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He was not very surprised, then, when Brother Gurim
and his two acolytes entered the box only a couple of hours
into the day's training.
The senior inquisitor seated himself in the very center
of the box and, looking rather bored, settled himself to
observe the practice. His hood had been pulled back. As
with the day before, he seemed to pay no attention to Arryl.
The cleric was intent on watching Sylverlin's group.
Nelk ordered one of his subordinates to take over. His
eyes flashed to Brother Gurim, then to Arryl. The maimed
elf, mace still in hand, walked slowly over to the knight,
who regarded the elf with cool disdain.
"I tried to warn you," Nelk said in a low voice. "He
knew all along that it would be useless to threaten YOUR
life, but he enjoys his own games almost as much as he
does those in the arena."
"What do you mean?" Tremaine frowned, convinced it
was a trick.
"One way or another, he will make you do what he
wishes, no matter how many lives it costs." He glanced in
Sylverlin's direction.
Arryl understood. Fear gripped him. He stared at the large
group on the opposite end of the field. The gladia tors
clustered about, staring at a body lying on the ground
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