The crowd thronged and pressed against Nuthea.

Even though she, Elrann, Cid and the two newcomers, Riss and Quel, had arrived very early and managed to secure a place right at the front of it, next to the wooden barrier, which made things easier because they could rest their arms on it, and thus as close as they could get to the arena, she still felt hemmed-in and restricted.

There were no seats for this spectacle, so they had to stand like everybody else. Behind and to either side of them, and in front of them on the other side of the flat stone squares of the arena, thousands of Farrians, and their children, and in some cases their animals, as far as Nuthea could see–she had already spotted a cow, and several goats–stood and pushed up against one another and chattered. The entirety of Farr seemed to have turned out to watch this tournament.

The chatter was an indistinct sea of noise, but Nuthea caught a few sentences while she waited for the first quarter final of the tournament to begin.

"I heard Rogar made it through the heats and is in the quarters," said an enthusiastic young man somewhere just behind her.

"That'd make sense," said his friend. "He's been dominating on the circuit recently."

"He's my favourite to win."

"What about Ash-Tai Li?"

"I don't know if he's even entered."

"If he has, he's sure to take the prize. He's beaten everyone on the circuit, more than once–even Rogar."

"I don't know how any of them will be able to fight in this heat, really."

"True. It's very hot. These fights will be endurance tests as much as anything else."

They were right about that, Nuthea thought. The heat was sticky and cloying. Sweat ran down her arms and legs underneath her white dress and made it stick to her skin. A true Farrian Summer. It never gets this hot in Manolia. Nuthea reckoned that Ryn and Sagar were probably not used to this sort of heat either. Though perhaps Ryn could cope with it because of his fire-alignment.

She looked up at the sky. An unbroken, bright blue canvas for the sun, except for in one place a single very small, white cloud about the size of half her hand.

One God, she prayed. Please give us success today. We need to get the Earth Emerald so that we can be on our way and continue collecting the rest of the Jewels. Please help us. Please help one of Ryn, or Sagar, or Vish to win this.

She returned to looking at the slabs of the arena floor.

Vish, she thought. He should be able to cope in this sort of heat, given that he was from Aibar originally. The Shadowfinger was probably their best chance of winning this tournament, since he was the most proficient hand to hand fighter, by a long way. True, he did not possess elemental projection, so that could tip the balance in Ryn's or Sagar's favour. Of those two, Sagar was the more skilled fighter, and had been fighting with his gift for longer. But some of the Farrians might have elemental projection as well, from the Emerald. That could mean that Ryn would have the advantage, what with earth-alignment being vulnerable to attacks from fire-alignment, as they'd found in the Earth Temple. Although the Farrians were so skilled at hand-to-hand fighting that that might not even come into it–in which case, that brought her back full circle to Vish as their best chance.

If Vish won, though, could they trust him to hand over the Jewel to the group for safekeeping? Could they really trust this former Shadowfinger whose life Ryn had spared, just because Grandfather Cid was supplying him with poppy, and supposedly helping him to 'come off' of it? It wasn't like he was even making much progress at doing that, given last night's episode.

Nuthea shook her head. Of course they could trust him. He had proved that time and again so far on their journey, by fighting alongside them and stepping in to save their lives multiple times. Of course Vish could be trusted.

Or at least, so she hoped…

If only Nuthea had been able to enter too. But she was still blocked in the use of her lightning–she had tested it again only this morning–and she didn't fancy her chances in hand to hand combat against the Farrians, even with a week of training from Vish.

She lifted her eyes to the sky again.

Oh, and One God, would you please un-silence me and give me back my lightning projection again?

She sighed. What was the use? She had prayed this prayer many times, and it just didn't seem to be being answered. Or at least, if it was being answered, it wasn't in the way that she wanted. Oh well. She would just have to keep praying it. That was all she could do.

"Here we are," said Cid at her side. "Look–it's starting."

Nuthea looked.

From the mouth of a narrow tunnel built into the ground in front of the wooden barrier at the far side of the square arena strode a thick-set man with a shaved head in the green garb of the Farrian fighting monks.

When he became visible, the crowd roared with approval, a deafening wave of noise that rolled over Nuthea, almost physically knocking her over.

The man walked right into the centre of the square-shaped arena, smiling at the cheering and applause. He had a wide face and a roguish, mischievous smile.

