalos appeared. Together they walked towards the heavy grille and, in a well-rehearsed move, lifted it clear and carried it away, strutting self-importantly across the arena. Now the dark mouth of the pit was wide open.
The judge walked to each side of the triangular arena in turn, and bowed to the spectators ostentatiously. His fourth bow was to me – to the one who was about to die. And with that a low murmuring began, gathering slowly in volume.
I returned his bow and then straightened up again, maintaining eye-contact until he looked away. Then he left the arena and raised his hand high above his head. In answer to that gesture a loud trumpet blast was heard. It filled the auditorium, echoing from wall to wall.
At that sound, the several thousand spectators became absolutely silent again. At first, all that could be heard was the irritating sniffing of the youngest sister.
But then the Haggenbrood spoke to me from the darkness of the pit.
There came a crepitation, a rhythmical clicking and snapping that somehow seemed to be full of meaning; it was almost like speech, as if a withered old Kobalos had opened and closed his arthritic jaws while his bewildered mind searched the empty vault of his thoughts for fragments of memory. Then the noises sharpened into focus and became words that all present could hear and understand.
It spoke in Losta, the language used by Kobalos and humans. The voice had three distinct components which, even as I listened, fused so fully into one that they could not be separated; all three of the creature’s selves were speaking to me simultaneously, three mouths opening; one thinking mind teasing, taunting and testing the fibre of my resolve.
‘You are a haizda mage,’ it said. ‘It is a long time since I last tasted one of your kind.’
‘Talk not of eating. You have had your last meal!’ I cried. ‘Tonight I will carve your flesh into cubes and feed it to the carrion creatures in the sewers of the city. Then I will melt your bones in the furnaces so that they can be used for glue. Nothing will be wasted! You will prove a useful servant until the end!’
In response to my words the crowd gave a roar of approval. But I did not fool myself into thinking that they were now on my side. It was just the opposite – they were looking forward to my bloody defeat. But my words had given them hope that I would make a proper fight of it; that the spectacle would not be over quite as quickly as was the norm.