The Verdant Passage

by Denning, Troy

  A deafening boom shook the tunnel, and a sapphire flash streaked over Agis’s head. It struck the hand and exploded into a dazzling spray of blue-white sparks. Shreds of flesh and bone flew in all directions. An inhuman howl reverberated down the tunnel.

  Rikus took off at a sprint, leaving the others standing behind him, astonished at his boldness. As the mul reached the end of the passageway, Kalak reached down with his other hand to grasp the trap door. The hand glowed with bright crimson light, and wet, soft scales covered it.

  Before the king could pull the door closed, Rikus thrust the spear through the hand. Another howl, not quite as pained as the last, rolled down the passageway. The hand withdrew, dripping black blood. Kalak sent a cloud of yellow gas billowing through the door. The mul stumbled back to his companions, coughing and gasping for breath. Before the cloud reached the others it was carried back toward the king by the golden stream of energy coming from the shaft behind Sadira and the others.

  “Quick thinking, Rikus,” Agis said, still wheezing from the effects of the green fireball. “I don’t know what we’d have done if Kalak had closed the door.”

  The mul acknowledged the compliment with a grunt, then asked, “Anyone hurt? You all look pretty rough.”

  Agis noticed that the fireball had burned away the robe on his arms and legs. The exposed skin was red, with white blisters forming in several places. Tithian was in much the same condition, as were the two women.

  “We’re fine, Rikus,” Neeva said. “Get on with it.”

  The mul led the way to the end of the corridor, then looked up at the narrow opening. “We can’t all go up at once.”

  “I’ll lead the way,” Agis offered, stepping past Tithian and Neeva. “With both hands injured, Kalak won’t be casting many spells or fighting with weapons. That leaves the Way, my area of expertise.”

  Rikus nodded. “You’re right,” he said, holding the spear out.

  Agis shook his head. “We can’t afford the risk that I’ll lose it,” he said. “I can hold him long enough for the next person, even without the spear.”

  “That makes sense, but—”

  “I can do this, Rikus,” insisted Agis.

  The mul regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “If you say so.” He leaned the spear against his shoulder and formed a stirrup with his hands.

  Before Agis stepped into it, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “Be careful,” Sadira said.

  Smiling, the nobleman handed Sadira the sword he had taken from Kalak’s treasure vault. Rikus gave Agis a boost, and he shot up into the secret chamber.

  The room felt as hot as a furnace. Though its intensity did not compare to Kalak’s fireball, Agis’s lungs ached when he inhaled, and the heat scorched his skin—especially where he had already been burned. The chamber was fairly large, built entirely from glazed brick and filled with whorls of the translucent golden energy that rushed in from the shaft. Dozens of paintings decorated the walls and ceilings, portraying a huge dragon as it ravaged estates, caravans, and even whole cities.

  So much dark blood covered the floor that Agis wondered how Kalak could still be alive. The black pools bubbled and steamed, sending wisps of greasy brown vapor to roll along the ceiling until they reached the center of the room, where a shaft rose toward the distant sky like a massive chimney.

  Dozens of obsidian globes lay strewn over the floor. They varied in size from that of a small faro fruit to a huge melon. Scattered among the glassy balls were half-a-dozen empty husks, shaped like thick-bodied worms and made of soft, pinkish scales. The smallest of the husks was just over five feet in length, the largest more than ten.

  Kalak himself lay on the far side of the room. His serpentine body, now more than twelve feet long, was covered with glowing scales that lit the whole chamber with their fiery radiance. The king paid no attention to Agis, for he was squirming and thrashing about, trying to free himself of his latest husk.

  Realizing they had caught Kalak at a particularly vulnerable time, Agis reached through the opening in the floor and motioned for the others to follow. Sadira handed him his sword. As the others climbed into the room, the senator moved toward the king.

