Chapter Four The Arena of Inejio Setgad #3
All things were governed by the thousand-layered cosmic landscapes of the universe mapped out by the Sunsmith and the Moonmachinist—as the flash and burn of fire belonged to the solarscape, so did the ebb and flow of water to the hydroscape; as the cycle of blooming greens and curling vines belonged to the florascape, so did the wild ways and whims of beasts to the faunascape.
The canon of the Poetics did not divulge a comprehensive inventory of all the cosmic landscapes, and mortalkind maintained an imperfect understanding of these elemental meridian networks, but two were understood to be the most powerful of them all: the cosmoscape, which governed the warp and weft of the unseen laws and forces of three-dimensional space, and the chronoscape, which governed the concept and flow of time.
A shrill whistle from the match-master pulled Lythlet from the abstract to the present.
“Are you done daydreaming?” he asked impatiently as he checked his pendant watch.
Still entrenched in thoughts, she nodded and feigned a polite smile in his direction, teeth bared, eyes glassy.
Master Dothilos grimaced. “May the Maker unmake you, you ugly beast. Refrain from showing that smile to the spectators. Anyway, come back here, I’ve something important to discuss.”
He procured from his pocket two glass pendants hanging from clasped straps, much like what he himself wore on his neck. One of the pendants had a thin red line running through its core, the other green. Yet the glass itself seemed otherworldly, a mother-of-pearl sheen tinging the pendant.
“This is how you forfeit. You each have one. Put it around your neck. If you wish to end the match—and keep in mind, you will be surrendering all prizes if you do so—smash this glass on the ground and announce your decision. When the glass breaks, smoke will pour out into the sky. Then my men will come in and handle the beast—and hopefully it’s not too late for you to escape unscathed. ”
She pointed at the two forfeit pendants. “That’s baltascar, isn’t it? You carry something similar around your neck, the thing that glowed with light during our descent into Inejio.”
“Exile-glass?” said Desil excitedly.
Master Dothilos smiled. “Never seen one up close before, have you? Not often you southern underclassfolk get to see one, although they’re becoming common in other sectors.
Hive-lanterns may still have their foothold in Setgad, but baltascar bulbs are popping up one by one in the northern sectors as the scarblowers improve their manufactory processes.
” This, Lythlet knew—Master Winaro had groused about the potential impact this would have on his hive-workshop in the future.
“If you were wondering why greenery still thrives in Inejio despite being trapped deep beneath stone, the answer is that all the pillars are laden with solar-augmented baltascar, tempered into imitating the sun. Meanwhile these forfeit pendants are aero-augmented so that they can contain and release colored smoke at a high pressure. Very clever, all of it. But enough of that—back to forfeiting. My only advice is that you time your forfeit well. You must remain in the game for at least ten minutes if you want to receive your participation fee. Neither bull nor bear will be happy to see you forfeit too early, not if they want to have their gamble pay off.”
Desil frowned. “Pardon? What’s this about bulls and bears?”
“Bulls are spectators bidding in support of us. Bears are spectators bidding on us losing or forfeiting,” Lythlet answered.
“Very good,” Master Dothilos said, nodding approvingly. “A bit of jargon we borrowed from the speculative equity markets.”
“The stock market,” Lythlet whispered helpfully at Desil’s lost expression.
“Correct,” said Master Dothilos. “Can either of you guess why the rule of ten minutes was instated in the first place?”
Desil had clearly checked out of the conversation that was rapidly detouring beyond his realm of knowledge, but Lythlet attempted it: “Without that rule, it’d be easy for bearish spectators to collude with conquessors to start a game and immediately forfeit, thereby making bears win their gamble quickly.
A ten-minute rule would ensure that conquessors have some skin in the game at least.”
“Three for three, Miss Tairel,” said Master Dothilos with a genuinely impressed tilt of his head. “Now, do you recall the special rule for joint conquessors?”
“Decisions must be made in tandem,” she answered.
“Precisely. Forfeiting is not an individual decision, but one both conquessors must agree upon.”
“And if they remain in disagreement, one wishing to fight and the other to forfeit?”
“The forfeiting conquessor will be deemed to be in violation of the so-called vow of fellowship and held in contempt of the arena until they agree to uphold their vows and resume the fight.” Master Dothilos jabbed his finger at alcoves dotting the walls of the arena, high above the grounds.
“My crossbowmen posted around will ensure the conquessor held in contempt remembers the legitimacy of the arena, and that no vows made within it are to be mocked.”
Ah , Lythlet understood, grimly imagining herself riddled with bolts all over.
Master Dothilos paused, then said thoughtfully, “But beware that even if the forfeiting conquessor changes their mind and is no longer held in contempt of the arena, there will nonetheless be a repercussion for their misguided forfeit attempt.”
“How so?” asked Desil.
“Despite rescinding your forfeit and continuing the fight, history has shown that spectator bids for your next round are likely to plummet.”
“Even if we win?”
“Indeed. It shakes their confidence in you and turns them bearish. Spectators will look upon you as forfeit-keeners, so they’ll either bid against you or bid a lesser amount in your favor—and that means your cut of future vigorishes becomes even smaller.
It’s a dangerous thing, testing the spectators—do not ever be held in contempt by them. ”
“I see,” said Desil, still looking baffled.
“Spectators are investing in us, so to speak,” said Lythlet, always capable of boiling things down to the nitty-gritty of financials.
“And when it comes to investments, what markets hate the most is uncertainty. Introduce only a pinch of doubt and most will pull their coins away faster than you can blink.”
Her explanation was met with brisk applause.
“Your tongue loosens when it comes to matters of the coin, doesn’t it?
” said Master Dothilos, amused. “Bravo. I don’t often meet conquessors with even basic financial literacy—it’s not exactly a skillset that translates well to fighting. Any further questions?”
“What beast will we be fighting?” she asked.
“That’s a surprise, of course. We never reveal that beforehand.
Would the spectators trust me with their bids if they thought I was rigging the matches in your favor?
Speaking of spectators, I can see our first audience members being ushered to their seats,” he said with a growing smile.
“Head back to the armory and await your turn, little lambs.”
The match was about to begin.