The Verdant Passage

by Denning, Troy

  The noble smiled. “Because Tithian doesn’t want to die,” Agis said. “When he hears that Kalak wants to become a dragon, and what that will mean to Tyr, the high templar will see that his best chance of survival lies in our success.”

  “How do you know Tithian will believe you?” Neeva objected. “Or that he won’t think Kalak intends to spare him?”

  “We don’t need to convince Tithian of anything,” Agis countered. “He was already frightened when the king told him to lock the stadium. He’ll be even more frightened when I tell him the reason.”

  Before they had left the forest, Nok had revealed everything he knew about dragons. One of the things he had mentioned was that Kalak’s incubation would require the life-force of tens of thousands of people. Of course, the companions had immediately realized that this was why the king wanted the stadium sealed.

  Agis continued, “Besides, there are two more good reasons for me to be close to Tithian. First, if he tries to sound an alarm when you and Rikus take the field, I’ll kill him. Even if he does betray us, that might give you enough tune to finish Kalak.”

  “Before the templars kill us,” Rikus added. “I still don’t like this plan. I’m here to help Sadira and Neeva. I don’t care about a mob of citizens who are here because they enjoy watching slaves chop each other up. As far as I’m concerned, the crowd deserves whatever Kalak does to them.”

  “And what about the rest of Tyr?” Neeva asked. “You heard Nok. Once Kalak becomes a dragon, he isn’t going to stop killing once be leaves the stadium. He’ll annihilate Tyr and probably the entire valley as well.”

  “We’re not going to save any lives if we die before we have a chance to attack the king,” Rikus replied. “On the other hand, we could be certain of saving thousands of lives by spending the afternoon warning those who didn’t go to the games.”

  “Rikus, this is about more than saving lives,” Agis said. “It’s about liberty—”

  “We have our liberty,” the mul responded. “That’s what matters to me.”

  “This isn’t about liberty either,” Sadira interrupted. “It’s about evil. If someone had stopped the sorcerer-kings a thousand years ago, Athas wouldn’t be the terrible place it is today. If we don’t stop Kalak now, who knows what the world will be like tomorrow?”

  “I understand that,” Rikus answered, “but you and Neeva—and even Agis, I suppose—are more important to me than all of Tyr. I’ll help you fight Kalak, but I don’t want any part of getting any of you killed.”

  “Perhaps it won’t come to that,” Agis said. “That’s the other reason I want to be near Tithian when we attack. If anyone can save us after Kalak dies, it will be him.”

  “That’s a nice thought, but I don’t see why he would,” Neeva said, shaking her head. “After Kalak dies, Tithian will want to hide his part in the assassination. It’ll be in his interest to make sure that everyone who knows about his involvement is killed.”

  “Which is why I’ll be nearby,” Agis countered. “The threat of an immediate and painful death will persuade Tithian to help us escape—that much I can promise.”

  “It’s better than anything I’ve thought of,” Rikus admitted.

  “Good,” Sadira said. “Now that we’re all happy, let’s go.” She started toward the stadium before anyone could debate the issue further.

  “I didn’t say I was happy,” Rikus grumbled, laying the spear over his shoulder and starting after her.

  Agis stepped to his side. “I’ll help you and Neeva get into the stadium,” he offered. “As … slaves you might have some difficulty …”

  “I think they know us here,” the mul said with a smile of pride.

  The mul motioned to Neeva, then walked across the street to the nearest gate. As the pair of famous gladiators entered the dark passageway, the guards moved aside and tipped their polearms in salute.

  Rikus and Neeva stepped into the arena. The crowd’s thunder shook even the granite foundations of Tyr’s mighty colosseum. The two gladiators paused in the arched entryway to let their eyes adjust to the bright light. The mob roared even louder. Moments later, the matched pair walked toward the center of the fighting arena, leaving behind them the stale stench of wine and sweat that hung close to the stands.

  As usual, both gladiators were lightly armored and armed, for they believed in fighting with mobility as well as strength. They were dressed in the emerald-green battle array that Neeva had selected before they came to the stadium. Rikus wore nothing but a breechcloth, leather cuirass, bone skullcap, and spiked cops upon both his knees and elbows. For a weapon, he carried the Heartwood Spear.