  He could barely recognize Kalak in the grotesque larva writhing on the floor. The old man’s face had flattened into a serpentlike oval, and his ears had disappeared entirely. Reptilian scales now covered his wrinkled head. The golden diadem of Tyr’s kingship lay discarded on the floor beside him. While his neck had grown long and sinuous, his arms and legs had all but disappeared. At the moment, they seemed no more than withered and useless vestigial limbs. Boiling black fluid oozed from the spear wound in the dragon larva’s chest, from the stump at the end of its right arm, and from the hole in its left hand.

  As Agis approached, the larva paid him no attention. It seemed to be in horrible pain both from its wounds and the process of shedding its skin. It slowly opened its mouth, revealing two rows of jagged teeth. The repulsive beast placed its mouth on a nearby obsidian globe as large as its own head. To the noble’s amazement, it swallowed the black ball. A spherical bulge slowly began to work its way down the beast’s long throat.

  Rikus and the others crept up behind Agis. They studied the gruesome beast for a moment, then Sadira said, “Let’s kill him while we can.” She raised her cane end started forward.

  The larva stopped writhing and whipped its head around to face them, the dark pits of its eyes flaring with anger. “Kill me, foolish girl?” it sneered, puffs of black steam leaking from its mouth. “Perhaps five hundred years ago, but not now.”

  It fixed its hateful gaze on the sorceress, and Agis realized immediately the dragon-king was about to attack. It had let them come this close only because it intended to use the Way and finish them all at once.

  Five battering rams, each carved in the image of a horned dragon’s head, appeared in front of the larva. It took Agis an instant to realize that they were mental constructs and not physical, for there was so much energy in the room that they had taken on the appearance of a material form.

  The noble knew that he possessed the skill to resist the direct, overwhelming attack the king intended to make, but if his friends were to survive, he would have to try something desperate. Agis visualized a sand dune and opened a pathway from his power nexus to the room itself.

  Kalak’s rams shot forward. In the same instant, the entire chamber seemed to fill with sand. Three of the king’s attacks plowed to a stop instantly. The one in front of Rikus simply disappeared as it approached the Heartwood Spear. Only the rain directed at Sadira forced its way through Agis’s psionic sand and hit its target. The sorceress was knocked across the room and slammed into the wall, collapsing into a heap.

  A terrible wave of fatigue and dizziness came over Agis. His knees buckled, and he let the defense drop. When he fell to the floor a moment later, he landed in a hot pool of the king’s blood.

  Rikus rushed to the dragon larva, followed closely by Neeva and Tithian. Using his free arm to shield his face against the heat of the beast’s body, the mul stepped toward the head. He motioned the high templar to the mid-section and Neeva to the tail.

  Kalak did not move as the trio approached, apparently as exhausted by the psionic combat as Agis. But as Rikus lifted the spear, the larva raised its head. “You can’t believe I’ll let you strike.”

  “I don’t believe you can stop us!” Neeva said, swinging her axe.

  She sent a three-foot section of tail skittering across the floor. Kalak roared in pain, then Rikus thrust his spear at the larva’s neck. The dragon-king smashed its massive head into the mul’s side and knocked him off balance. Before Rikus could recover, the beast sank its sharp teeth deep into his massive chest and lifted him from the ground. The mul screamed and dropped the spear, beating at the king’s scale-armored head with his bare fists.

  Neeva hefted her axe to strike again, but this time the larva was ready. It slapped what remained of its mighty tail across her face. The blo
w shattered her nose and sent her tumbling across the floor, unconscious and bleeding.

  Tithian’s face blanched to the color of alabaster. Without striking a blow, he dropped his curved sword and backed away.

  “Coward!” Agis cried, vainly attempting to stand.

  “If Rikus and Neeva can’t kill it, what do you expect me to do?” the high templar countered, moving toward Neeva’s prone form.

  Agis took several deep breaths and concentrated on drawing as much power as he could through his energy nexus. He rose to his knees.

