“Let’s make quick work of these two,” Rikus said, bringing his spear to a defensive position. He did not add a warning to watch for psionic tricks, for he and Neeva had fought gith before. She knew their innate abilities as well as he did.
“Don’t waste time talking!” she said, stepping to his side. “Just kill them.”
The smallest gith led the charge, rushing Rikus with a series of awkward hops. The mul brought the creature to a quick halt by threatening it with his spearpoint. The gaunt lizard-man reluctantly raised its spike mace to trade blows. The maneuver, Rikus knew, would soon result in its undoing.
The other gith stopped a few yards from Neeva and studied her trikal with a bulging, lidless eye. An instant later, Neeva’s weapon slithered to life in her hands.
“The damn thing animated my trikal!”
Without taking his eye off his own foe, Rikus shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said loudly, addressing Neeva’s attacker. “It only makes her mad.”
A stout templar with a lined, leathery face stormed into the gallery. The man stopped directly in front of Agis’s chair, blocking the noble’s view of the fight between his friends and the two gith.
“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded the newcomer. He ignored Agis completely and fixed his attention on Tithian.
“The meaning of what, Larkyn?” Tithian asked.
“You closed the gates too soon!” Larkyn said. “Half my templars are locked outside, and the crowd is already growing restless.”
“Is that so?” Tithian asked nonchalantly. He gave Agis a knowing glance.
Larkyn looked at the senator and frowned, but showed no sign of recognizing him. This did not surprise the noble, for high templars avoided the Senate as diligently as senators avoided the High Bureaus. Though their names were certainly known to each other, Agis doubted that they had ever been within a hundred feet of one another before today.
When the noble made no move to rise, Larkyn cleared his throat forcefully.
A sly grin flashed across Tithian’s thin lips, then he cuffed Agis with the back of his hand. “How dare you sit while a high templar stands!”
Agis jumped to his feet with all the chagrin of a subordinate who had forgotten his place. “Please forgive me, High One,” he groveled, bowing to Larkyn. “I was absorbed by the contest.”
Larkyn dismissed him with a wave of his hand, then sat in the chair the noble had just vacated. Agis stepped to the back of the booth and glanced down the stairway. At the bottom stood a knot of two dozen lower-ranking templars. Though it was impossible to tell Tithian’s men from Larkyn’s, Agis could see that one group was blocking the other’s access to the gallery.
Admiring the astuteness with which Tithian had maneuvered Larkyn into the chair, Agis stepped close behind it so no one could see what be was doing. He reached under his robe and withdrew the stiletto Tithian had given him before Larkyn arrived—the high templar, of course, being free from any sort of weapons search. While the noble would have preferred to use the Way, leaving Larkyn alive but incapacitated, his old friend had insisted upon a dagger in the back.
As Agis thrust the blade through the soft chair, a white light flashed from the gateway into which Sadira had fled. It was not particularly bright, neither was it long-lived, nor did it create a peal of thunder. Nevertheless, it was quite visible, and many curious spectators found their attentions split between the combat in the arena and the mysterious pyrotechnics in the stands.
“Did you see that?” Rikus asked, looking away from the flash he had just seen in the stands. At his feet lay the two gith, dispatched easily and without so much as a scratch to himself or Neeva. On the balcony above, Kalak perched at the edge of his throne, watching the fight with no indication that he was concerned by the flare of light. The mul decided it must have been a templar dispatching an unruly spectator.
“Rikus, pay attention!” Neeva said. “The tareks!”
The mul spun around. The powerful male tarek was so close that his musky odor filled Rikus’s nose. The female had already engaged Neeva. The two women were exchanging lightning-fast blows, filling the areas with staccato pops as they blocked and parried.
Chilo swung his heartpick at Rikus, striking for the mul’s arm. For his part, Rikus used his spear to block. A sharp crack sounded, then the pick whistled past Rikus’s side. The tarek opened his muzzle and bared his white fangs, then slashed at the mul’s stomach with the handfork. Rikus pulled back. As the sharp blades scraped across his light cuirass, he leveled a side-thrust kick at Chilo’s massive chest. As it landed, the tarek flared his cavernous nostrils. Otherwise, he did not flinch. Rikus pushed away, trying to put a little space between himself and Chilo’s hulking form.
