Dusk island was not big, maybe two miles across from east to west, four miles north and south. It was a 10.5-mile jog around the island, or at least it would be if the sandy beach stayed constant all the way around. Instead, almost the entire western end was cliff face. The rest of the island sloped gradually down to sea level, filled with trees and brush.

The boat docked at the only visible pier on the eastern shore. There was no reception party waiting for them and no immediate buildings. There was only the wooden pier and an empty sandy beach. The five passengers had no luggage, and the deboarding process went quickly.

Drizzt turned to Enrique, who seemed sure of himself on this whole trip, almost as if he had done it before. Enrique just motioned to the sandy beach in front of them, where Drizzt now saw a path of footprints leading up to the treeline and disappearing.

"Even a blind man could find his way," the flashy man smiled. The pirate the two had met upon boarding pushed himself past the two stationary fighters, grunting as he did. "Or even a one-eyed man."

The gruff sailor turned at this. "Ye better keep yer tongue where it belongs, or I'll add it to my collection."

Enrique turned to Drizzt, ignoring the apparent threat. "You'd think a man like that would collect something more useful from his enemies, like soap."

Drizzt took a step away from his new "friend" a moment before the pirate charged. Two machetes appeared in his hands like magic, and they stayed defensive till the last second, driving forward into Enrique. The smaller man was light on his feet and hopped to the side, avoiding the rush. The attacker was ready for the dodge and crossed his left arm over, sending it diving under his right arm toward his foe.

Enrique, too, was ready for the counter and pirouetted, raising his left arm, so the thrust went under his shoulder. Meanwhile, his right hand snaked out and grabbed the pirate's long sleeve, and tugged hard. This, the over-anxious attacker, was not ready for. His arms crossed over, and he stumbled toward Enrique.

The more agile fighter hopped back toward the middle of the dock and grabbed fast at the sleeves where the pirate's arms crossed, shoving as he did. The gristled man was more agile than he looked and managed to get his feet under him before he ran out of dock. Still, his feet were poised at the edge of the wooden planks, his body leaning back over the water, while Enrique's grip was the only thing keeping him from taking a plunge.

The trapped man didn't struggle. He looked much stronger than Enrique and could easily uncross his arms, breaking the smaller man's hold, but that would send him in the water. In fact, all Enrique needed was a hint of a coming attack, and he could let go.

"I have a dilemma here, Drizzt," he said to the drow who was watching from a safe distance. Drizzt had watched the encounter with interest. He knew he could not take any of the fighters here for granted. In order to be invited, each warrior must be extremely talented, and there were no "pretenders" here. Yes, Enrique had just handled this man quite easily, but not two hours ago, a woman had also handled Enrique quite easily.

"I can either drop this mangy swashbuckler in the water to teach him a lesson, or I could preserve the longest bathless streak on record."

The pirate grunted at the continuing insults. "What's your name," Enrique asked, staring into the man's one good eye, "or should I just call you Patches?"

"Quin," was the response, "Quin Warren."

"Well, Mr. Quin Warren, this tournament is a high-class affair. If you continue your foul behavior and gruff attitude, every fighter here will be after your head. I'd give you a bath now, but I fear the salt would just make things worse." He heaved the man back and set him straight on the dock.

Drizzt was unsure of what the man's response would be, but he sheathed his weapons and went off down the dock. "A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." Enrique smiled at himself. "I'm still going to kill him, though."

Enrique was chuckling to himself when he felt a sharp shove in his back. He had no chance to regain any type of balance and could take only one step before the edge of the dock. He took that step and jumped hard. The boat was still docked, resting gently 20 feet away, an impossible jump without a running start, but Enrique's nunchaku were off his waist and flung toward a mooring post. They grabbed hold, and his outreached foot caught the side of the boat, and he heaved himself up, dry as a bone.

He turned to look and see who his attacker had been and saw Druia frown at him and continue down the dock. "One day soon, he is going to fall," she said to no one in particular, Drizzt the only one in range to hear, "and he will fall hard."

Enrique was beside Drizzt a second later as if nothing had happened. "Shall we go?" The two walked down the dock and along the trodden sand. Just inside the tree line was a wooden staircase leading up the side of the island. Trees covered them now, blocking out what little light came from the ever-setting sun. The whole island was bathed in constant shadow, and sweet-smelling wicker torches lit the way toward the island's few buildings.

