Milamber and his companions looked to the imperial box, where a guard captain conferred with the Warlord. Milamber felt a strange hot flush inside and for a moment battled a sudden impulse to use his powers to put the Warlord amid those below, to see how he fared against those who refused to die gracefully at his command.
Then Almecho’s voice rang out, silencing all those nearby. “No, no bowmen. Those animals will not die a warrior’s death.” He turned to one of his pet magicians and issued instructions. The black-robed man nodded and began to incant. Milamber felt his neck hairs rise as the presence of magic made itself known.
A hushed sound of awe swept about the stadium as those on the sand below fell senseless, to roll about in a daze.
The Warlord shouted, “Now go bind them, build a platform, and hang them for all to see.”
Stunned silence greeted his words, then shouts of “No!” — “They are warriors!” — and — “This is without honor!” rang throughout the crowd.
Hochopepa closed his eyes and sighed audibly. He spoke to himself much as his companions “The Warlord lets his famous temper get the best of him once more, and now we have a debacle before us. This will not help his position in the High Council or the stability of the Empire.” Like an enraged beast at bay, the Warlord turned, and all nearby fell silent, but those at greater distances picked up the cries. By Tsurani standards this was too much of an indignity to be visited on any save those without honor. While balking the mob’s sport, the prisoners had shown they were still fighting men, and as such deserved an honorable death.
Hochopepa turned to speak to Milamber, then stopped himself as he saw the expression on his friend’s face. Milamber’s anger was now fully revealed, his rage a match for the Warlord’s. Sensing something terrible was about to occur, Hochopepa sought Shimone’s attention, only to find he was also silently watching Milamber’s fearsome countenance. All Hochopepa could manage to say was a quiet “Milarnber, no!” Then the slave-become-magician was moving.
He swept past the shocked Hochopepa, saying only, “See to the Emperor’s safety.” Milamber was reeling with the impact of sudden emotion bottled up for years, now surging free. A strange and powerful certainty struck him. I am not Tsurani! he acknowledged to himself. I could not be a party to this. For the first time since donning the black robe, his two natures were in harmony. This was a dishonor by the standards of both cultures, something that filled him with a dread purpose free of any doubt.
Save those near the imperial box, the entire crowd was chanting, “The sword, the sword, the sword,” demanding a warrior’s death for each man below. The rhythm became a pounding pulse beat for Milambcr, heightening’his nearly unchecked fury.
Reaching a point between the magicians and the imperial box, Milamber regarded the soldiers and carpenters rushing onto the arena floor. The stunned Midkemians and Thuril were being bound like animals for slaughter, and the crowd’s anger was reaching a dangerous level. Some of the younger officers of noble families in the lower levels of the stadium seemed ready to take swords and jump onto the sand, to contest personally for the prisoners’ right to die as warriors. These had been valiant foemen, and many of those watching had fought against both Thuril and Kingdom soldiers. They would willingly kill these men on the field of battle, but would not watch this humiliation visited on brave enemies.
A black flood of anger, loathing, and sorrow poured through Milamber. His mind screamed in outrage, despite his attempts to control it. His head tilted back, and his eyes rolled up into his head, and as had happened twice before in his life, letters of fire appeared in his mind’s eye. But never before had he had the strength to seize the moment, and with a nearly animal joy he dived into the newly opening well of power within. His right arm shot forward, and energy exploded from his hand. A bolt of blue flame, scintillating even in the sunlight, hurled downward, to strike the sand amid the Warlord’s guards. Living men were swept in all directions, like leaves before the wind. Those just entering with the materials for the scaffolding were knocked to their knees by the blast, and those in the lower seats were stunned by its fury. All noise in the arena stopped as the crowd fell into mute shock.
All eyes turned to the source of that bolt, while those near him reflexively drew back. He was red-faced with anger, and the whites of his eyes showed around dark irises as he scanned the arena. With a short chopping motion of one hand, the magician said, “No more!”
No one moved save Hochopepa and Shimone. They had no idea what Milamber’s intentions were, but in the face of this act they took his command seriously. They hurried to where a half-stunned, half-fascinated young Emperor sat watching with everyone else in the stadium. They quickly conferred with Ichindar, and a moment later the Emperor’s seat was empty.
Milamber looked to his left as a bellow of outrage sounded. “Who dares this!”