The Darkness Before the Dawn (Dark Sun: Chronicles of Athas 2)

Jedra, she replied. I love-But the psionicists didn't let her finish. The shield around Jedra drew tight, isolating him completely from Kayan or anyone else.

When the cleanup crew was done removing the body from the previous fight and covering up the slippery spots with fresh sand, the crier stepped to the center of the arena and shouted, "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, a command performance for our illustrious, most magnificent King Kalak. I present the crabby couple, the prickly pair, the-" Whatever else

he called Jedra and Kayan was lost in the roar of the crowd.

Sahalik gave Jedra a slap on the back and shouted to be heard over the noise, "Remember what I taught you: a few superficial wounds to satisfy the crowd, then a clean stroke straight to the heart." Then he shoved Jedra out into the arena.

Shani pushed Kayan out at the same time. Instead of walking out into the center the way they were supposed to, they both turned toward each other and met just outside the entrance. They hugged fiercely, their swords and shields and armor getting in the way and tears streaming down both their faces. They kissed, momentarily slipping into convergence, but the psionicists came down instantly on that, forcing them apart both mentally and physically. The spectators, seeing only that they had kissed and then seemingly leaped back from one another, cheered at this first indication of hostility.

"She bit 'im!" Jedra heard someone shout.

Guards with pikes advanced on them from beneath the ziggurat, forcing them farther into the arena. As Jedra and Kayan backed away from them, the crier waved the crowd to silence and shouted, "Harken the words of your king!"

Kalak stood in his balcony at the opposite end of the arena, once again in his golden robe. He was a tiny figure at that distance, but his magically-enhanced voice echoed all around the stadium. "Today's battle has captured the hearts of the entire city," he said. "Like no other contest in the history of Tyr, this ritual combat has sparked the imaginations of every couple here. What husband has not dreamed of killing his wife for some slight, either real or imagined? What wife has not dreamed the same? Many of you have acted out your fantasies, but always furtively, behind closed doors. Today we will see the ultimate domestic quarrel played to its logical conclusion for all to see!"

Cheers from the crowd echoed off the ziggurat and the balconies and the stadium walls, but Kalak held out his hands for silence. "The betting has been fierce. Everyone has a favorite. But some of the less realistic among you would prefer to see a happier ending. I have been flooded with requests for mercy, from the lowliest romantic in the warrens to the highest ranking templars. Even their trainer, the popular elf-warrior Sahalik of the Jura-Dai, has asked for clemency."

A few ragged cheers sprang out at the mention of his name, but far more people booed the elf's obvious sentimentality. Jedra turned back to look at Sahalik, who stood just inside the entrance with a bemused expression on his face. Thank you, Jedra mindsent, amazed that the elf would risk the king's wrath for them; then, not knowing if his message made it through or not, he raised his sword in salute. Sahalik shrugged embarrassedly.

"Their pleas did not fall on deaf ears," Kalak said. "Because so many have asked it, and because I am a merciful king, I decree..." He paused dramatically, and Jedra held his breath while he waited for the words that would end this farce. "I decree that the winner of this battle shall go free!" Jedra exhaled noisily. He felt as if he'd been stabbed in the heart. The crowd went wild, stomping and cheering, but it was all show. Nobody really believed there was any mercy involved. No one who had ever loved someone, anyway. The last thing either Jedra or Kayan wanted was to win their freedom with the other's life. Kalak's gift of freedom would mean nothing but the undisturbed opportunity to dwell on the horrible way it had been achieved. And of course it disrupted any plans they might have made for throwing the fight, which was no doubt Kalak's main intent.

"Kayan!" Jedra whispered to her. "He could fry us with a thought."

"What difference would it make?" she asked.

But the king only laughed and said, "You amuse me. Good. Amuse me some more. Let the battle begin!" He raised his arms out to either side, then clapped his hands together in front of him. A peal of thunder shook the arena. The crier echoed the king's command in a much tinier voice: "Begin!"

Jedra looked at Kayan. She looked at him. They stood well inside each other's guard; either could have stabbed the other to death without hindrance. Instead they leaned together for a final kiss. At first the thousands of people in the audience laughed at their bravado, but they soon grew restless and began to chant, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Kayan took a step back. "Now what?" she asked. Her voice wavered, and her pulse beat visibly in her neck.

Jedra swallowed. His own heart was beating so hard that the crystal he wore around his neck bounced against his chest with each beat. "We put on a show, I guess," he said.

"And then what?"

"I don't know!" He turned away, unable to face her, unable to say the words that had to be said, unable even to think anymore about what they must do. He looked up at the stands full of people, all of them expecting a bloody battle, and finally something snapped. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he tilted back his head and howled a long, ululating cry of rage and frustration. He howled until his lungs were empty and his throat was raw.

The crowd ate it up, thinking he was being punished psionically for not fighting. And with that encouragement, they began throwing rotted fruit and meat. Jedra easily dodged the offal, but he couldn't dodge the unseen fists that seemed to pummel him, nor the hands that gripped his sword arm and swung it toward Kayan. The guards were letting the crowd's psionic powers through to them.

A babble of voices filled Jedra's mind. He was about to shield them out when a familiar voice overpowered the rest. The message was the same-merely the single word, "Fight," but it came unmistakably from Kitarak.

Jedra whirled around toward the source of the voice, but it had been too brief to locate. Somewhere on the east side of the stadium; that was all he could tell for sure.

Kitarak is here! he mindsent to Kayan. The psionicists would know he had spoken to her, but they couldn't eavesdrop on their conversation. They could only block it, and if they did that then they would have to block the crowd, too.

I heard him, Kayan replied. He wants us to fight, too. She still sounded dispirited, as if her last hope had died.

No, Jedra said. He must want us to buy him time to get us free!

Some of Kayan's former enthusiasm returned to her psionic voice. You think so? she asked.

It's got to be.

Kayan fended off a melon with her shield, but it splattered seeds and juice all over her feet. Let's do it, then, before they start throwing rocks, she said, and she raised her sword in the en garde position.

Fighting the psionic members of the audience who would rather have him simply hack away at her, Jedra brought up his own sword and they crossed blades. The crowd cheered. Then Kayan darted forward, corkscrewing around Jedra's sword to stab him right in the thick leather over his chest. If he hadn't been wearing armor, she would have skewered his heart with her first blow.

"Hey!" he shouted, leaping back in surprise.