“See? He already has a good grasp of basic strategy.” Tsernogard regarded his son fondly as the toddler crawled determinedly across the campaign table. Zanth stopped and planted himself firmly on one of Port Town’s major supply lines, running his pudgy little hands over colorful map markers denoting potential strike points. The tyke cooed, and Tsernogard grinned, tucking an arm fondly around the waste of his consort. Scharossor smiled demurely, liquid black eyes reflecting the torchlight of the war room, and seemed about to say something when a sharp rapping noise at the door interrupted her. The fatherly smile vanished instantly from Tsernogard’s face, his visage smoothing over into its usual look of dour concentration. He pulled away from the succubus, gesturing absently for her to leave has he walked over to open the main doors for his generals. Zanth looked over his mother’s shoulder as she scooped him up and walked quickly out the rear entrance, his eyes never leaving his father. Scharossor noticed the boy’s fixed gaze as she quietly closed the door and laughed softly to herself. “We all feel the same way, darling. Once you’ve seen him, you can never look away.”

Zanth woke up with a start as his head was slammed hard against the metal bed of Death’s truck. Hissing out a string of curses, the bastard son of Tsernogard scrambled into a sitting position, probing his face to see if it was damaged. It was not. The next several awkward minutes were spent untangling himself from the pile of prone slaves he’d ended up in and becoming upright. Finally regaining his feet, he heard the car doors slam and Nemain chattering loudly but unintelligibly. Hopping out the back of the truck bed, Zanth pulled all the kids to their feet and marched his whole crew around to the front of the truck.
He took a moment to examine his surroundings. It seemed that he had fallen asleep as he and his companions were traveling in the magic metal chariot (which was understandable considering the duration of that flight and the mental strain the Between inflicted on those crossing it, Zanth reasoned to himself, nonetheless slightly embarrassed) and they had now arrived at the site of this grand competition. They stood in the shadow of an enormous wall of smooth, unidentifiable stone, rising more than 100 feet to block out the golden afternoon sunlight. Directly in front of them, a gigantic gate shaped like a gear sat open just enough to have allowed Death’s strange vehicle to pass through. Following the wall with his eyes, he saw it run smoothly, paralleling a second wall so that it formed a passageway about 50 feet wide that curved out of sight 90 degrees to the left and right. Nemain and Death were arguing about music, and the god didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry, so Zanth walked back around to the rear of the truck. In front of him was a large crowd of people, obviously all drawn from different places judging by their wildly varying physiology, clothes, and weaponry, and beyond them, another smooth wall. A number of man-sized doors studded the wall, black squares like missing teeth set at regular intervals along the curve, presumably all the way around to the other side. The doors were barred with close-set, strong looking lengths of steel, and conveyed a sense of space beyond the darkness. I’ll bet that whatever lies ahead for us lies through one of those doors. Mentally filing the barred portals under ‘to be investigated’, he regarded the large crowd of people that milled between him and the inner wall.
[Certainly a motley assortment, yes?] The dry comment echoed in Zanth’s mind as a sudden chill indicated that Thobricus had floated back to join him. [A strange gathering of creatures as ever I have seen. Do you suppose that our task is to eliminate all of these lesser beings?] The chill of the ghostlich’s presence deepened as Thobricus’ magic reacted to his anticipation of such large-scale carnage. Zanth sidestepped away from the specter, glaring in irritation at the frost that now rimmed his armor. “Be careful!” he snapped. “And put any plans out of your mind until our host gives specific instructions.” Grimly he recalled the blur with which Nemain’s sword had been deflected. “As strange and disarming as this particular death god may be, he is not one to cross.” Thobricus rotated in the air to regard him, his mental tone conveying skepticism and faint contempt. [Yes, master.] Zanth was too distracted by the sight of some torn red fabric still frozen around the ghostlich’s eye socket to take offence.

A sudden noise made both of them spin around. With a roar and a shower of dirt, Death’s iron chariot was rabidly retreating through the gate while Nemain waved blithely after it. The grinding of Zanth’s teeth echoed the grinding of the gate as it rolled back in to place, sealing them into the Labyrinth. Zanth stalked up and grabbed a handful of feathers, earning him an indignant squawk and a smack that nearly left his arm numb. Nemain immediately looked sorry and Zanth didn’t press the point, unobtrusively trying to rub some sensation back into his hand. “Come on. I have a feeling something nasty is going to happen to that crowd, and given how many doors there are, there is no need to strive for the ones nearest the main entrance just because we were dropped off here.” Nemain stared at him blankly and he sighed. “Let’s find a different door without so many people.” This elicited a nod, and the trio began following the curve of the wall around to the left.

The mass of people in front of the main gate receded from view, thinning out into a handful of individuals who apparently had the same idea as Zanth. He noticed that they were mostly in pairs or groups of three, which made sense if Death gave everyone the same restrictions. Continuing to walk in the shadow of the outer ring, the trio encountered less and less people. Finally, as Zanth estimated that they’d arrived at a point directly opposite the main gate, there was only one lone figure nearby, a little girl who sat against the wall and seemed absorbed in talking quietly to the canvas doll she had on her lap. Zanth glanced at her and quickly turned away, a gnawing hunger pressing against his mind that had nothing to do with his stomach. Nemain saw the look at clacked her beak. “Rawk. You want?” The demigoddess was unusually quick on the uptake. “I get for you?” She started to stalk toward the girl, and Zanth opened his mouth to say something when suddenly a crack of static rent the air. The feedback resolved into a familiar male voice.

“So, everyone all set and ready to get started? Good.” Death chuckled. “Oh, there’s one thing I forgot. Each of those barred doors will only let one team into the next part of the Labyrinth. First come, first serve, y’know?”

The voice clicked off and for a moment complete silence reigned as everyone, including the trio, stared at each other in surprise. Then the meaning dawned and a tumult of voices and sounds of combat erupted from the other side of the arena where most of the competitors were clustered. It would have been nice to have a moment to savor his excellent tactical decision of moving away from the main gate, but Zanth was too busy sprinting for the nearest doorway to enjoy a nice ego stroke. His slaves were half-running, half-being-dragged behind him, and he could see Nemain and Thobricus keeping pace in his peripheral vision. The last thing he saw as he and his team dived headlong into the hungry darkness was the little girl ducking into the next doorway to his left.