  Neeva was armed with the steel-bladed trikal Agis had given her. In addition to her breechcloth and chest halter, she wore an ivory-horned helm and a pair of shoulder pauldrons from which hung a winglike cape. Long gauntlets covered her forearms, and a pair of greaves with spiked knee cops protected her shins.

  When the pair reached the center of the immense sand field, they stopped and acknowledged their ovation by raising their weapons to the crowd. The stadium was as full as Rikus had ever seen it. In the grandstands, people sat in every available space, completely blocking the aisles and stairs. The balconies overhead were more crowded. Spectators even sat at the edge of the overhang, clinging to the rope railing to keep from being pushed off their precarious perches.

  It seemed to Rikus that every person in the stands was yelling or screaming or slapping their palms against the stone seats. He could hear his name being shouted in a thousand places all at once. The mul wondered if any of those showering him with adulation now would try to help him or Neeva when he threw the spear into Kalak’s heart.

  After acknowledging the crowd’s applause, the gladiators bowed to the ziggurat looming over the western end of the arena. Next they faced the High Templars’ Gallery, a small seating box protruding from the grandstand balcony. Its back and sides were screened to hide the occupants from the people in the stands, and a yellow canopy hung over it to provide shade. Though the resulting shadows prevented Rikus from seeing into the gallery itself, he hoped that one of the figures watching from the darkness was Agis.

  “Tell me, on whom should I place my wager, Rikus or Kalak?” Tithian asked, leaning toward Agis to make himself heard above the din of the stadium.

  “Rikus, of course,” Agis answered. He looked toward the King’s Balcony, where Kalak’s wrinkled face could be seen just above the railing. “If you bet on Kalak, you lose—no matter what.”

  The high templar raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  Agis nodded, then leaned closer to Tithian’s ear. Speaking just loud enough to make himself heard, the noble reported what they had learned from Nok. There was a small risk that Kalak was magically eavesdropping on their conversation, of course, but Agis suspected the king would have other things on his mind at the moment.

  Tithian’s face paled, and he slumped back into his well-padded chair. “I suppose I should find this too incredible to believe.”

  “Do you?” asked the noble.

  The high templar shook his head.

  “Then you’re with us?” Agis asked, leaning close to Tithian’s ear.

  As a matter of routine, the senator had been searched before being allowed into the gallery and was unarmed. Nevertheless, his command of the Way was always with him. If he did not receive a satisfactory answer from his old friend, Agis was prepared to kill the high templar.

  “I never said I would help, only that I wouldn’t stand in your way,” Tithian answered. “I’ve kept my word, as is obvious from the fact that you’re here and my gladiators are down there.” He pointed toward the center of the arena, where Rikus and Neeva still waited his answer to their salute.

  “There are no bystanders in this,” Agis said. “You’re either with us or against us.”

  Tithian met his friend’s menacing gaze evenly. “I’ll want something in return.”

  “What?”

  The templar sh
rugged. “It depends on what you want me to do.”

  “What we need should be a simple matter for someone of your authority,” Agis said. “Just get us out of here after Rikus throws the spear.”

  Tithian closed his eyes and let an ironic sigh escape his lips. “Agis, I’m not in charge of the security force,” he said. “Kalak assigned that responsibility to Larkyn.”

  In the center of the field, Rikus was beginning to fear that he had been right not to trust Tithian. At any moment, he expected a detachment of half giants to rush into the arena, or a pair of magical lightning bolts to streak out of the gallery and destroy both him and Neeva.

  He waited. Nothing happened, save that the din in the stands rose to a fevered frenzy. The two gladiators stood motionless in the stifling afternoon heat, the stale odor of the morning’s blood and death lingering in the sands.

  At last Tithian stepped to the edge of the porch, where Rikus and Neeva eould see him. He acknowledged their salute by waving a black scarf. “It’s about time,” Rikus growled, spinning on his heel to face the eastern end of the arena.

