Freya hurt. Her whole body ached, starting from a point about a foot above her head and extending out to an area about the size of Serenity’s cargo bay. She groaned slightly, and forced her eyes open. Sand. Yellow and gritty. Great. She seemed to be lying on a beach. Now, if only there was a cool blue ocean just a few steps away …

She lifted her head, and realised she was inside somewhere she recognised all too well. “Gos se.”

“Miss Nordstrom. How nice to see you again.”

Freya got shakily to her feet and looked around. “Wish I could say the same.”

She stood in the centre of an arena, built from blocks of the yellow stone. About thirty yards across, the perimeter was a wall about fifteen feet high, with a much smaller, knee high wall six feet inside that. Guards stood at intervals between the two. In front of Freya, though, was a raised dais, surrounded by rich brocades, with a chair that could only be described as a throne on it. A man sat there, leaning back and studying her intently, a smile playing around his lips. He was in early middle age, and might once have been described as handsome, but his appetites had outgrown his body.

Freya, aware that her gunbelt and knife sheath had been taken off her, tried to move forward, but an odd sensation stopped her. She lifted a hand and pushed slowly, encountering a field that flashed green and stung like a thousand bees. She stepped back quickly, trying to shake the pain from her hand. “This is new,” she said.

“Yes. I've made quite a few improvements since you were here last. Just out of interest, how did you get away?” Edwin Maice leaned forward.

“Magic.” Freya glared insolently at him.

“You won’t be quite so flippant soon enough,” Maice said, waving a hand in dismissal. “So waste your time on your witticisms now.” He took a small box from his waistcoat pocket and pressed a sequence of buttons. He pointed over to the far side of the arena, to where a break in the wall indicated an entrance. “Please. Be funny now.”

S