"I have to ?"

  "Ride with me and try to kill Slaughterborne and his man," Atrax says, strapping a long articulated strip of armor plate to his forearm.

  The City and the people of the Sinister Waste apparently do not agree on the terminology here.

  "The second rides in the rear of the trike and fights while the driver drives," another clansman says. He looks worriedly between me and Atrax. "I would have thought you'd want Grindau to ride second."

  Another man, presumably Grindau, gives a grunt of agreement. He looks like a good choice, squat and well-muscled, face covered in scars. Veteran of a hundred challenges, most likely. Works with Atrax all the time. Definitely the sort that you'd want in your corner.

  "Grindau is a mighty warrior," Atrax says calmly. "And I would have taken him, given the choice. But these are the conditions under which Slaughterborne offers us a chance, so I will accept them."

  "Can we talk?" I venture.

  "Give me a moment with my second," he says to the others.

  The clanspeople retreat to a polite distance. We're sitting on the ground in the middle of our circle of trikes, while all around us the cannibal horde screams threats and abuse. It makes it hard to maintain equanimity, but Atrax handles it with an almost supernatural aplomb. Then again, this is the guy who was discussing riding to certain death like it was going to dinner.

  "So we're definitely going to die, right?" I say.

  "No."

  "No? Who is Slaughterborne likely to pick as his second?"

  "That mad priest Hunter, if I'm any judge."

  I picture the harpoon-handed war-priest in the back of a trike, trying his best to murder me. "And I'm supposed to fight him?"

  "Yes."

  "So --"

  "We're going to die," Atrax says with a grin. "Which is a considerable improvement in our position. Your plan was a success!"

  "Not … exactly." I let out a long breath. "Okay. How can we cheat?"

  "We don't need to cheat. We just need to win."

  "But --"

  "No cheating."

  "You think Slaughterborne will fight fair?"

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  He frowns. "Probably not."

  "Then I think we should take some precautions." I smooth a patch of dirt between us. "How does this challenge actually work?"

  Atrax explains. Past the camp, the canyon gets even deeper and splits into several branches. One of these runs out to a flat-topped island of stone known as Redtop. The goal is to drive down it, circle Redtop, and arrive back at the camp before your opponent. A simple race, except that murdering the other contestant along the way is apparently encouraged, a feature missing from most City athletic competitions. Each racer gets a second and three harpoons, along with as much melee weaponry as they care to carry.

  At the far end, when we're passing around Redtop, we'll be out of sight of the camp. If Slaughterborne wants to retain his legitimacy in the eyes of his own people, any skullduggery can't be obvious, so that seems like the place to expect it. While Atrax starts last-minute maintenance on his personal trike, I slip through the waiting clansmen to find a small, cloaked figure at the back.

  Theo had wanted to come, of course, but Atrax had forbidden it. I can see his point; if things go badly, none of us are getting out of here. I told Quarter and the others to stay behind as well, and to take the cutter and lose themselves in the desert if I didn't come back. One tail, however, I'd been unable to shake.

  "M --"

  "Shh. Remember, quiet." I bend close to her level. "Down the canyon a ways there's a rock island. Climb up the wall, get to it, and wait for my call. , you understand?"

  The hood rustles as she nods.

  ***

  We edge up to the start line, surrounded by the roar of engines and the stink of burning viscid.

  Atrax and his clansmen have stripped his trike down for speed, removing the extra handles, padding, and cargo racks. What's left is a triangular metal frame with a driver's seat and controls behind the front wheel, a wider rear bucket with the seats removed, and the snorting bulk of the engine between the back wheels.

  In addition to my sword and the black knife, I've got three brutal-looking harpoons, the metal heads barbed, the shafts made of roughened roach chitin. Grindau gave me a perfunctory lesson in how to throw them, but I have little confidence in my ability to hit anything. I plan on saving them unless we're right up close.

  Slaughterborne's trike has the same basic design, but somewhat larger and with a lot more spikes. I mocked the raider's spikes as pointless last time, but in the context of driving at close quarters down a narrow canyon they suddenly seem somewhat more than decorative. A huge flag with an icon of the Fifth flaps from a canted flagpole. Slaughterborne settles into the front seat with the air of long familiarity, his hands brushing well-worn controls, while the one-armed priest Hunter clambers into the back and gives me his shark-toothed smile.

  "You're a long way from the City, Dextral," he shouts over the revving engines all around us. "I hope there's enough left of you that I can have a taste. I hear you people are sweet as roach-honey."

  "We're agreed on the terms?" Slaughterborne yells. "You gave instructions?"

  In the heat of the moment I've almost forgotten the game we're running. I nod. "In the event of my demise, my assistant will follow through."

  "Ha!" He settles thick goggles down over his eyes. "I like a man who plans ahead."

  "Ready?" the one-eyed woman calls from the sideline.

  Slaughterborne waves impatiently. Atrax gives a thumbs up.

  "Then " she shouts, and the roar of the engines blots out the world.

  Acceleration punches me in the gut and I slam against the back of the bucket, hands gripping the rail tight. The world tilts as torque lifts the front half of the trike into the air, driver and all. The tires scream and smoke as they tear at the sandy floor of the canyon. There's a moment of suspended time, as though the trike is going to ignore gravity entirely and leap into the air. Then normal physics resumes with a bone-shaking lurch and we bounce wildly as the front wheel slams back to earth. A wake of sparks and dust scatters behind us. Through it, like a roaring beast, comes Slaughterborne.