When he got to the centre, he did a few rotations, clapping and cheering himself and making raising gestures with his hands. The noise of the crowd grew even louder. He was whipping them up into a frenzy.

Then the man held up both hands, palms open, and miraculously the crowd stopped cheering all of a sudden and went quiet. Apparently this was the signal for silence.

An eerie hush settled on the arena, almost as disturbing as the noise had been. Nuthea could hear the sounds of her own breathing and her heartbeat inside her head. A mosquito buzzed past her ear, thrumming briefly before flying away.

"People of Farr!" the monk bellowed. His voice carried over the crowd, and even though he was shouting, Nuthea fancied the arena was somehow designed to amplify sounds that came from it. "Welcome to the One Hundred and Twenty-First Summer Fighting Tournament at Tenkachi!"

The crowd began to cheer and shout again, including the men standing behind Nuthea, but the announcer held up his hands once more, calming them.

"Please!" he yelled. "Save your applause for the combatants! Many qualifying bouts have been fought, and we now have a final eight contenders ready to fight for your entertainment today!"

Nuthea was glad that, in the end, the Governor had allowed Ryn, Sagar and Vish to bypass the heats and go straight to the final bracket, even if the Farrian crowds didn't know this. She had requested another audience with him when they had realised that if Ryn and Sagar used their powers word would probably get back to the Empire about them. But the Governor had refused to care about this or to make any rulings prohibiting the use of elemental projection, so Nuthea had asked instead if the combatants they were entering could bypass the qualifying heats and go straight to the finals of the tournament. That way, they could delay and hopefully minimise the display of Ryn's and Sagar's elemental projection, maybe even avoid using it entirely. To her surprise, the Governor had agreed without any argument that the heats could be waived for the boys. Nuthea wasn't entirely sure why, but she was suspicious it had something to do with how confident he was that the native Farrians would be able to best her friends in hand-to-hand combat.

Nuthea returned her attention to the announcer. "As you know," he was yelling, "the rules of the tournament are simple: If a combatant falls out of bounds"—he indicated the perimeter of dirt floor that ran along the outside of the arena in front of the wooden barrier that separated it from the crowd–"or if they yield, are incapacitated, unconscious or otherwise unable to fight for the count of ten, then their opponent is declared the winner of the round! Now, without further ado, I give you your first quarter-finalists: Ryn of Efstan versus Rogar the Unsurpassable of Morekemia!"

Ryn regarded the man standing ten paces away from him across the arena floor.

At about two feet taller than him, Rogar the Unsurpassable cast a shadow that almost reached the young Efstanish farmboy even in the midday sun. The man was a giant. He was even bigger than Huld. The difference between this man and Huld, however, was that whereas Huld's bulk was all honed muscle, Rogar was fat.

There was no other way to put it. A gigantic girth almost burst out of his trousers, which appeared to be made out of stitched-together sack-cloth, spilling over the top of them where they were tied together by a belt of rope. He was hairily- and bare-chested, except for a glistening black leather waistcoat which covered his nipples, but not all of the enormous rolls of fat that sat atop his belly like breasts, bigger than those of any woman that Ryn had ever seen.

Most of Rogar's face was hidden by a thick mess of curly, deep-black beard which came down past his collarbone. Two mad beady black eyes peered out from above it, intensely focused on Ryn with a look of deranged glee. The top of his head was shaved, except for where a ponytail stuck out the back of it and hung down behind his neck.

Can a man so fat really be so skilled at fighting? Ryn thought. He may be big, but I am sure I am younger, and nimbler, and faster. I'll use the techniques Vish has taught me to best him before he even has a chance to get a blow in. I'm not scared of him.

Although, if he wasn't scared, then why was he shaking in his boots?

Somewhere far off, as if from outside of a pool of water that he had been submerged in, Ryn was aware that the tournament announcer was declaring the beginning of their bout. He didn't fully heed it because all of his attention was focused on Rogar.

Unexpectedly, the giant spoke. "Do you know why they call me Rogar the Unsurpassable, boy?" He had a deep, grizzly voice with a sadistic edge to it. He spoke loud enough that anyone in the audience, which had gone completely silent, would be able to hear him.

Ryn thought about trying to make some witty remark about the man's size in reply, but found his mind was fog and so none came to him.

