Bontarc of Nadia and Retoc, slayer of his
mother, destroyer of Ofridia.

Retoc saw him first, and cried out exultantly. His wrist blurred, his
whip-sword flashed, the point singing, and Bontarc's sword flew from
his fingers. "You!" Retoc cried.

The sword-point had slashed an artery on Bontarc's wrist. The blood
spurted out and Bontarc stood there, dazed, holding the wound shut
with his left hand.

"Are you all right, sire?" Bram Forest asked.

"I can manage until a doctor binds--"

* * * * *

Bram Forest picked up the Nadian ruler's whip-sword and faced his
enemy, sword to sword, at last.

Retoc looked at him, and laughed. "I almost killed you once," he said.
His hand barely seemed to move, but the point of his blade, whipping,
flashing, was everywhere. Bram Forest parried desperately. "I'll
finish the job now," Retoc vowed.

Then Bram Forest did an unexpected thing. He used the whip-sword not
as a sword: he couldn't hope to match Retoc's skill as a swordsman. He
used it as a whip is used, his great arm slicing back and forth
through air, up over his head and down, the long length of the
uncoiled blading whipping and darting like something alive across the
sands.

Retoc retreated two steps, and lunged with what he hoped would be a
death blow.

Prokliam the seneschal was trembling so much he could hardly stand.
Just outside the amphitheater, in the very shadow of the amphitheater
wall, the great Golden Apes of legend had materialized. There were
thousands of them, and they were three times the size of men, and
methodically and with great ease, they were destroying the Abarian
army before it could enter the amphitheater.

Without the Abarian army, Volna and Retoc would never subjugate Nadia,
never rule Tarth. But Prokliam the seneschal had committed himself to
their cause. Now only death awaited him.

Or, had he committed himself? Couldn't he change sides before it was
too late? Couldn't he slay Volna, here in the royal box, for all to
see? Couldn't he become a hero of the people? He was confused. He
wished he could think clearly, but he was more frightened than he had
ever been in his life. There was something wrong with his logic.
Something.... Well, no matter. Slay Volna first, call her traitor, and
then worry about his logic--

He turned away from the wall and marched down the flights of stairs
between the citizens of Nadia, flanked in two wildly shouting mobs on
eit