Felorn slipped between the mul and his partner. To prevent himself from being separated from Neeva, Rikus started to move backward. The dark eyes beneath Chilo’s bony brow flashed. Rikus knew he was doing what his opponent expected. He caught himself in midstep and returned his foot to the ground. Chilo charged, swinging both weapons with fully extended arms.
Rikus raised the tip of his spear. “Expecting to intimidate me was your last mistake,” he said, stepping forward.
Chilo’s weapons sliced through the air behind Rikus. The mul thrust his spear at his enemy’s heart. The point slipped easily into the tarek’s densely muscled chest. Chilo’s mouth dropped open, his eyes glassed over, and his charge stopped—but he did not fall or even drop his weapons. He merely stepped away from the mul and pulled his body off the spear.
“I hate tareks worse than Asticles wine!” Rikus growled.
He did not doubt he had struck Chilo a fatal blow. Unfortunately, tareks often continued to fight after death.
Rikus took advantage of Chilo’s momentary shock and threw a glance over his shoulder. Felorn still stood between him and Neeva. The mul stepped backward, slipping the butt-point of his weapon between the female’s ribs. Howling in pain, she futilely tried to pull herself off the spear.
As Rikus looked back to Chilo, Felorn dropped her weapons. She thrashed about so wildly that the mul could barely hold on to the Heartwood Spear.
Chilo staggered forward and swung his heartpick at the mul. Rikus reached inside the pick’s arc and blocked the attack at the tarek’s wrist. The serrated blade flashed over his shoulder. The mul found himself staring into Chilo’s lifeless gaze. Without looking away, he kicked at Felorn backward, like a horse, and knocked her free of his spear. Chilo dropped his heartpick. Grabbing Rikus by the shoulder, the dead tarek raised his handfork.
One of the things that made Neeva and Rikus a great fighting team was their ability to recognize when they needed help. Now was one of those times. “Neeva!” Rikus shouted calmly.
The handfork started down. Neeva’s trikal flashed past Rikus’s head. He heard a sharp whack, then the hand holding the fork tumbled to the ground. The stump of Chilo’s bloody wrist struck the mul’s face, opening a long gash on his cheek.
Rikus reacted quickly, smashing his spiked elbow cop into Chilo’s mouth. The lifeless tarek dropped to the ground and made no move to rise. Rikus turned to assist his partner.
At that particular moment, Neeva had no need of his help. The gladiator brought her trikal down on Felorn’s neck, separating her head from her shoulders. The tarek’s body did not try to fight on.
Rikus glanced up at the King’s Balcony. Kalak stood behind the railing, his sunken black eyes fixed on the dead tareks. The mul was tempted to throw the spear at that moment, but he didn’t have a clear shot at the ancient king’s body.
Neeva caught his arm. “Not yet,” she said. “We’ve got to make sure Agis and Sadira know what you’re doing.”
“You’re right, as usual,” Rikus answered, looking back toward the obsidian pyramid.
The field had now been narrowed to three sets of gladiators: Rikus and Neeva; the half-giant, Gaanon, and his elven partner; and a pair of humans. The humans had removed their sandals to climb t
he glassy pyramid and were about to reach the top. Gaanon and his elven partner were just behind the leaders, climbing along the ridge where two sides of the pyramid met.
“Let’s win this contest,” Rikus said, retrieving Chilo’s fork from the disembodied hand that held it. “On top of the pyramid, I’ll have a better shot at Kalak, and Sadira and Agis won’t be able to miss what I’m doing.”
The mul sliced his sandal thongs. Neeva removed hers with a flick of her trikal’s blade. Before Rikus and his partner began to ascend, the two humans reached the apex of the pyramid. As the woman crested the top, the gaj extended its head in a lightning fast blur. It caught her in its pincers, wrapping its tentacles around her brow and arms. She dropped her weapons and screamed.
When her partner tried to help, the gaj slammed its mandibles into him. The man tumbled down the pyramid. As he passed Gaanon, the half-giant hefted his huge axe and sliced off an arm.
Neeva started up the ridge opposite Gaanon and the elf, observing, “It’s us and the half-giant.”