The giant didn't wait for a response anyway. "It's 'cause I have never been beaten in single combat. I've been doing this for years, and I am much better at it than you are!"

Ryn's mouth had gone very dry. How did Rogar know that? He hadn't even seen Ryn fight. He's just making an unmerited assumption…isn't he?

Now Rogar did drop his voice, so that only Ryn and the nearest audience members would be able to hear. "I heard they even let you skip the heats for some reason. Why? You are clearly a puny untrained insect. What do the tournament organisers know that I don't?"

Ryn had no reply. He could give none. He decided that he would let his actions, and his fighting, speak for him instead.

Slowly and deliberately, he shifted his body into a fighting stance that Vish had shown them, standing facing his opponent side on, with his right foot forward, his left hand pulled back to his waist in a fist, and his right hand raised in a fist in front of his face with bent index and middle fingers extending slightly out from it, trying as hard as he could to hold it so he did not tremble.

Rogar visibly suppressed a laugh, then turned it into a wide grin, showing brown and rotting teeth through his beard.

"Okay, Efstanish," he said, back at his original theatrical volume. "You have some heart, I give you that. I will give you one free blow. I should warn you though, my other nickname is Rogar the Insatiable. I eat children like you for breakfast. And once you have had your free blow, I will eat you!"

At this goad, a large component of the assembled crowd cheered all of a sudden, so loud that the noise broke through Ryn's bubble of concentration. The cheer had bloodthirst in it.

The thing was, Ryn could genuinely imagine this man eating children. But he didn't really do that, did he? That was just theatrics. That was just a taunt designed to unsettle him, surely?

Rogar raised a tree-trunk arm and beckoned Ryn towards himself. "Come on, little boy!" He spread his hands in a gesture of welcome. "Take your free shot! Please!"

Ryn gritted his teeth. Pressure had built up above his groin–he needed to pee. Could the crowd see that he was shaking?

It doesn't matter that he's taunting me, he thought. One of us needs to win this, and I'm going to try my hardest for it to be me. I just need to try not to use my fire projection if I can manage it, so as not to give us away.

His eyes jumped to the place at the front of the crowd where he had seen Nuthea when he had walked out. There she was, hunched and tensed, with both hands raised to her mouth. It looked as though she was biting her nails.

He looked back at the gigantic form of Rogar the Unsurpassable, whose hands were still spread, presenting him with his opportunity of a free attack.

Please don't me look stupid and be humiliated, especially in front of Nuthea.

Ryn ran at Rogar across the square stone slabs of the arena floor.

He pulled back his fist as he approached, but deliberately did not will fire into it.

"Hyah!" he yelled as he punched, twisting his fist round as it moved through the air, just like Vish had taught them to do.

Ryn's fist went right into Rogar's paunch with a dull thwap…

…and stayed there, buried.

The folds of flesh just swallowed his hand up, accepting it, containing it, absorbing the force of the punch completely.

"Ahahahaha!" Rogar laughed heartily, clutching his sides as his whole belly shook–Ryn felt the vibrations running from his hand down his arm, making his teeth knock together. "You want another free shot, Efstanish? Have one! Have two! Have three! Have as many as you want! Ahahahaha!"

When Rogar spoke Ryn did not just hear the words with his ears, but felt them moving horribly from the giant's belly, through his arm and his whole body. He felt them in his bones.

He heard the crowd watching them laughing too, somewhere.

His heart sank within him.

Mother. Father. Hometown. Found Vorr. Got Vorr. Killed Vorr. Find the Jewels. Save the world. Stay with Nuthea. Don't look like a fool in front of Nuthea. Get the Emerald. Beat this man.

Damned if he was going to give up this easily.

Ryn's temper lit, but he still retained just enough self-control to stop his hand from lighting on fire too. He hadn't completely exhausted the non-elemental approach yet.

He pulled his fist out of the Morekemian's gut. It came out with a slippery squerching sound and Rogar's belly fat wobbled back into place after it.

Ryn smashed his fist it into the laughing man's nose, which he could just about reach.

Without pausing, he followed up with an uppercut to Rogar's chin with his other hand.

Then a kick to his leg, then another spinning kick to his side, then several more punches to his chest.

Ryn had gained momentum now.

