The Cerulean Storm

by Denning, Troy

  “Give me my Lens, filthy child,” growled Rajaat’s booming voice.

  Rkard pressed his palm to the Dark Lens and cast his sun-spell. A ruby light flared deep inside the orb, and the entire lens flashed scarlet. Neeva caught a glimpse of Tithian’s gaunt form pressed against the bottom half of the obsidian globe, his arms spread wide and gripping the Lens. The king screamed in agony. Searing red flames burst over the Dark Lens’s glassy surface, and the orb erupted into a miniature version of the crimson sun. Tithian’s silhouette vanished into the inferno.

  Rkard heard Tithian scream and glanced down in time to see the king’s silhouette disappear into the flames. The boy wondered briefly where Tithian had come from, then he cowered down behind the crater rim, waiting for Rajaat to cast the spell that would obliterate him and half the hillside.

  The ancient sorcerer did not attack. Instead, he reached for the crimson fireball that was the Dark Lens. When his hands came near, the scarlet flames suddenly left the surface of the orb and shot across the basin. As the fire stream passed Rajaat, the flame evaporated half the clouds on his torso, then washed over the far wall with a tremendous roar.

  Rajaat’s shadow vanished beneath the fire storm. His cloud-covered body stopped moving, and his arms froze in place over the Lens. The fire curled back toward the center of the basin and formed a roiling ball of flame a dozen yards behind Rajaat. The fiery ball did not look so different from Rkard’s normal sun-spell, except that it was a hundred times as large and a thousand times as bright. Squinting against the brilliant light, the young mul stood to get a better look over the rim.

  “What are you doing?” cried a familiar voice. “Get down!”

  A pair of powerful arms seized Rkard by the waist and pulled him away from the rim.

  “Rikus!” The boy twisted around and threw his arms around the warrior’s neck. In the distance beyond, Rkard noticed that the storm that had carried Sadira away was breaking up. “You’re alive!”

  “Of course I am. Let’s make your mother happy and keep you that way, too,” Rikus responded. “What’s going on here?”

  Rikus pointed at Rajaat’s hands, which were still hanging motionless over the Dark Lens. The Lens itself was no longer burning, but its surface was glowing red. There was no sign of Tithian, save for a puddle of liquid steel that had once been his dagger.

  “I’m not sure what happened,” Rkard answered. “I cast my spell at Rajaat’s shadow, just like Sadira said. But I don’t think it worked. He just stopped moving.” Rikus frowned. “We’d better have a look.”

  Together, they crawled to the top of the rim and peered over. Rajaat’s cloud-covered body was beginning to boil away in the heat of Rkard’s giant sun-spell. The fireball was blazing so brightly that even the young sun-cleric could not look at it for more than a second. Nevertheless, what he saw in that time was more than enough to concern Rkard. A pair of blue diamonds stared out from inside the flaming orb, and they were staring straight at his face.

  Rkard ducked behind the rim again, pulling Rikus down beside him. “I think Rajaat’s caught inside my sun-spell.”

  Rikus smiled. “You trapped him?”

  “For now,” he said. “But what happens when my spell expires?”

  “We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen,” said Sadira’s voice.

  Rkard looked back to see the sorceress stepping off a small cloud. She was still dripping wet but appeared otherwise unaffected by her battle with the cyclone. A few paces below Sadira, the young mul’s mother was laboriously climbing up the hill.

  Rkard frowned and started to chastise her for walking, but Rikus caught the boy’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t say anything right now,” the warrior advised.

  Rkard nodded, then asked, “Are you well, Mother?”

  “Just fine, thanks to you,” she said.

  Rkard smiled then turned to Sadira. “I don’t know how the Dark Lens will affect my spell,” he said. “But it usually only lasts for a quarter-hour or so.”

  “We won’t need nearly that long,” the sorceress said. She reached into her pocket and fished out a small sliver of diamond. “This should keep your fire burning forever.”

  Sadira stepped near the Dark Lens and cast her spell. The diamond shard disappeared from between her fingers, and a stream of white light flowed into the obsidian. It emerged on the other side as a silvery river of magic energy, engulfing the fiery orb of Rkard’s sun-spell. Pearly wisps of flame began to shoot through the fireball, and it burned with a new brilliance.

  Rajaat’s crown exploded into a furious storm of energy, spreading a sheet of blue lightning across the sky. With a deafening thunderclap, the ancient sorcerer’s mouth fell open, spewing a stream of hail out over the flooded plain.

  For a moment, Rkard feared that their enemy would free himself, then Rajaat began to dissolve. The skeleton came apart first, slipping from the cloud-body and clattering into the basin in a heap. Next, the arms and legs floated away. The torso flattened out into a platter-shaped wafer, and the shoulders and head slowly melted into it. The ancient sorcerer’s crown was the last thing to disappear, forks of blue lightning still dancing in a circle as a turquoise fog spread over the entire basin.