“And the gaj,” Rikus added, following her. The obsidian was so hot he could hardly bear to plant his feet long enough to take the next step.
Rikus and Neeva were about three-quarters of the way up when the gaj released the dead woman. The beast spun around to face Gaanon and the elf.
“Good,” Rikus commented. “Let the half-giant take care of it.”
Rikus! came a familiar thought-voice. I have waited to hear your thoughts. I feared you had died below.
They haven’t beaten me yet, Rikus responded, echoing the last words the gaj had said to him. How did you survive? I thought a spear through the head would kill anything.
Master Tithian sent a man to care for me. Without his thoughts, I might have been too weak to recover.
You attacked your healer? Rikus asked.
I am like Yarig. I must follow my focus, the gaj replied simply. Just as you have come here to follow yours.
Rikus looked up in time to see the elf disappear from the ridge she and Gaanon were climbing. She reappeared behind the gaj. Unfortunately, her whip and spikes were useless against its thick shell. She simply stood looking at the creature. The amused crowd began to heckle her with catcalls.
As Gaanon approached the top, it became apparent to Rikus that the elf’s strategy was a sound one. She lashed at the orange shell with her whip, capturing the gaj’s attention. It turned slowly to face her, wrapping a tentacle around her arm. The half-elf cried out in pain, then the gaj snapped its pincers closed around her waist.
Gaanon stepped onto the platform behind the creature “Now, Raffaela,” he boomed.
The elf teleported away, leaving nothing but empty space between the pincers. The gaj screeched, for the tentacle that had been wrapped around the woman’s arm also vanished. Raffaela reappeared at the base of the pyramid, writhing in agony as she pulled the tentacle from her arm.
Gaanon stooped over and grabbed the back of the gaj’s shell. The half-giant began to lift. The creature’s canelike legs shot out and scratched at the glassy surface of the platform.
“This is for the wound you gave me last year, Rikus!” Gaanon boomed.
The mul saw the gaj’s head and pincers being forced off the platform directly above him and Neeva. Gaanon’s witless face hovered over the top of the beast’s rust-colored shell. He was glaring at the mul with a gap-toothed sneer.
A faint hiss sounded from beneath the gaj as it released its defensive gas. Gaanon looked as though he would retch, but kept pushing the beast forward. Suddenly the gaj slid down the glassy pyramid appearing as little more than an orange streak as it crashed into Neeva. Rikus jumped out of the way. As he landed on the steep slope, his feet shot from beneath him. The mul tumbled head over heels down to the sandy field.
Gaanon’s brutal laugh boomed over the fighting field. Rikus leaped to his feet, spear in hand and spitting sand. The half-giant’s moronic expression changed to fear when he saw the weapon pointed at him, but Rikus restrained himself from throwing it. Raffaela had no doubt recovered by now. If he threw the spear, she would certainly teleport to him and attack before he could secure another weapon.
Instead, Rikus looked to where the gaj had landed. The beast lay on the ground without moving. Its legs were retracted beneath its carapace, and its head was pointed away from him. The mul heard a muffled scream and saw that Neeva’s trikal protruded from beneath the gaj’s shell. Without pause, he leaped atop the beast.
“Release her!” he demanded.
Neeva lay directly beneath the gaj, flailing wildly at its head. The creature’s tentacles were wrapped around her helmet, frantically trying to remove it.
Release her! Rikus repeated, this time using thought speech.
No, came the reply. Let me have her or I’ll tell the king your true reason for fighting today.
“Then tell him!” Rikus snarled, plunging his spear deep into the monster’s head.
The gaj shuddered and shrieked in pain, but the injury did not prevent it from tearing Neeva’s helm from her head. You should know you can’t kill me, it said. Go, or I tell the king!
“Rikus! Get it off!” Neeva yelled. The gaj tried to snake a tentacle around her head, but she blocked with her forearm. As the stalk entwined her wrist, she howled in pain.
“Its body!” Neeva screeched. “Hit its body.”
The gaj lashed its free tentacle around her head, and she fell silent. Somehow Neeva found the strength to grasp at the stalk. From his own experience, the mul knew even Neeva could not last long once the thing invaded her mind.