He threw blow after blow at the man, hitting him all over his body, pouring forth a torrent of punches and kicks at the massive Morekemian.

Eventually, Ryn ran out of steam.

He stopped punching and kicking and took a step back, huffing and puffing from the exertion.

Rogar was laughing again.

Ryn's attacks had had no visible effect whatsoever on the man. His punches and kicks had either bounced off Rogar's flesh without leaving a bruise, or been absorbed by it. The man did not even have any marks on his skin from Ryn's efforts, let alone bruises.

Poodoo, Ryn thought. He might as well have been throwing pebbles against a huge hanging slab of meat.

"Ahahahaha!" Rogar laughed, holding his heaving belly. The crowd were laughing again too, gleeful and relishing. "Now do you see why they call me Rogar the Unsurpassable, you puny child? I've shown you why, and now I will show you why they also call me Rogar the Insatiable!"

Damn it, I need to use my fire, Ryn thought as the giant strode towards him.

He threw another punch at the man's chest–this time lighting his fist aflame.

Quick as a striking snake, Rogar's hand shot out and grabbed Ryn's forearm, squeezing it vice-tight.

Pain flashed along Ryn's arm so bright and sudden that it made his fire go out instantly.

Before he knew what was happening, a strange weightless sensation took him as Rogar lifted him up from the ground by the arm…

…and then the arena floor slammed into Ryn's face.

Shock reverberated through his body. His vision blurred. He tasted copper.

The pain caught up to him. Pain in his nose, pain in his head, pain along the front of his body. So much pain. He cried out with it.

The crowd were cheering vehemently now, though Ryn could also hear someone screaming too. Was that him screaming, or somebody else?

The vice-grip still held his arm tight. He caught a blurry glimpse of some of the people in the crowd, moving across his vision as Rogar lifted him into the air again…

…then slammed him back down against the stony floor.

Pain, so much pain.

His vision blurred again, and yet new pain wracked him.

The man was smacking him against the ground like some sort of plaything.

Fire… Ryn thought dimly with what was left of his wits. I've got to use my fire…

But then he smacked down against the ground another time and the thought was knocked out him.

Up, down, up, down. He hit the ground again and again.

There was a lull in the beating. Ryn's head swam and spots danced in his vision. He was aware of blood running down his face, into his mouth. He may have lost consciousness a few times, but the next thing he was aware of was that he was hanging by his arm in front of Rogar's horrible bearded face.

Someone was still screaming somewhere in amongst the cheers of bloodlust. Nuthea. Definitely Nuthea. Ryn didn't have the energy left to scream himself.

"-quite tough," Rogar's voice was saying somewhere. "I will give you that too, Efstanish. I would have expected you to pass out by now. The fact that you are awake is something. Oh well. Come here for a cuddle."

Amidst the pain, Ryn was aware of being pressed up against Rogar's flesh–against the sticky, sweaty, smelly flesh of his chest, and the chest hairs that tickled his broken nose and his bloody cheeks.

Two impossibly thick cords of rope constricted around his arms and torso.

No–they weren't ropes. They were Rogar's own arms. The giant had enclosed him in a massive bear hug.

And then Rogar squeezed.

"Aaaaarrrggghhhh!" Ryn screamed in a paroxysm of pain. He heard some of his ribs snapping.

The spots in his vision turned black, and started spreading out, threatening to consume it.

Fire… he thought vaguely, though the thought was almost entirely drowned out by the pain. I've got to use my fire…

But it was no use. The pain was so intense, and the blackness in his vision so all-consuming, and it had spread to the whole of it. He had lost focus completely now, and his thoughts had become very slow. He was about to lose consciousness.

One God…help me…

The crowd was roaring again.

Only, this wasn't a pleased, bloodthirsty kind of roar. It sounded more like an angry sort of roar, punctuated by shouts of outrage and harshly-called phrases that Ryn could not make out.

He opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the sky. Clear blue, with the bright orb of the sun off slightly to the side, except, curiously, for one small dark cloud that had formed.

Nuthea appeared in his vision, brows knotted in concern. She looked pretty when she frowned. Then again, she always looked pretty.

"Are you alright, Ryn?" she asked.

He realised he wasn't in pain any more. That had been his most recent memory from before he had passed out: Pain. So much pain.

"Yes…" he answered her. "Somehow…"

He remembered what he had been doing before the pain.