  The cloud hovered near the top of the rim for a moment then suddenly spun up into the heavens and spread over the entire sky. Bolts of lightning crackled down from the dark shroud, while peals of thunder echoed off Ur Draxa’s distant walls. A heavy rain began to fall, pounding Rkard like a ruthless enemy, but the boy did not care. A short distance above the eastern horizon, he could see the sun’s halo shining through the angry tempest, and it was crimson.

  EPILOGUE

  SEVEN FIGURES STOOD ON THE HILL ABOVE THE GATE of Doom, all lost in their own thoughts. Neeva and Rkard kneeled at the edge of the cliff, looking down into the valley where Caelum had died, their heads bowed in silent contemplation. Sadira sat a short distance away, near Rikus, save that the Dark Lens rested on the ground between them.

  The two sorcerer-kings, Nibenay and Hamanu, and the sorcerer-queen, the Oba of Gulg, waited at the end of the ridge. They were looking across the Ring of Fire at the massive wall of steam that had arisen when Rajaat’s flood had finally overspilled the Draxan plain and had cascaded into the boiling lava lake below. More than anyone, the rulers seemed to sense that the time had come to rethink old ways, to forget old enmities, to find new approaches to the challenge of life on Athas.

  Rikus found himself wondering what this moment looked like to them, through cruel eyes that had already seen a countless chain of passing days. They appeared neither sad nor happy, and the mul wondered if it was even possible for them to have such emotions. Would this day be a turning point in their long lives, or was it simply a time when it had become necessary to form new alliances? He did not know the answer and suspected they did not either. For now, only one thing was important: a truce had been struck, and once the terms were met, there would no longer be a reason to fight—at least not until they had all returned home and had recovered enough to think of new reasons.

  The Oba turned to Sadira and nodded. The sorceress stood and wrapped her ebony arms around the Lens then picked it up. Rikus did not stand with her, for those were not the terms of the agreement. Sadira had to do this alone, for Nibenay and Hamanu were as weary and mistrustful of the Tyrians as the Tyrians were of them.

  As Sadira started forward, a thunderbolt crackled down from the sky, and another torrential downpour began. No one paid it much attention, for it was not the first rainstorm that had burst over the valley.

  Then a sharp voice boomed. “Stop!”

  Rikus leaped up, his empty hands tensed into weapons, and Sadira put the Dark Lens down, already preparing to cast a spell through it. Rkard also stood, raising his hand toward the crimson sun, and even Neeva, wincing with pain, pushed herself to her feet. The Athasian rulers reacted just as quickly, the Oba and Hamanu furrowing their brows as they prepared to use the Way, while Nibenay turned his palm
toward the ground.

  “You can’t do this!” said the voice. Something about it seemed faintly familiar, but there was a strained, sizzling tone that made the voice difficult for Rikus to place. “Stop. I demand it!”

  A sphere of blue mist formed in the rains, hovering in the space between Sadira and the sorcerer-kings. It began to ripple and waver, slowly taking on the ghostly features of an old man’s gaunt, sharp-featured face.

  “Tithian!” Rikus gasped. “I thought you were dead!”

  Another bolt of lightning danced across the sky, and a peal of thunder shook the entire ridge. “Not dead, imprisoned. Before you destroy the Lens, free me.”

  “To do what?” demanded Neeva, limping to Rikus’s side. “Become king of Athas?”

  “No,” the head replied, his face suddenly growing pained and lonely. “Kill me if you wish, but you can’t leave me here.”

  “And what will happen if we do, Usurper?” demanded Nibenay, a crooked smile spreading across his thin snout. “Will you make it rain on us?”

  The sorcerer-king lowered his hand and chuckled. Hamanu and the Oba also began to chortle, their faces growing more relaxed and less suspicious.

  “If you can strike me down, do it now,” said Sadira, staring into Tithian’s watery eyes. “That’s the only way you’ll stop me.”

  The wind began to howl, and the rain came down harder. More thunder crashed over the ridge, and forks of lightning danced through the sky—all without touching Sadira or anyone else.

  “I thought as much,” said Sadira, stepping straight through the king’s misty face. “Make it storm all you like. Athas needs the rain.”

  Another crash of thunder rumbled overhead, and more lightning danced through the dark clouds. Rikus chuckled then tipped his head back and opened his mouth, allowing the cool water to pour into his mouth. So did Rkard, and Neeva as well. Soon, everyone on the ridge was drinking water straight from the sky, making good use of Tithian’s bluster.

  Tithian finally grew tired of his humiliation. “Without me, you would never have slain the Dragon,” he said, letting his image dissolve into mist. “All I ask is that you repay me with a merciful death.”

  “You killed Borys because you wanted to be immortal—now you are,” scoffed the Oba, signaling Sadira to come forward.

  The rainstorm died as suddenly as it had arisen, and the sorceress carried the Dark Lens to the edge of the ridge. Without pause, she hurled the obsidian orb into the lava lake. She and the others watched it fall. When it hit, a long, steady rumble rolled up from deep within the Ring of Fire, and the entire hill began to shake. At last, there was a deafening crash, and a plume of black flame shot up from the lake. It rose high into the sky, piercing Tithian’s storm clouds like an arrow, and arced toward the sun.

  When it finally disappeared, the Oba nodded. “It is done,” she said and began to walk away.