This was the home of the realm's greatest mage, Drizzt thought. Thelania had called him Deltrophan. The setting was tropical and pleasant. As a ranger, Drizzt appreciated the surroundings. Birds flew through the thick, leafy branches, and dozens of critters skittered along the forest floor and under the elevated boardwalk. Drizzt's understanding of wizards was of old men who lived in towers surrounded by books. This wasn't your typical wizard.

They passed several small huts along the way, each looking like one-room cottages, with evidence of current residency. No one else stopped at these, so neither did Drizzt or Enrique. Drizzt looked at his companion again for guidance and saw his eyes were fixed further ahead. Drizzt followed his gaze to see the target of their journey.

The main building on this island was a palatial home. Wood decks at several different heights, depending on the topography of the ground, surrounded the building, reminding Drizzt of a wood elf village he had seen contained entirely within a tree. This building looked to be at least five stories high, angling up with the slope of the ground, which had either been cut away in this area or took a naturally sharp climb.

On some of the higher decks, Drizzt could see several inhabitants, big men by their looks, and probably more fighters. Escorts were finally waiting for them once they reached the lower levels of the wooden palace. They were ushered into a small foyer and then into a processing area.

The escorts were more of the multiracial attendants that Drizzt had seen on the island, but as each guest was checked and inventoried, the staff began to look more professional. Drizzt knew this to be a mage school, and he guessed the apprentices facilitated most of the work involved with the tournament.

Directly in front of Drizzt was the elf maiden Enrique had briefly tried to engage when they had boarded the ship. She was next in line for processing.

"Name?" the apprentice asked, holding parchment and pen.

"Adenae De'Aneda," she replied.

"Sponsor?"

"The great Gabriol, an Archon in the highest order of Corellon Larethian, who has felled-"

"That will be enough. He has been here already and is waiting for you upstairs. Weapons?"

"I wield the Feather Blade, fashioned by the elves of long ago who first raised the banner against-"

"Is that one word or two?" the apprentice asked impatiently.

"Uh, two."

"May I see it?"

Adenae threw back her hood, revealing again the massive metal headpiece she wore. It looked like the eye feather of a magnificent peacock. Adenae reached back, grabbed the base just below her neck, and pulled it free. The shaft was only half its length, about 18 inches, but Adenae quickly attached two 2-foot extension poles that had been hanging from her waist, and the weapon was suddenly 7 feet tall. The idea that someone as diminutive as this elf could wield such a weapon was incredible.

"So, it's a halberd?" the apprentice asked for confirmation.

"Not just any halberd . . ." Adenae started but kept her reply in check. "Yes," she said, giving the watered-down version of her original inclination.

The apprentice checked a few things on his form and then gave her a room to which she could retire and wait for dinner. Drizzt stepped up next. He answered the questions as simple and straightforward as possible, bringing the apprentice a welcome sigh of appreciation.

Drizzt did not hang around to hear Enrique's presentation but caught bits of his trumped-up accomplishes and heroics as he made his way through to the next room. He stopped in awe.

What from the outside looked like a simple, albeit enormous, wooden cottage was nothing of the sort inside. While wood was still the primary material used, marble, gold, silver, and other precious stones were in no short supply. Luxurious stairways and balconies swirled through the vast room like a nest of cobras entranced by a piper.

All five floors were visible from this entrance hall, and no symmetry could be found between them. It was like the interior of this building had just grown here, sprouting a floor or balcony wherever it liked, and then someone had come along and filled in all the gaps with marble and precious metal. Drizzt managed to weave his way through the hall to a staircase that looked as if it would take him to the third floor, where his room was located, but he guessed wrong and had to double back several times before he found his destination. Thelania was waiting for him in his room.

"I trust your trip was uneventful?" she asked when he entered the room. Her mood was much different from when they had first met. Drizzt's jab at her suggested lifestyle for him had apparently struck a nerve.

