Nelk was an elf.

A maimed elf. Arryl wondered about the sort of elf who would deal in death, decided he must be a dark elf, one of the outcasts of elven society.

Tremaine studied Nelk. He seemed no different from the few elves the knight had met, except that the arrogant, delicate features were marred by a sardonic twist of themouth, as if Nelk - that could not be his true name - had seen too much of the world and not found it to his liking.

But he handled a mace with a skill becoming that of a Solamnic master, a necessary skill, since the elf lacked the lower half of his right arm and could not, therefore, have used a shield to any real purpose. His natural grace and agility also served to compensate for his physical handicap.

Nelk's opponent was a human, a thin, brown-haired man who both looked and moved like a snake. He fought with a sword and Arryl, who took an instant dislike to the serpentine man, grudgingly had to admit he was skilled.

It was a strange duel, mace against sword. Both men were caught up in their practice and it was evident that here were two masters. Arryl forgot his troubles, watching the two skilled fighters at work. Although Nelk had only one arm, his mace was nearly three feet long. He moved with a speed that few humans could match. His heavier adversary compensated for a lack of elven speed by utilizing both sword and shield as few men in the knighthood could have managed.

The weapons clanged together again and again, never remaining motionless. Each time one duelist seemed about to break through the defenses of the other, a countera.s.sault brought them back to their standoff.

Then, Arryl saw the human make a blunder. An over- extension of his arm left his side vulnerable. It was a very slight mistake, but a master such as Nelk should have been able to capitalize on it easily.

Nelk ignored it. The gap in the human's defenses vanished instantly. Once again the two were on even footing.

"Hold, Sylverlin!" The elf stepped back, still guarding himself. His serpentine counterpart did the same. Both men saluted each other, then smiled grimly. Nelk was not breathing hard at all; his human adversary seemed only slightly put out by the strenuous activity. Arryl silently applauded their abilities.

Turning, the elf eyed the newcomers. The rest of the gladiators melted away as he walked over to inspect the small group Raag had brought him. "What is this?"

"Arack said," was all the ogre commented.

"Mine, then." The elf surveyed the trio of prisoners. He seemed amused by the boy, and sneered at the half-elf.

Most elves - even dark ones - looked down upon half- breeds as being less than either of the two races from which they had sprung.

Nelk paused when he came to Arryl. "You are a fighter, I see."

"Solamnian," Raag offered.

"Ah. The knight," said Sylverlin, coming up behind.

Both instructors studied Tremaine with interest.

Tremaine straightened. "I will not fight in your Games."

"Won't you?" Nelk shrugged. "We'll see. Arack gave you to me and that is all that matters."

"Too good for us?" Sylverlin hissed. He even sounded like a serpent.

"Arack waits," Raag grunted.

Satisfied that Nelk was now in charge of the three, the ogre turned and departed without another word. Nelkwatched him go, seeming to appraise the ogre's every movement.

"He'd still beat you, my good friend," the reptilian man commented offhandedly. "Raag's quick in the head when he needs to be, not to mention having a skin as tough as a breastplate."

"I am well aware of both my limitations and his, Sylverlin. Best to worry about your own. If we had been dueling to the death, I would have crushed your rib cage after that last ploy of yours."

"You mean the opening I left? Wasn't a mistake, my good friend." Sylverlin bowed in mockery to Arryl, then slid off in the opposite direction Raag had gone.

"I knew it was not," the elf commented with a wry smile, his voice loud enough for the knight to hear. "Why else would I have avoided it?" The elf's slanted eyes returned to Arryl. "As for you, you will fight, human. You will fight for the simple reason that you will die if you do not. You ... and others because of you." His glance went, as if by accident to the half-elf and the boy. "For now, you should get something to eat, I think. You will need your strength today. That is a promise. Go with them."

He pointed to several gladiators who leered at the newcomers and made crude comments about "last meals"

Arryl stiffened and reached for a sword that wasn't at his side. Nelk laughed and sauntered away.

The half-elf leaned toward Arryl and whispered, "They will kill us on the spot if you choose to give them trouble now! Best to live and find a better moment, human!"

Tremaine reluctantly gave in and started walking. The half-elf's words made sense to him, but he wondered exactly when that better moment might come. Escape seemed impossible. The arena was well protected; archers and sentries were everywhere.