  Nibenay cast a cold glance in Rikus’s direction then also started toward home.

  Hamanu waited a few moments before following, pausing as he passed the mul’s side. “I once told you that there is a difference between daring and insolence,” he said. “I trust you will remember that difference in future dealings between Tyr and Urik.”

  Rikus nodded. “As long as you keep in mind the difference between men and chattel—at least as far as Tyrians are concerned.”

  “I always do,” replied the sorcerer-king. “It is my slaves who forget.”

  Hamanu left, leaving Rikus and the others alone. They watched the three rulers for a short time, until the trio grew tired of walking, and each took flight in a different direction.

  Once they were out of sight, Rikus let out a deep sigh of relief. “We made it this far,” he said. “We should start for home ourselves.”

  Neeva’s mouth tightened with sadness, and tears began to well in her green eyes. “I guess we’d better.” She looked away and wiped her cheeks, then laid her hand on Rkard’s shoulder and began to limp down the hill. “Home is a long way off.”

  Rikus felt Sadira’s hand pushing him after the warrior. When the mul looked back, he saw wisps of black shadow rising from the corners of her emberlike eyes.

  She smiled with genuine joy. “Go,” she whispered.

  The mul returned her smile, though with a little more sadness than hers, and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you.”

  “And I love you,” she replied, giving him another gentle push. “But Neeva and Rkard need you.”

  The mul nodded, then turned and caught up to Neeva and her son. “Have you given much thought to where home will be now?” he asked.

  The warrior shrugged. “In Kled, I suppose,” she said. “It is Rkard’s home.”

  “Maybe he’d like to live in Tyr,” Rikus suggested. “We could take him to Kemalok as often as he likes.”

  The boy’s face lit up. “You mean we could live with you and Sadira?”

  The mul frowned, not quite sure how to answer this question.

  “No, you’d just live with Rikus, in his townhouse,” said Sadira, stepping to Neeva’s side. “When I return, I’ll stay at Agis’s estate—but you could come to visit.”

  Neeva looked from Sadira to Rikus, her brow furrowed and her lips tightly pursed. “You two have this all worked out, don’t you?” she asked.

  Rikus felt the heat rising to his face. “Yes,” he said. “I guess we do.”

  Neeva shook her head in amazement then slipped her arm through Rikus’s. “Then it seems Rkard and I have no choice in the matter.” She grasped Sadira’s hand and squeezed it warmly. “We’ll go back to Tyr.”

  “Good,” said Sadira. “I’m looking forward to seeing you there.”

  Neeva frowned. “Seeing us there?” she asked.

  Sadira nodded. “I’ll be staying here for a few weeks,” she said. “There are some wards that I must place around Rajaat’s new prison. Tithian is not the only mortal on Athas who lusts after immortality, and I intend to be certain that I know if anyone else attempts to achieve it by freeing Rajaat.”

  Rikus and Neeva glanced at each other. “I guess that means we’ll be staying, too,” Rikus said. “We can’t cross the Sea of Silt without you.”

  Sadira smiled. “Of course you can.”

  The sorceress pursed her lips and began to blow. Black shadow billowed from her mouth, and she used her hands to form it into the shape of a boat. Soon, the wispy image of a dhow sat before them, although it had no sail or keel. Sadira tossed a jagged piece of black basalt into the bilge and spoke her incantation. The dhow turned as solid as stone, then rose off the ground and hovered in the air before them.

  “Don’t try to fly too far in one day. You have to set down on a mudflat or island each day before dark.” The sorceress reached over the gunnel and pointed to the rock she had thrown into the bilge. “In the morning, hold the stone up to the sun, and the boat will form again.”

  Rikus helped Neeva into the boat. As Rkard climbed in beside his mother, the mul faced Sadira. “Hurry back,” he said. “We’ll miss you until you return.”

  Sadira took Rikus’s arm and guided him toward the boat’s tiller. “You have a long journey ahead,” she said. “And remember, you need to make landfall before dark.”

  The mul climbed into the stern. Sadira kissed him on the cheek and gave the dhow a shove. The little craft streaked into the sky, climbing through a thin layer of clouds and into the full fury of the crimson sun.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many people contributed to the writing of this book and the creation of the series. I would like to thank you all. Without the efforts of the following people, especially, Athas might never have seen the light of the crimson sun: Mary Kirchoff and Tim Brown, who shaped the world as much as anyone; Brom, who gave us the look and feel; Jim Lowder, for his inspiration and patience; Lloyd Holden of the AKF Martial Arts Academy in Janesville, WI, for contributing his expertise to the fight scenes; Andria Hayday, for support and encouragement; and Jim Ward, for enthusiasm, support, a
nd much more.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Troy Denning is The New York Times best-selling author of Waterdeep, STAR WARS: Star by Star, and more than two dozen other novels, including Pages of Pain, Dragonwall, and STAR WARS: Tatooine Ghost. Prism Pentad remains one of his most popular series, and he is proud to see it return to print in these fine editions. A former game designer and editor, Troy lives in western Wisconsin with his wife, Andria.

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