Before responding to the ghaele, Drizzt took stock of the room. It was very similar to the one back on the mainland where he had materialized. He could see an open closet in the corner with several changes of clothes, all appearing to be in his size and taste. Thelania had obviously had a hand in procuring those. Drizzt smiled to himself as he imagined demons of the lower planes going clothes shopping for their respective fighters.

"What's so funny?" Thelania interrupted his thoughts.

"Nothing. The trip was fine. When's dinner?"

The sponsor frowned. "Have you not yet learned? There is no time here. There is no 'when' or 'for how long.' Things do not happen on a schedule here; they just happen. Your concept of eternity is better than most, being that you are an elf, but you still have a long way to go."

Drizzt contemplated that, along with the last discussion he had been a part of on the ship. The true beauty of a sunset is that tomorrow there will be another one just like it. Physical beauty can fade and pass away with time, but some things in this life are eternal. Was that a good thing? Many of the fighters here, if not all, were lured by their sponsors with the prize of eternal life.

Drizzt couldn't help but turn his thoughts toward Entreri and hoped the man would not be here. Drizzt was young for an elf, just a teenager by human standards. But in a little over 20 years, Entreri would be 60. Drizzt knew it, and Entreri knew it. The assassin's life, and the ranger's for that matter, would not last forever. They would accomplish what they could, and then they would die. Was this a good thing?

Food, if left outside, would spoil. Drizzt imagined that food would last forever in a place like this, where time had no meaning and things did not age or grow. That had to be a good thing, right? The trees outside would never die. The bushes would not need to be trimmed back.

Drizzt shook his head. As a ranger, he knew that was wrong. Life had to exist in cycles. People are born, they live, and they die. It was the way of life. To the beings who had arranged his entrance into this tournament, the reason had been to end the demon onslaught that plagued the realm after past tournaments. To Drizzt, the greater injustice was the disregard for natural order. He would try to set things right.

Entreri tried to wait patiently as the last group of fighters made their way into the palace. The current hold-up came from the pair two in front of Entreri. It was a pair, and not a single fighter, which was what the apprentice was having a problem with.

"You don't understand," Styne was saying. "He cannot speak. His tongue was removed by hill giants three years ago. As his brother and an adept magic user, I can translate for him."

Entreri didn't buy a word of it, and it didn't look like the apprentice did either. The two men couldn't look more dissimilar. Styne, for he had given his name, had white hair and tanned skin. He was dressed in all black, with a magnificent chainmail coat under his cloak. He stood over six feet, but compared to his "brother," he almost looked like a halfling.

Gunthor was just under seven feet and massive in a way that goes beyond standard adjectives. He was muscular, to be sure, but he did not possess the muscular definition of most barbarians. Instead, his skin was smooth and pale. He wore a tunic made from buffalo hide, and Entreri guessed it had taken at least three of the animals to make it.

The apprentice knew the rules that each fighter was to be unaccompanied, save their sponsor – this was, after all, a tournament for individual fighters. If everyone were allowed to bring an entourage, it would turn into a war. But Gunthor did, in fact, have no tongue, and if Styne had not come along, even the fighter's name would still be a mystery, and he had much more complex questions.

The apprentice finally gave in. "Very well, name your sponsor."

"Errtu, a Tanar'ri from the Abyssal plane."

Entreri's ears picked up at this. You couldn't have researched Drizzt's past and not know who Errtu was. This could be very interesting. If Raichik, Entreri's sponsor, could be believed, Drizzt was supposed to be at this tournament. This could get interesting indeed.

"Weapons?" the questions continued from in front.

Gunthor pulled out a two-handed axe from inside his cloak. The only thing more impressive than the weapon's size was how the giant had kept it hidden in his clothes. Unlike most fighters, Styne did not give this weapon a name, and Entreri could not see anything exceptional about it, other than it could clear a forest in ten minutes. Entreri looked again at the bulk of the man who carried it. Maybe five minutes.

The apprentice looked now at Styne. "And you?" The man dressed in black returned the look quizzically. "Weapons?" the apprentice clarified.

Styne looked down at his greatsword, acting as if he could have forgotten it. "Oh, this," he chuckled as if it were but a dagger. This is just for my protection. I mean, I am surrounded by the realm’s best fighters. I need something to defend myself."

