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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 and added 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