Rikus pulled the Heartwood Spear from the beast’s head, then jabbed at its hump. The point passed through the shell as easily as it had penetrated the tareks’ bodies. An ear-piercing shriek sounded from the gaj’s head. It began to lash about fiercely. Rikus pushed the spear in deeper, twisting the shaft like a butter churn.
The gaj stopped struggling. The stench of its defensive gas filled the air. Rikus pulled his spear free and leaped off the beast.
“What are you waiting for?” Neeva gasped, her voice weak and raspy. “I can’t breathe.”
Holding his breath so he would not be weakened by the gaj’s gas, Rikus flipped the lifeless creature onto its back. Using the spear, he removed the tentacles from Neeva’s head and arm. Welts and blisters had already formed where the thing had touched her.
The crowd broke into a horrendous roar. Rikus stepped away from the gaj, drawing a deep breath. He saw that Gaanon’s elven partner had returned to the pyramid’s summit. Both the half-giant and the elf stood at the edge of the platform, staring at him with an air of haughty disdain.
Rikus looked back to Neeva. “Can you fight?”
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” she said, though she had still not risen to her feet.
People in the stands cried Rikus’s name, urging him to abandon his partner and attack the pyramid. The mul picked up his spear and looked toward the King’s Balcony. Kalak remained at the rail. He leaned over the edge, staring down at the mul and his partner, his lips curling into a sadistic grin.
Neeva grabbed her trikal and tried to stand. Her knees buckled before she was halfway up. “I’m too weak, Rikus,” she said. “You’ll have to try without me.”
“No,” the mul said. “We’re in this together.”
He lifted the spear as if ready to throw it, pointing the tip toward Gaanon. The half-giant took a step backward. A thunderous roar exploded from the stands, with thousands of voices urging the mul to kill his rival.
Rikus let the uproar continue to build, then glanced down at his fighting partner, who lay gasping on the sand. “For you and Sadira,” he whispered.
Neeva shook her head. “For freedom and Athas.”
With that, Rikus whirled around to face the King’s Balcony. Kalak’s eyes widened.
At that moment, a deafening explosion shook the stadium. A great silver and gold flash shot out of the lower tiers as Sadira made her attack. The bright flare f
illed the air with a peculiar stench that reminded Rikus of melting copper. The bolt hit an invisible barrier at the balcony’s edge, exploding there into a brilliant cascade of red and blue sparks. The mul glimpsed a magical wall of shimmering force, but it faded away amidst a cacophony of loud sizzles and sharp pops.
Rikus stepped forward. Kalak looked away from the mul, his eyes drawn suddenly to Agis of Asticles in the High Templars’ Gallery. Rikus hurled the spear with all his might. As the enchanted weapon sailed toward its target, an image born of Kalak’s twisted mind, augmented by his mastery of the Way, appeared over the entire stadium: a dragon, fierce and terrible, rose to the height of the great ziggurat.
The image of the dragon reared back, ready to strike. It was in that instant that the Heartwood Spear struck Kalak, sorcerer-king of Tyr, squarely in the chest and passed clear through his body. The king’s screams filled the stadium, then the entire city. The unearthly cries did not fade as the half-giants grabbed their leader and dragged him into his golden palace.
SEVENTEEN
THE DRAGON
THE STADIUM REMAINED TENSE, BUT CALM. MOST commoners stayed in their seats, too frightened or too stunned to move, filling the air with the steady drone of their astonished voices. Knots of angry nobles yelled at stony-faced templars, trying in vain to make them open the sealed gates. Glowering half-giants stalked the terrace aisles, their massive clubs resting over their shoulders and their red-rimmed eyes scanning the crowd.
It was not the reaction Agis had anticipated. He had envisioned a thunderous uproar, the stands breaking into a riot, the frenzied crowd pouring onto the fighting field. There was none of that. The spectators were too shocked to do as the noble expected, and Larkyn’s half-giants were too efficient to let them.
The crowd’s reaction was not the only thing that had failed to go as Agis had pictured. The timing of the companions’ attack had been perfect, but that was where their success had ended. As powerful and well-placed as Rikus’s throw had been, it had not killed the king. From the High Templars’ Gallery, the noble had seen Kalak gesturing angrily as his half-giants helped him off the King’s Balcony and into the Golden Tower.
The Verdant Passage Page 27