"All magical weapons that enter this tournament, whether they are used or not, must be cataloged. If such a weapon is found on the premises that has not been declared, it will be confiscated. Those are the rules."

Styne declared his weapon, and the two "brothers" moved into the great hall. Next came a cloaked figure, only five and a half feet in height. Entreri was curious since he had seen this character on the ship. Their attitude seemed very shy and withdrawn, and while the rest of the passengers had been taken in by the eternal sunset on the ride in, this figure had sulked below deck.

"Name?"

The figure pulled back the hood they wore, and Entreri saw long brown hair fall out of it. "Lynn Shallarock," she said with an eccentric accent.

"Sponsor?"

"Garnaax the Demilich."

The apprentice marked down the name with little interest, but Entreri shivered. He knew of Garnaax, and if he was here, the assassin suddenly wished he wasn't. If Death was not a skeleton in an apocalypse cloak, then it was Garnaax. What kind of woman would ally herself with such a fiend? His answer came next.

"Weapons?"

"You mean besides these?" Lynn said and smiled broadly, revealing her elongated incisors. A vampire.

"Yes," now the apprentice shivered, "besides those."

Her smile grew broader at the man's uneasiness. "I thought I should declare them. I don't want you to have to confiscate them later." She pulled out a whip that had been coiled on her belt. The end of the cord was made of five lengths of barbed chain and looked far too heavy to be effective. Then Entreri saw the chains wriggle on their own and realized they were animated. Visions of his time back in Menzoberranzan came to his mind, and the high priestesses' whips, but he pushed them aside.

"And I have this," she also pulled out a wicked-looking scythe. Entreri didn't ever remember seeing anyone use a scythe in combat before, but given her choice of sponsor, it was a good touch of irony.

Entreri was last in line. He answered the questions efficiently and was then informed that with all the fighters now present, dinner could begin. It was a chance to meet all the combatants, and Deltrophan was the host. This would be interesting.

Drizzt entered the dining hall last, just as he planned. The room was large, much larger than it needed to be to hold the long dining table. The ceiling was arched in the fashion of an old cathedral. Chandeliers hung about with crystal brilliance, and potted plants garnished every corner of the room.

There was one table. At it sat all of the assembled fighters. They were either engrossed with each other or the appetizers that the apprentices were bringing out. This gave Drizzt a chance to take stock. As he looked around, he realized that somehow he already knew everyone's name and a very brief background. He figured it was a spell the head mage had cast to avoid awkward introductions, and Drizzt appreciated it. How do you introduce yourself to someone you are likely going to meet in mortal combat the next day?

No, Drizzt thought, there are no days here. It would be hard to adjust his thinking.

Of more interest than the fighters were the sponsors. Drizzt gazed at the hideous collection of demons and monsters that had brought these fighters here. There were a few celestial beings, but they were definitely outnumbered. Drizzt's heart almost stopped as he locked eyes with Errtu. It had been years since he had seen the demon, but now those memories came flooding back. He had banished the creature during the battle over the crystal shard, and now Errtu sought to regain access to the physical realm prematurely.

Because of the spell, Drizzt instinctively knew whom Errtu had sponsored, and his eyes found Styne and Gunthor at the table. Gunthor was not the largest fighter here but probably the most imposing.

Drizzt’s eyes scanned some of the other more interesting fighters. A tiefling was present, sitting on an elevated seat so he could have a fighting chance at the food set in the center of the enormous table. Next to him sat the largest fighter here, the phase-shifting ogre Drizzt had already run into.

A black knight, Roland Rexedia, was large and rugged, his face covered with burns and acid scars. The typical result from battling dragons. There was also a paladin, Sir Toreance Willhiem, of the Order of the Thunder Blade. Drizzt had fought beside some of the war-hungry paladins several years ago.

Sitting next to each other at the far end of the table were two elves. Yelthium Oleander was a moon elf, tall and regal. Next to him was Urenchick De'Astrilionian, a drow. He was the weapon master of the second house of Ched Nasad. Both of them seemed to be relatively cordial and talking with each other. Drizzt wasn't fooled.