"Did I lose the fight? What happened to me?"

"That horrible man squeezed you until you passed out," Nuthea said. "But when you passed out, your fire-projection activated. Your whole body exploded with fire, so strongly that it blasted him out of the arena, right into the crowd, and burned him–quite badly. Cid had to go and heal him, even before he came and healed you."

"Cid?"

The old man popped up next to Nuthea. "Hello."

"Oh. Thank you for healing me."

"A pleasure, young man!" Cid smiled, showing his teeth. "It took considerably less mana than I had to use on our friend Rogar the Unsurpasaable over there…"

Ryn looked back to Nuthea. "That man was so strong… So…I lost the match, then?"

Now Elrann appeared too, next to Cid. "No you didn't, farmboy! Didn't ya listen to what princess-girl was saying? Ya passed out, sure, but ya gotta be out for the count of ten before they make the other guy the winner. Fat-man landed out of bounds before you got anywhere near a count of ten. So ya won! Way to go. Pretty impressive that you managed to win and pass out at the same time, though. You're always passing out, ain't ya? It's, like, your 'thing'. In fact, it had been a little while since you last passed out. I think you were due one."

Ryn couldn't help himself from grinning at her.

"The crowd are pretty pissed off about it, though," Elrann continued.

"What? Why?"

"Well, they thought Rogar was a dead cert to win, for sure. He's pretty popular on the regular fighting circuits apparently. And for most of your match he dominated."

Ryn winced at the memory of his useless blows bouncing off the man's flesh, of being repeatedly slammed against the floor and then crushed in a bear hug by the big Morekemian.

"But then right at the end ya did something they ain't ever seen before, and you won unexpectedly, all of a sudden, without even being awake! They feel like you cheated. They feel cheated."

"But I didn't cheat…" said Ryn. "The Governor said we could use elemental projection if we wanted to. I just held out trying not to because of what Nuthea said about keeping it a secret for as long as possible…"

"Yes…" said Nuthea. "Well, the chocobo's out of the stable on that one now, isn't it? I know it wasn't your fault though. We need to talk about this some more. But let's get you out of this arena first. Come on, they're waiting to start the next match."

She took Ryn's hand and helped him onto his feet. As he stood, the crowd immediately started to jeer and boo at him. He caught sight of faces scowling.

"Cheat!" someone shouted.

"Trickster!"

"Charlatan!"

"Sorcerer!"

Poodoo to you, Ryn thought as he walked with Nuthea, Cid and Elrann back towards the entrance of the tunnel that led from the arena to the preparation chambers, the announcer ushering them off and making calming gestures to try to pacify the crowd as they continued to boo. I don't care if you think I 'cheated', Ryn thought. Find the Jewels. Save the world. Stay with Nuthea. At whatever cost. By whatever means.

They made their way down the tunnel, and the daylight was blocked off, then replaced by lantern-light. Close air pushed in at Ryn inside the stuffy preparation chamber where he had waited with Rogar and the other combatants before going out to fight his match, carved out of the brown earth of Farr like so many of its structures.

Sagar ran up to him straight away.

"You won, pup?"

Ryn nodded. He wasn't sure whether Sagar was concerned for him or for himself. "Yes," he said, "But I had to use my fire. I wasn't planning to, it just sort of happened. So they know at least one of us has elemental projection now."

"Yes," said Nuthea. "News will travel. We need to get this tournament over with as fast as possible. You may want to use your projection too, Sagar, but remember you're wanted by the Empire too, so you do so at your own risk."

Sagar set his jaw. "Got it." He dropped his voice. "Don't worry about me. It's easier for me to hide my projection than you, pup. But if I have to use it, I will."

From beyond the tunnel came the distant sound of a man shouting something very loudly. The referee announcing the second quarter final–Sagar's match.

"Sagar," Ryn said. "Be careful out there. The guy I fought was really strong."

The corner of Sagar's mouth twitched up, whether from amusement or because he appreciated his concern, Ryn couldn't tell.

"Don't worry about me, pup," Sagar said. His brown eyes twinkled. "I've got this."

The Farrian announcer appeared in the entrance to the dugout.

"Sagar of Imfis?" he asked, looking around.

"Here," said Sagar, holding up a hand.