  “Don’t complain,” Neeva countered, also turning. “It looks like Agis was right about Tithian.”

  This time, the two gladiators faced the Golden Tower, where the King’s Balcony overlooked the end of the fighting field. A single pair of half-giant guards stood on each side of the balcony, flanking a huge throne of jade. The throne sat at the front edge of the small box. The pate of Kalak’s bald head, his golden diadem, and his dark eyes were barely visible above the balcony’s front wall.

  “I hope he stands up when I’m ready to throw the spear,” Rikus said, dipping his weapon to the king. “Even at half this distance, his head isn’t much of a target.”

  Kalak did not keep them waiting nearly as long as Tithian had. After the formality of a two-second wait, a half-giant bodyguard motioned the pair to a corner of the arena. As they went to their starting positions, Rikus studied the other gladiators on the fighting field.

  On each side of the arena stood six matched pairs. Some were full humans or half-elves, rough-looking men and women who had been sold into the pits to pay their debts or as punishment for a crime. There were also several representatives of more exotic races, including a set of hulking baazrags, two purple-scaled nikaals, and a pair of stooped gith.

  Rikus recognized only a few of the other fighters. In the opposite corner stood Chilo and Felorn, a skilled pair of tareks. Like muls, tareks were big, musclebound, and hairless. Their heads, however, were square and big-boned, with sloping foreheads and massive brow ridges. They had flat noses with flared nostrils and a domed muzzle full of sharp teeth. Neither tarek wore armor of any kind, and each carried two weapons: a steel handfork that could serve equally well as a parrying tool or a slicing weapon, and a bone heartpick, a hammerlike weapon with a serrated pick on the front and a heavy, flat head on the back.

  To Rikus’s right stood a hairy half-giant carrying an obsidian axe with a head as large as a dwarf. His partner was a full-blooded elven woman armed with a whip of bone and cord. The mul did not know the elf, but the half-giant was a former guard named Gaanon, whom he had wounded in a contest a year earlier. For armor, Gaanon wore a leather hauberk that a normal man could have used as a tent. The elf wore a bronze pauldron covering her left shoulder and a spiked gauntlet on her right arm.

  Upon noticing that she was being studied, the elf gave Rikus a twisted smile. The mul did not know whether she meant the gesture to be polite or intimidating, but it made him think she was looking forward to battle. He shrugged and looked away, turning his attention back to his own partner. “Any sign of Sadira in the noble booths?”

  “Not that I’ve seen,” Neeva replied. “Don’t you trust her charms to get her into position?”

  “I trust her charms,” Rikus said, giving his fighting partner a warm grin. “But maybe not as much as I trust your trikal.”

  “I hope you remember that when this is finished,” she returned, giving him a meaningful glance.

  A loud creak echoed throughout the stadium drawing the attention of gladiator and spectator alike to the center of the arena. A great bulge formed in the sand as an immense pair of doors began to open. Excited murmurs of curiosity rustled through the crowd, for those huge doors covered a subterranean staging area where Tithian stored building-sized props. They seldom opened unless some special amusement was being raised into the arena.

  Today was no exception. As the doors reached their locked position, a familiar orange shell rose out of the pit. A pair of barbed, arm-length mandibles protruded from the underside of one end of the shell.

  “The gaj!” Sadira whispered, watching the beast rise out of the prop area.

  She stood on the terrace above the noble tiers, having spent the last two hours trying in vain to work her way into position. Unfortunately, because the stadium was so crowded, common spectators had been trying to sneak into the lower tiers since early morning. The nobles had complained bitterly and now the half-giant guards at the top of each row would not allow anyone down the stairs unless someone in a booth vouched for the newcomer.

  As Sadira watched the gaj rise out of the pit, she soon saw that it sat atop Kalak’s obsidian pyramid. Hoping that the spectacular object would supply the distraction she needed, she worked her way down the terrace until she found a guard who seemed more interested in the arena than in his job. The sorceress took a deep breath, then boldly stepped past the half-giant’s hip.

  A huge hand descended in front of her. “Where are you going?” demanded a deep voice. The half-giant did not look down to see whom he addressed.