An indrawn breath from the half-elf made Tremaine shift his gaze. "What is it?"

"The senior inquisitor is up in the stands with the arena masters!" his companion muttered. "Pray he is not here concerning us! If so, we go from having little chance to NONE!".

Following the direction of the other prisoner's eyes, the knight focused on a man who had been watching the duel between Nelk and Sylverlin from the stands.

Brother Gurim!

Arryl Tremaine tripped and nearly fell. He stared and stared at the rat-eyed priest. Arryl was certain now. He had stepped into a nightmare whose master was the gloved cleric.

Was this TRULY what Istar had become?

Sylverlin marched Arryl out into the arena after the meal and handed the knight a sword. Arryl dropped it at the man's feet. Sylverlin told him to pick it up. Arryl told him the same thing he had told the elf earlier: "I will not fight." The knight fully expected to be beaten or tortured.

Sylverlin clenched his fist, seeming to enjoy the idea.

"Leave him be," ordered Nelk. He made Tremaine stand aside while the elf took the half-elf and the boy andadded them to another group of mixed unfortunates.

Sylverlin glowered, obviously disappointed. He obeyed Nelk, however, though he flashed the elf a vicious glance that Nelk saw but ignored. The abandoned sword remained at the knight's feet, as if a challenge of some sort. Arryl folded his arms and stood unmoving the rest of the afternoon.

At the end of the day, he again expected to be punished. Nelk ordered Arryl into the line with the others.

That was all. No mention of punishment. Sylverlin joined Nelk; the two seemed as attached as two branches of the same tree. They walked off together, now apparently the best of friends.

During the evening meal, the half-elf chose to join Arryl. No one else sat near them. The other men, both veteran gladiators and newcomers, were unwilling to sit next to either a Solamnic warrior who had fought the city guard or a half-elf whose crime was the fact that he existed. The only one who seemed to want to join them was the peasant boy, who also sat alone. He gave the two of them a shy, nervous smile, obviously hoping to be invited. Tremaine started to signal him over, but his companion shook his head.

"I would like to talk to you alone. My name is Fen Sunbrother," the half-elf said in a low voice. He had a swarthy complexion and his mixed background gave him exotic features. A thin beard attested to the fact that his human half had at least some dominance. "What are you called?"

Tremaine hesitated. While Solamnia had been built on the principles of justice and fairness, mixed breeds like Fen Sunbrother were not accepted members of society. It may have been that his own desperate situation made the knight more tolerant, for he found himself replying, "I am Arryl Tremaine."

"We are both outcasts, it appears." Fen indicated the empty benches around them. "You hardly seem the type who should be here. Knight of Solamnia, yes?"

"I am a Knight of the Order of the Sword."

"Thought that." Fen glanced warily around, as if he expected someone to be spying on their conversation. "You need not tell me, but I would be interested to know for what reason you are here."

"I am innocent of wrongdoing. I came to the aid of a man being beaten. I did not know the bullies beating him were city guardsmen."

The half-elf gave him a sour smile. "Crime enough here, depending on the situation. Tell me about it."

Arryl did, leaving nothing out. After a day of having no one willing to hear his side, he was gratified to find a sympathetic ear. Fen Sunbrother listened, and as he listened, his expression turned dark and bitter.

"I have all the luck. I am constantly allying myself with those who draw the ire of the mighty." The half-elf took a bite of his food, grimaced, but swallowed it nonetheless.

The food at the arena was designed to keep the men fit enough to fight; taste was not a priority. "You have brought the attention of the inquisitors down upon you. Worse, you have attracted the personal wrath of Brother Gurim."

"What have I done to the man?" "What have you done? It could be any number of things"

Fen poked the gruel with his finger. The hole formed did not fill in when he pulled the finger out. "The worst part of being in the arena is not the possibility of death - it's the food."

Arryl did not smile.

The half-elf shrugged. "There is something that you must understand, Tremaine. In Istar, the clerics are the law.

Among the clerics, the inquisitors are justice. It is they who define the words of the Kingpriest and how those words affect the citizens."

"Would that they were as concerned with the word of Paladine as much as that of the Kingpriest," said Arryl sternly.

Fen's eyes widened, then he nodded in understanding.

"You knights are very strong in your faith, not to mention vocal about it. You've been talking like that for the past few days, haven't you?"