"And Hiuna of Farr?" said the announcer.

"Here," said a defiant, distinctly female voice.

Ryn turned to see a woman dressed in the same green robes that Huld and the other Farrian monks wore, tied at the waist with a black cloth belt, striding forward. He recognised her as one of the other quarter finalists that had been gathered together in the dugout before his first fight with Rogar. It would have been easy to mistake her for one of the male monks were it not for her higher-than-male-pitched voice and her thick dark hair which curled on her forehead and fell in a braid down her back to her waist. That by itself set her apart from all the other monks, whose heads were all shaven.

"Godsdammit," Sagar murmured under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Why do I always get paired up with these women who want to look and behave like men?"

"Do you?" asked Ryn. "How so?"

"Nevermind…" said Sagar. "I'll be fine."

"Don't underestimate her, Sagar," Ryn said quietly. "The guy I fought was really strong. Remember we got a free pass through the heats. That lady has beaten a load of people to get here, unlike us."

"Enough, pup!" Sagar brushed him off. "I've told you I'll be fine!"

He walked out of the dugout shoulder to shoulder with 'Hiuna of Farr' to go and fight his match against her.

"Let's go and watch them!" Ryn said to Nuthea, still stood a little way away. Elrann and Cid must have left to watch Sagar's fight.

"Not yet," Nuthea said. "We need to go and talk to the Governor first."

"We do?"

"We do. You showed the Farrian audience that you have the gift of fire. That's fair enough, given that you needed to use it to beat that man as there was no way you were going to beat him without using it."

Ryn fought back a blush; unsuccessfully, since his cheeks heated, and not from his 'gift of fire'.

"Word of this will travel," Nuthea continued. "It may take a few days for it to reach the Empire so many miles away, but we can be sure it will reach them eventually. We can't take any chances. We need to convince the Governor to get this tournament over with as quickly as possible. That way we can claim the Earth Emerald and get out of here with it as soon as we can. If the Empire send anyone here to investigate before we have the Emerald, it could be disastrous–if they have any soldiers left who can project fire, we now know that earth is weak to fire, so even if the Governor has used the Emerald to grant more of his monks earth projection, they wouldn't stand a chance.

"Right," said Ryn, grasping the seriousness of the situation. "Let's go and talk to him, then."

"Hold it right there, boy," said a grizzly, hostile voice.

Ryn, who had turned and been about to walk off, froze in place and looked up into the fat, frowning, black-bushy-bearded face of Rogar. His blood ran cold.

"What did you do to Rogar?" the humongous Morekemian growled. "Rogar had you utterly beaten, Rogar had you crushed and soon to be out-for-the-count, and then all of a sudden you explode with fire on Rogar, and blast him out of the arena? What did you do, little boy?"

Apparently Rogar referred to himself in the third person even off the arena tiles.

"Er…" Ryn said. "I guess I can tell you, seeing as everyone will know before too long…" I'll probably have to use them again to win my next match too, he though. "I have fire projection powers. I got them from a magical ruby which my father gave me before he died."

Rogar looked at Ryn for a few moments with his beady, vein-riddled eyes, peering out over the mass of beard and fat.

Ryn wasn't sure what was going on behind those eyes. Was the Morekemian angry, or confused, or had Ryn's explanation satisfied him? Was he about to congratulate Ryn, or try to continue their fight, or pick him up and eat him?

Then: "Ahahahahaha!" Rogar burst out laughing, and slapped Ryn hard on the back with one meaty hand, knocking the wind out of him and making him put out both his hands to break his fall.

"A magical ruby, he says!" Rogar guffawed, still laughing in between sentences. "That is a good one! Well, whatever you pulled out there, boy, I hope it takes you all the way to winning the final! Rogar thinks that his reputation will stay intact! Either you will beat everyone with your fire trick, or you will be disqualified for cheating and Rogar will be called upon again to fight!"

With that, the giant stalked off.

Ryn locked eyes with Nuthea from where he lay on the floor.

"Well, that was interesting…" he said. "I guess the people out there might not know about the Jewels. They might not understand where my fire attack came from."

"Yes," said Nuthea, helping him to his feet for the second time that day, "of course not. But that doesn't matter. Even if people don't understand where your fire projection came from, they will still talk about it, and sooner or later news of it will reach the Empire. That's why we've got to go and talk to the Governor. Come on."