  Sadira fixed her eyes on the one vacancy in the throng below, then rapped the guard’s knuckles with the pommel of her cane. “To my seat!”

  “Oww!” The half-giant pulled his hand away and looked down, astonished.

  Sadira started to step past.

  “I’m sorry,” the half-giant said, fixing his baggy eyes on her face. “I do remember you from—”

  The guard furrowed his brow, and Sadira instantly realized that she had a problem.

  “Pegen!” the half-giant gasped. He latched onto her shoulder. “You’re the one who made me look like a fool at the city gate! You killed Pegen!”

  “In the name of—” Sadira hissed, cursing her bad luck.

  She spun around and swung her cane at the guard’s groin, which on a half-giant was at perfect striking level for her. He groaned and released her shoulder, reaching for the bone club he had left leaning against the terrace wall.

  Sadira resisted the temptation to use magic, for she was in plain view of much of the stadium. Instead, she slipped past the guard and ran for an exit tunnel. The half-giant followed, yelling orders for her to stop and threatening dire consequences if she did not obey. The scene evoked a few chuckles from those in the immediate vicinity, but the sound of Tithian’s magically-augmented voice quickly drew their attention back to the obsidian pyramid.

  “The rules of the game are simple: the last pair of gladiators able to stand on the summit of the pyramid will win the contest.”

  Though Sadira wondered what was happening in the arena, she did not dare pause to look. The half-giant lagged only a few steps behind her.

  All around the stadium, loud bangs began to sound from the entryways as the gates came crashing down. Realizing that she was about to be cut off from the streets, the sorceress ducked into the nearest exit. The clatter of chains rang through the rock archway, and the templars at the far end of the tunnel leaped into the street. A huge gate crashed to the ground and blocked the short passageway. Sadira was trapped.

  Kalak rose and stepped to the edge of his balcony. “Let the games begin!”

  The other gladiators charged toward the pyramid, which a group of templars had levitated into position in front of Kalak’s balcony. Neeva started to follow, but Rikus quickly grasped her shoulder.

  “Let everyone else fight for a bit. The gaj will keep them from claimin
g the prize too soon,” he said, pointing to the top of the glassy pyramid, where the murderous beast still sat. “Besides, if Kalak stays at the edge of his balcony, we might get a clear throw at him from below.”

  “What about Agis and Sadira?” Neeva asked. “You can’t attack if they’re not ready.”

  “They’d better be watching,” Rikus said.

  Ahead of them, Gaanon drew first blood by leveling a vicious swing at a dimwitted baazrag. The furry creature blocked with its trident, its sunken eyes betraying its confusion at being attacked. The half-giant’s axe snapped the weapon as though it were a twig, then sliced the baazrag’s massive torso into separate pieces just below the breast tine. A thunderous roar sounded from the stands.

  The female baazrag went into a rage. It threw its twin-bladed axe at Gaanon’s leg, causing the clumsy half-giant to teeter at the brink of falling. The baazrag raised its massive arms and bared its yellowed fangs, then charged. The half-giant’s elven partner suddenly disappeared from Gaanon’s side, then reappeared behind the raging baazrag.

  “The elf’s a teleporter,” Rikus noted.

  Neeva grunted to let him know she had heard, but seemed otherwise unimpressed.

  The elf lashed her whip around the baazrag’s legs. The furry beast-woman fell at Gaanon’s feet. He quickly beheaded it with another swift stroke of his axe.

  “Let’s see if we can work our way toward Kalak,” Rikus said, leading them toward the general melee.

  The seeming chaos of free-for-all combat was actually comprised of many smaller fights between a handful of combatants. Rikus carefully picked his way past these little battles toward the center of the field.

  A few yards from the pyramid, two gith moved forward to intercept the mul and his partner. Keeping their bulging eyes fixed on Rikus and Neeva, the hunched lizard-men moved forward in a stooped gait that could not quite be described as scuttling or loping. Each of the scrawny creatures wore a plumed helmet atop its bony, arrow-shaped head. Mekillot-shell plates protected the vulnerable spines on their backs.