If Deltrophan had been the one to assign the seating arrangements, then the mage was not without a sense of irony. He had the diminutive tiefling sitting next to the ogre, the black and white knights sitting next to each other, and then the drow and elf. Those two understood it and only talked to each other now because they knew they would likely have a chance to kill each other later.

With that sense of irony, Drizzt looked for his spot. Even if the spell hadn't been cast over this room, letting Drizzt instinctively know where his seat was, there was only one left. Drizzt was not surprised to see who he would be sitting next to.

"Please," Entreri said, standing slightly and pulling out the remaining empty chair, "join us; the food is excellent."

Drizzt swallowed his frustration, and like the elf and drow, decided to play along for now. "I'm sure it is."

Deltrophan left his room and walked down the hallway toward the dining hall. And so, another tournament begins. He looked forward to these. The occasional excitement they brought went a long way toward livening up his monotonous eternal existence. He had started this school of magic to seek out like minds so he could share his magic and find others to join with him, but while he had trained many great mages, none had come close to his mastery, and so he was alone.

There were 16 fighters this year. It was a good amount. Not too big and not too small. He'd handled as many as 20, but that was pushing the limits. Also, the last tournament had only nine fighters, which had been over way too quickly. Deltrophan sent his mind back to that tournament. How long had it been? Though his students worked hard to wrap their minds around the timeless concept of this island, Deltrophan liked to have fun with it.

After a bit of thought, he settled with 3,272 years. "Or was it yesterday," he thought out loud and laughed. He put the notice out in the realms every 250 years, but during that span, an eternity could have passed on this island or no time at all. He needed a significant period to ensure he always got the best fighters. If he put the call out every 50 years, he would just get the warriors that had not been good enough to be chosen the last time. While 250 years was not a full generation for elves, it was enough to take care of most of the rest of his races. But then, he hadn't had an elf win in a long time.

"Who are our favorites this year?" he asked out loud as he walked.

An imp appeared suddenly, hovering next to the mage as he walked. Yeltriz was Deltrophan's familiar. The two had joined long before the mage had achieved greatness otherwise, a more suitable familiar might have been chosen. As it turned out, Deltrophan wasn't sure a better aid could be found.

Imps were typically hideously ugly and stupid creatures. A few were clever, but they had no vision and understood their place in the world too well to hold any real aspirations toward acquiring intelligence. They merely existed to have fun, knowing that they were at the bottom rung of the demon world and they would live a harsh existence.

Yeltriz was not at the bottom rung of anything. His demonic face had matured over the ages of union with this powerful wizard and appeared almost elvish now. His bulbous body had thinned down and acquired muscle. His spindly limbs had gained strength and size. In the end, he looked like a tiefling with wings. But it was his mind that had made the most significant improvement over time. He was more adept at magic than almost every apprentice who came into the academy, and he was even more powerful than a few who graduated from it.

He held a parchment in front of him now and began to answer his master's question. "Oohhh, we have quite a list this time, master. The regulars are back, of course. The Thunder Blade has sent another knight. What shall we do with the sword he leaves behind this time?"

Deltrophan had kept the first two for ornamentation in his office, but he had no use for them anymore. "I think the bridge over the eastern ravine is sagging a bit. It could use another support pillar."

Yeltriz made a note of this. "We have another drow weapon master."

"I must have another word with Lloth," Deltrophan said. "I've heard great things of drow prowess over time but have yet to see evidence of it."

"Well, we have two drow this time. The other, Drizzt Do'Urden, is spoken of very highly in the upper realms and cursed rather vehemently in the lower ones. Then there is Enrique Cortez, of course."

"Ah, Cortez," Deltrophan said, the memories coming back to him and a smile filling his face, something that only happened around tournaments. "He does make it interesting."

"A few others to watch are Yelthium Oleander, an elven warrior with an impressive past. Artemis Entreri is a human assassin that moves like an elf. And there is Lynn Shallarock, uh, (ahem) a vampire."

Deltrophan stopped short, and Yeltriz flew forward a bit before he also stopped to turn and look at his master. "A vampire? Someone who is already dead seeks eternal life? Who is her sponsor? Garnaax?"

The imp nodded. Deltrophan was not smiling anymore. It was true that he was without rival amongst the living, but lichs were not alive. Not that Garnaax could defeat him in battle, they both knew that, but they also both knew that the Demilich was too powerful for Deltrophan to dismiss simply.