Nuthea walked with Ryn through the underground preparation chamber and out of its back entrance. This led up to a large rectangular area of the arena audience specially marked off by stone walls, where combatants could watch the fighting if they wanted to.

It also contained a raised wooden platform guarded by monks, on which sat a number of Farrian officials and, on an elevated chair so he could see the fighting without distraction or obstruction, the Governor.

Nuthea made straight for the steps that led up to this platform. On the way she noticed that the lone dark cloud that had been occupying the sky earlier had grown in size, though it was still by itself. Odd.

The same sickly-looking Farrian minister who had originally granted them an audience with the Governor was standing at the foot of the steps to the platform.

"Not you again," he moaned, rolling his eyes. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk to the Governor," said Nuthea.

"Of course you do. And are you going to threaten me again in order to do so?"

Nuthea looked across her shoulder at Ryn, who in response immediately held out his hand, a small ball of fire appearing in his palm.

"Yes, yes!" snapped the Farrian. "Alright, alright, put it away. You've caused enough of a scene already today by doing that during your match. You can see him. But know that he won't be pleased that you're interrupting his viewing."

He stood aside with a grumble.

The governor was leant forward in his chair, watching the match intently, rubbing his chin with a chubby hand. When Nuthea and Ryn came and stood to one side of him, he didn't even acknowledge them. Nuthea could hear the crowd cheering and gasping at Sagar's match, but she couldn't bear to look at whatever was happening. There was too much at stake and she was too nervous for the sky-captain. She just hoped that he wasn't being humiliated by his Farrian opponent, especially as he had opted not to receive Vish's fighting lessons with the rest of them over their past week in the manse in Shun Pei.

"Excuse me, Lord Governor," she ventured with the impassive autocrat, "I need to speak with you about something."

The Governor humoured her with the briefest of looks, then returned to watching the fighting. "What is it?" he snapped. "Can't you see I'm busy? There's a tournament going on, for Eto's sake! Your Imfisi rogue is getting his backside served to him by one of our women. One of our women!"

Oh dear, Nuthea thought, wincing, but still refusing to to look. He won't like that at all.

She swallowed, ignoring the other ruler's rudeness. "Be that as it may, what I need to talk to you about is the tournament, actually."

Now the Governor finally broke off from watching and looked at her properly, scowling. "What?" he said, jowls quivering. "What is it? What's so important that you need to interrupt my viewing of Farr triumphing over you impetuous foreign travellers?"

Nuthea licked her lips. "I'm concerned that now Ryn here has made his fire projection abilities public, the Empire will get wind of them and come here looking for him."

"So what?" said the Governor. "You petitioned me to allow you to use your 'projections' in the tournament, if you needed to, Manolian, didn't you? And you got your way. Anyway, why would the Morekemians be interested in a single Efstanish boy with a pyrotechnic trick? They won't care."

Nuthea decided she didn't need to mention that she, Ryn and Sagar–possibly Cid, Vish and Elrann too–were all also wanted by the Empire with bounties on their heads. "But Lord Governor, remember the Empire have encountered the Fire Ruby before as well. They may even still have some troops that can project fire themselves. If they hear of another fire-projector they will associate it with the Ruby immediately and they may come here looking for it."

"So let them come!" said the Governor, turning to continue to watch the match. He grimaced for a moment and the crowd cheered, perhaps because Sagar had taken a particularly nasty hit, but Nuthea didn't want to know. "Morekemia may be powerful, but the Emperor has never openly challenged the might of Farr. If he dares to do so, we will simply crush them. It will be especially easy now that we have the Earth Emerald back again."

"But Governor…" Ryn chipped in, and Nuthea was grateful he did so because she was becoming exasperated with the Farrian leader and wasn't sure whether she could retain her politeness for much longer. He had forgotten the 'Lord', but never mind. "...don't you remember that earth-aligned people and creatures are vulnerable to harm from fire? That's the only reason that we were able to retrieve the Emerald from the Temple to Eto at all."

"Of that, I am sceptical," said the Governor. "I'm quite convinced that the only reason that you were able to retrieve the Emerald was because you had Huld with you, from the way you told it. If the Morekemians come here with fire-hurling, as you are so afraid of, we will repel and humiliate them with our greater mastery of Earth. You will see, petty foreigners, that Farr reigns supreme when Huld beats all of you, and everyone else, in this tournament, elemental projection or not. That will put your little minds at rest."