"What of it? I am within my rights - "

"In SOLAMNIA, you would be within your rights, but not here...." Fen shook his head. "Istar is another matter. A Solamnic Knight, one of the legendary warriors of justice and good, rides into the holy city and finds it not so holy.

Small wonder that you incurred the wrath of Brother Gurim. To him, you are a threat to the order."

"For speaking out?" Arryl realized his voice had risen.

He glanced around, but everyone else was working hard to pretend they had not heard him. "I am only one man! What sort of threat could I be?"

The half-elf grunted, began eating his gruel again.

Between bites, he muttered, "You come to a place few of your kind ever visit and you immediately question the ways of the priesthood. Those who rule Istar have long seen the Solamnic Orders as rivals, jealous of the priests' wealth and power."

Tremaine recalled Brother Gurim's words at the inn. I PRAY FOR THE DAY WHEN THE KNIGHTHOOD ONCE.

MORE TAKES ITS RIGHTFUL PLACE AS HIS.

HOLINESS'S TOOL....

"Brother Gurim may even think this a plot by your kind to undermine the authority of the Holy One. That alone would be enough to have you executed," added the half-elf.

It was such a preposterous thought that Arryl could not take it seriously. He decided it was time to turn the conversation. "And you, Fen Sunbrother? What harm have you done that sentences you to the arena?"

He had expected something on the order of thievery, but the half-elf shrugged and said, "I'm a 'breed.' A mongrel."

"That is hardly a crime."

The half-elf turned his attention to the unappetizing gruel. "Welcome to Istar, Sir Knight."

Another day dawned. Arryl refused to take the sword Sylverlin handed to him. Sylverlin taunted, jeered, insulted him. The knight ignored him.

Nelk watched in silence.

Sylverlin shoved the knight a couple of times, but didhim no harm. Tremaine wondered at Nelk's ploy. It would have been simple enough to execute the knight, but someone appeared to want more. Someone wanted Arryl to fight in the arena. He thought he understood. If he gave in, it would be as great a victory for his captor as if he HAD died in battle. It would mean that Gurim had broken the knight, could claim he was weak.

Arryl had no intention of bowing to the will of the senior inquisitor.

Eventually Nelk sent Sylverlin off to instruct some of the gladiators in the finer points of swordplay. The snakelike man was showing them how to PRETEND to strike an opponent. None of the veteran gladiators wanted to accidentally die or kill one of their comrades during tournament combat. The prisoners, of course, had no choice. They could only hope to survive long enough to either win their freedom or be offered a place in the tournament combats.

"This will avail you naught, Solamnian," said Nelk, glancing at the sword.

"I will not fight. Execute me if you will, but I will not go against the Oath and the Measure by fighting for the pleasure of others."

Nelk laughed. "Do they teach such arrogance in the knighthood or is it something you were born with?" Arryl refused to respond. The elf stepped closer, his voice lowered. "You WILL fight in the Games, Knight! Listen to me! I had hoped you would not force me to this, but I want you to know that - "

"Nelk!" Sylverlin shouted. "Spectators!" With his blade, he pointed to their right.

Brother Gurim was once again in the stands. The hood covered his unsightly features, but Arryl had now learned to look for the gloves. Brother Gurim gestured to Nelk.

The maimed elf gave Arryl a long, intense look and whispered, "You may have lost your last chance, human fool!"

Nelk and Sylverlin went over to talk with Brother Gurim. The two had barely departed when Fen Sun-brother and the boy, struggling beneath weaponry enough to arm a legion, joined the knight. Arms full, the boy smiled cautiously at Tremaine, who nodded in return.

"What did the Cursed One want of you?" Fen asked.

Arryl's brow knitted. "Cursed One?"

"You don't know what 'Nelk' means in Elvish, do you?

Never mind. Did he threaten to have you beaten?"

"He said nothing of that, but I think something is going to happen soon."

The half-elf shook his head. "And you'll just let it happen to you! You'll take their punishment... or the axe if they decide you're not worth the time. Mark me, Tremaine.

Brother Gurim has let you live this long for a reason. He has a reputation for playing games with his victims."

"Is he really that bad?" the boy asked shyly. It was the first time Arryl had heard him talk. "But he's a cleric!"

"Yes, he is," Sunbrother snarled. "So?"