"He does this just for spite. He tries to wreak havoc in any way he can."

"What will happen if the vampire wins?" the imp asked.

Deltrophan paused in thought. He did not know. He had set up the tournament to give eternal life to the winner. He did not need to cast a spell, for eternal life could not be offered through a spell. It wasn't that simple. It wasn't like he could test it out on vampires, zombies, or other undead things to see what would happen.

"I don't know," the mage said finally. "Is it likely the vampire will win?"

Yeltriz looked back down at his list and the information he had gathered. "The possibility does exist. She controls quite a large portion of the Underdark. She is without rival amongst her peers."

"Let's hope we can find a rival for her here," the mage concluded. They were at the doors to the dining hall.

Deltrophan pushed the doors open, and all the commotion inside ceased. Spells ran the palace. Magic coursed through everything. Without time, magic was what kept things on schedule. The spell that allowed each of the fighters to know each other at a basic level was one such example. The way each combatant knew that their host had just entered and that whatever they had been talking about was suddenly unimportant was another.

Deltrophan climbed a few steps up to a stage at the front of the dining hall. And looked over the collection of fighters that had been summoned for him. They all returned his look with interest. Well, almost all of them did.

"Krlolgl!" Deltrophan admonished one fighter.

The troll had half a leg of lamb in his mouth when he heard his name called. He had not come to attention when the mage entered the room but had kept eagerly stuffing his face. Now he looked up, food still hanging from his mouth and meat juices dripping all over him.

"Not only do you not have the common manners of a domesticated dog, but I nearly sprained my tongue when I said your name. Be gone with you." And with that, the troll disappeared.

No one said a word. Yeltriz flew to the table and walked down the center of it. "Yes, my friends, the troll is gone, but to where?" The fighters didn't know how to react to this strange creature. Not many could guess what he was, so far removed was he from a standard imp. Regardless, they all wondered what gave him the gall to talk to them as if they were a bunch of children entranced by a storyteller. Yeltriz ignored their looks and continued.

"Was he cast into the fires of hell? Was he merely banished back to his own home? No. He was just imprisoned deep in the center of the earth in a tiny maze of eternity. There, his mind will be trapped forever, never able to gain coherence, with no chance for reprieve. Even the smartest scholar in the world would be driven mad in but a short time, but our friend will be there forever."

Yeltriz finished his speech, looking each fighter in the eye to make sure they understood the weight of their situation. It was important that these fighters, each of whom held enormous power back in their own realms, realized they held none here. Having gotten his point across, the imp yielded the floor to his master.

"Who brought that slimy worm into my home?" Deltrophan asked, looking to the back of the room where the sponsors mingled. Because of the familiarity spell, everyone knew who it was.

The demon attempted grace. "My sincerest apologies, your awesomeness. I was merely following the instructions of my masters. Had I known what a slob he was, I would have never thought to bri-"

Though the demon was not moving, he appeared to walk head-on into a brick wall. During his plea for forgiveness, a small cloud of red smoke had started to swirl around him as he tried to leave the island inconspicuously. It didn't work. Now with his avenue out blocked, he attempted another route: suicide.

He flapped his wings mightily and took to the air in the vaulted hall. His tail snapped back, and the demon let out a terrific cry, plunging forward over the table and toward the seemingly defenseless mage. Deltrophan held up his hand and cast what looked like a simple ice lance.

The demon banked to the side so the projectile would pass beside him, but the lance banked as well, driving straight into the creature's heart. He managed one more flap of his wings to clear himself of the table, and then he went frozen solid. The flying statue crashed into a pillar, broke in two, and then shattered onto the floor, skittering ice pieces all over.

Deltrophan turned to his students, who had been standing at attention, waiting to serve the hungry fighters. "Quickly, clean that mess up before he starts to melt. I don't want him stinking up the place."

Yeltriz was now hovering in front of the sponsors, each in awe of what they had seen. The defeated demon had been no weakling, yet this mage had disposed of him as if he were but a bothersome pest. They had all fought against mages of the realm, and they knew that who they now faced was like nothing they had ever seen.