Oh for the sake of the One… Nuthea pulled her lips in tight to hold back from speaking her rare exasperated curse out loud. She decided to try another approach.

"But Lord Governor," she said, "even though Farr will doubtless claim victory in this tournament, what with your superior skill and mastery, I am not actually asking for the tournament to be called off."

"What?" barked the Governor. "You're not? What are you asking for, then? Why are you here wasting my time and distracting me from watching a fine fighting match?"

A 'fine fighting match'? That sounded a bit different. Maybe Sagar was holding his own after all… Nuthea was getting distracted.

"All I am asking is that you consider just…speeding up the tournament a little bit."

"Speeding it up?" said the Governor. "Why in Mid would I ever want to speed it up? Half of Farr is here come to watch, but as the tournament goes on over the next three days the other half will gather to watch too, and that is very good for national morale, and for our economy!"

"Yes, Lord Governor, but the longer the tournament goes on for, the more likely the Empire are to hear about Ryn's fire projection and arrive before…" She broke off, realising she had been about to say 'before we have claimed the Emerald'.

"Before what?" said the Governor with a withering look, daring her to say it.

"...before we have had a chance to move on."

The Governor snorted. "Well, that is just a chance you are going to have to take, Manolian." His eyes bulged at the match. "Oh! I wasn't expecting that to happen!"

What to happen? thought Nuthea, but still she did not look.

The Governor leaned back in his chair and threw up his hands. "Look–the match is over, and I didn't get to concentrate on it properly because I was talking to you." He turned to her, finally giving her his full attention. "Your suggestion is ridiculous, Manolian. Not least of all, the combatants need time to recover in between bouts. You can't expect the winners to fight the quarter final, semi-final and final all in the same day."

"Who won the ma–" said Ryn, looking round.

"Ah," said Nuthea, interrupting him, "but I have a solution to that. Amongst our party there is a skilled healer, Grandfather Cid, who has the Jewel-imparted gift of being able to revive people from their fatigue and injuries in an instant. Cid can heal the winning fighters after their matches so that they are able to fight again immediately after each match finishes."

"Aha," said the Governor, "so that is why you are so interested in speeding along this tournament! You seek to use your old man's charms on your own combatants, at the expense of the Farrians! That's been your plan all along!"

"Lord Governor, no! I would never even think to do such a thing! That's why I'm telling you about Cid's Jewel-gifted abilities. We offer you his services in the interests of protecting your own Jewel from the Empire."

"Or so you say. What's to stop you only healing your own combatants, and just pretending to heal the others?"

"Nuthea," said Ryn, "I think Sagar might have actually w–"

"I wouldn't have even considered doing that," Nuthea said, cutting him off again. "I am somewhat offended that you are suggesting I would even be capable of such a deception, Lord Governor. May I remind you that I am the ruling heir apparent of a sovereign nation?"

"Manolian, said the Governor, "my answer is no. The whole idea is ridiculous. Take your irritating requests somewhere else–or in fact, just do away with them all together! I will not change my mind on this matter."

Nuthea gritted her teeth, and just for a moment she fancied she felt sparks dancing along her arms, down to her fingertips, and that her lightning-projection was returning. But then the moment passed. Apparently even the earth-like obstinance of this stubborn man could not draw it out of her, or unblock her.

"Fine," said Nuthea, conscious she was imitating one of Sagar's less endearing catchwords, but not caring. "If you won't be persuaded, we shall just have to have to win this tournament on your own terms and take the Emerald away with us in three days' time. I just hope for your sake that the Empire doesn't hear of our location and come here before then. Come on, Ryn. Let's go and find out how Captain Sagar got on."

She made a derisive "Hmpf" sound through her closed mouth, then turned on her heel dramatically to walk away, leaving Ryn to follow her.

"You show your true colours, Manolian!" the Governor of Farr called after her. "You think you can win this, but you cannot! None can compete with the might of Farr–Manolia and Morekemia alike!"

As Nuthea and Ryn walked down the platform steps and back towards the entrance to the dugout, she noticed that the single grey cloud in the sky had now been joined by another one, and they were growing thicker.