The next morning the sun rose over New Trazia and the arena was filled with people clapping, cheering and shouting.

  The chiefs took their seats and Tal sat with them." Let's hope your contestant does better today, three-eyes," Bakalit said and chuckled.

  "We'll see," Tal replied.

  The Arbiter called the next match - Oran was up against a man from Whelay's tribe.

  As Oran stepped into the ring, Tal opened his third eye. The blue-silver resonance flared within the medallion hanging around Oran’s neck.

  The carpenter stood facing the Warden fighter, a wiry man who moved with a fluid grace. The noise from the crowd was a dull roar in Tal’s ears, a distraction he pushed aside.

  The Warden fighter darted in, a quick jab aimed at Oran’s face. Before the punch was even halfway there, Oran tilted his head to the side. The fist missed by a breath. The Warden fighter looked surprised, and attacked again with a kick to Oran's stomach. Oran stood back and the kick brushed past him.

  The pattern repeated itself. Every lunge, every feint, every strike from the Warden fighter was met with a simple, perfect avoidance. Oran moved with an uncanny prescience, his body turning just enough, his steps shifting just so. His movements were a bit clumsy, but they were always in the right place at the right time.

  The horn blew for the end of the round. Oran walked to the edge of the ring to drink while the Warden fighter stared at him.

  The second round began. The Warden fighter abandoned all pretense of tactics, charging forward with a furious shout. Oran swept his right foot out, catching the man’s ankle. The Warden fighter stumbled and sprawled on the sand.

  Bakalit leaned over. "Your man acts like a shaman. Where did he learn to see blows before they land?"

  Tal kept his gaze fixed on the ring. "He is a Loyal Band member and believes in our cause."

  Bakalit grunted, "So it seems."

  In the ring, the Warden fighter scrambled up and then ran at Oran. He threw a punch. Oran’s hands came up, not to block, but to guide the man's arm. The Warden fighter's momentum carried him forward, past Oran, and he ran over the rope.

  The Arbiter called, "The winner, by ring-out, is Oran!"

  Stolen story; please report.

  A cheer rose from the section where the Loyal Band were sitting.

  Tal closed his third eye and ended his connection to Oran's medallion. He felt an uncomfortable throbbing behind his eyes so he placed a thumb and finger against the bridge of his nose and pressed hard. He noticed the chiefs watching him. Radaki’s expression was one of disbelief. Whelay simply watched, her face unreadable.

  “Your man has a shaman's foresight," Bakalit said.

  “Yes.” Tal stood up. "I need a rest break."

  He walked through the stands and out of the arena escorted by his two bodyguards. There was a hospitality tent set up for the chiefs outside the arena and he went there.

  "Just wait outside," he told them.

  Inside, the tent was empty and he walked to a table with a large jug of water. He poured himself a cup and drank. The water was cool and began to ease his headache.

  Footsteps approached the tent and the Jantar opened the flap. "Master!”

  "Have you found anything out from my would-be assassin?"

  "I’m trying to piece together the woman's origin. She bears the ritual tattoos of a shaman on her arms that mark the Thirstaker and Burner traditions, though they blend in a way I've not seen before. The skin around the markings is scarred, so they were probably not ceremonial but earned through some rite of passage."

  "Interesting. I expect both these tribes are not going to be easy for me to win over."

  "Master, there is also a rumor going around that the shaman of the Thirstakers has had a vision that foretells Jeska winning the games."

  "The shaman is just trying to manipulate his chief to suit himself. Shaman don't like change," Tal replied.

  "Shaman can foretell events."

  "Interfere is what they are good at!" Tal said. "Anyway, Oran did well this morning."

  "Did he?"

  "He won, easily. Our carpenter will get further in the games, I'm sure of it. Anyway. I must get back to the arena. Thank you for the news Jantar."

  Tal picked up a shawl from a chair and put it over his head to cover his third eye. He left the tent and walked back to the arena.

  The noise and shouts grew louder as the entered the stands and sat down between Bakalit and Whelay’s. Bakalit looked at the shawl over his head. "The sun is hot today," he said and sat down.

  Oran was the only one from the Loyal Band who remained in the competition as the second round of matches began. Tal watched him win in the second round, the third and the fourth.

  The day's matches came to an end and people left the arena in the evening.

  "Shall we have some refreshment? It has been a long day."

  The leaders went across to a hospitality tent. Whelay and Radaki ate while Bakalit drank wine. "Jeska has won all her fights."

  "She is a strong competitor."

  "You look pale, three eyes," Bakalit said. "Are you feeling unwell?"

  "I’m fine. So. As you have said, if I win tomorrow, we will discuss an alliance."

  Bakalit nodded and drank more wine. "My shaman has had a vision that your champion will lose."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yes, I am sure we'll win!"

  "Can I show you the winners medal, Bakalit?"

  Tal brought the medal out from his pocket. "This Medal of the Games was made by the Old Ones. He held out lthe medal that was gold with a blue gem in the center. Bakalit took it and examined it, turning it over and looking at the engravings on the front.

  "These are old words we no longer use. Here, you read them."

  Tal translated the words. "Victory is mine and my land is sacred."

  "So," Bakalit added, "Tomorrow we will drink to celebrate the winner!"