"That demon was not just banished, mind you," Yeltriz said, even though all the sponsors knew what had just happened. "He was not just sent back to his demonic plane to live out 100 years of exile. He is no more. He has ceased to be. You would be wise to remember that."

The glaberzu, who was sponsoring the weapon master from Ched Nasad, reached out one of his pinchers to grab the imp, but Yeltriz disappeared in a puff and reappeared alongside his master on the other side of the room.

"I will not tolerate insubordination," Deltrophan said sternly, looking around the crowd gathered before him, his eyes falling on Garnaax. The demilich looked pathetically small, standing amongst the demons and celestial beings. But Deltrophan knew that within that withered corpse, there existed tremendous power.

Enrique enjoyed the show as well and picked out Quinn at the table. The pirate had taken Enrique's words to heart at the dock and had cleaned up a bit. His beard was trimmed, and his face washed. He, too, had the impulse to stuff his face but fought back those urges now, finding manners he didn't know he had.

Drizzt and Entreri just exchanged curious glances. They had fought each other on several occasions, and on each case, though they might not admit it, they felt as if they were competing for the right to be called the best fighter. Drizzt did not have a fraction of the foolish pride that drove Entreri, but he knew he was the best fighter among the drow. He would have to be a fool to go through the academy as he did and not know it.

But now, the two of them saw that they were but minor players in the realm. There were powers present in this room that they could not fathom and could not hope to stand up against. In fact, each of the fighters present was thinking this. That was, of course, the point of the demonstration. Enrique remembered that at the last tournament, Deltrophan had made an example of the returning champion. Banishing him in a similar fashion and destroying his sponsor. He had done it just to show the fighters that this was his tournament, and he made the rules. Fairness had little to do with it.

Some people at the table still did not understand that, though. "How will the tournament work now?" It was the phase-shifting ogre, Wrugib. "With sixteen fighters, a standard elimination system would have worked well. Now we have an odd number."

Those who had thought he was just a stupid ogre now thought differently. It was a keen observation that no one else had made.

Deltrophan was glad someone had asked. "There is no standard for this tournament. You will fight whom I say you fight when I say you fight them. If I choose to hold Cortez back and allow him to fight only once in the final match after the rest of you have killed yourselves off, that is my prerogative. If I decided to let you, all-wise and knowing Wrugib, fight everyone here one at a time until either you win or are killed, that is my choice. I am doing this for my entertainment. Thus, I will do what pleases me. Do not think you are entitled to anything."

Deltrophan let that settle in before continuing. "While there are no rules governing me, there must be rules to govern you and your interactions with each other. Anyone who kills another outside of the battle ring will suffer. I don't believe I need to elaborate on that point. You may interact with your sponsor in any manner you wish. They exist on this island as you do, mortal and vulnerable. The same rules apply to them.

"While I enjoy a good battle, I do not appreciate slaughter. If you feel incapable of fighting the opponent you are faced with, I will spare your life and banish you from the island to your home, where you will retain no knowledge of your time here. However, once you set foot in the battle ring, you are committed to the fight. The only way to leave is to walk out victorious or be carried out defeated. Each battle is to the death. No exceptions.

"There will be no magic used in combat. If I want to see a fireball display, I will hold a contest between my students. Teleportation spells, invisibility, magical shielding, and other such spells are all forms of cheating. This is a contest for fighting skill. If you can't beat him straight up, don't enter the battle ring. Are there any questions?"

"Is Arvarian still here?" Enrique asked almost at once.

Deltrophan nodded. "There is plenty to keep you entertained while you are here, and I suggest you socialize while you can. I don't need to stress to you the importance of knowing thine enemy. There are several gaming houses and taverns here to keep you entertained. And I believe Arvarian will be performing after the first matches, meaning some of you will not get to hear her.

"Also, these social venues are the only chance you will get to mingle with the other fighters. No one is allowed in anyone else's room. That's not just a rule. There are magical barriers in place, and I dare any of you to try and break them."

The mage waited to see if anyone else had a question or comment. Seeing none, he left the stage. "The rest of the evening is yours to do with as you like. The matches will begin at sunset." With that, he walked out of the hall, leaving behind a group of puzzled fighters. Enrique just laughed.