  At the same time, Tithian picked up Neeva’s axe. The gladiator lay unconscious in a pool of her own blood, her chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. Gripping the ancient weapon, more from fear than from courage, the high templar moved to Sadira’s side. She moaned and sat up, holding her head.

  Tithian looked from one wounded rebel to another, Rikus’s screams echoing off the glazed brick walls, filling his ears. It seemed as though there were a hundred muls in the room, each dying a particularly horrible, painful death.

  At last the high templar hefted Neeva’s huge weapon. To Agis’s surprise, Tithian rushed forward and brought the flat of the axe down on a ball of obsidian. It shattered into a dozen shards. The high templar moved to the next one and smashed it, too.

  “What are you doing?” the senator cried weakly.

  “There’s more than one way to fight,” Tithian answered, moving away from the noble. He went to the corner farthest away from the dragon and smashed another black globe.

  Agis remained puzzled only a moment longer, for Kalak abruptly tossed the mul’s savaged body aside.

  “Stop!” the king cried. “I command it!”

  Tithian smashed another ball. “Why should I?” he shouted. “Will you spare my life? Will you give me control of Tyr when you’re gone?”

  The king crawled slowly but steadily toward the high templar. “You know better than that,” it hissed. “But I will promise you a painless death.”

  Tithian smashed another sphere, then rushed to a different corner of the room.

  “You are a high templar!” the king cried. “You must obey your king’s demands!” The beast changed directions and followed Tithian, turning its back to Agis.

  The high templar’s arm began to tremble so badly that Agis could see the axe shaking. Nevertheless, he brought the heavy axe down upon another obsidian ball. Standing in the center of a scattering of black fragments, Tithian made no move to leave his corner.

  Agis forced himself to his feet, fixing his eyes on the Heartwood Spear. He stumbled over to it, whispering over and over to himself that he was not tired, that he had plenty of strength left. He picked up the wooden shaft. It seemed impossibly heavy, at least for muscles still liquid from the effects of psionic exhaustion.

  The larva reached Tithian at last. Rising up to its full height, the dragon-king opened its maw. The high templar screamed in terror, let Neeva’s axe slip from his hands, then dropped to the floor curled into a ball.

  Agis braced the spear in both hands and charged, yelling a feral battle cry and thrusting the Heartwood Spear into the back of the dragon’s head. The oak shaft slid smoothly and easily into the heavy skull, requiring no strength at all. Agis took two more steps forward, driving the point as deeply as possible into the dragon-king’s brain.

  A shudder ran through the serpentine body. Kalak gave a single thunderous bellow, shaking the room to its foundation and knocking a cascade of loose bricks off the ceiling. The beast’s head dropped to the floor at Tithian’s feet, one end of the spear protruding from its mouth.

  Agis dropped to his knees, trembling and gasping for breath. Tithian took his hands from his face and studied Kalak’s vacant eyes. After a moment, when the thought that the dragon-king was dead took root in his mind, the fear washed from the high templar’s face and he retrieved Neeva’s axe. Tentatively, he struck the larva’s head with the blade. When it did not flinch, he raised the axe higher and brought it down on the beast’s neck more sharply. The blow opened only a small wound, but the dragon did not respond at all.

  “The king is dead,” he said, dropping the axe.

  Agis nodded and also stood. “Tyr is free.”

  Tithian stepped past the noble. Agis turned to follow and saw Sadira kneeling at Neeva’s side. The sorceress gently probed the unconscious gladiator’s smashed nose while holding the woman’s mouth open so she could breathe.

  Rikus sat a few yards away, grimacing in pain and still dazed from the mauling Kalak had given him. More than a dozen wounds were visible on his bulky torso, all oozing dark red blood. In places, bits of white rib showed through. He stoically took measure of his injuries and, tearing strips from his clothes, began to bind them as best he could.

  Tithian passed within an arm’s reach of the mul but did not pay him the slightest attention. Instead, the high templar went to the wall where Kalak had been molting. He dropped to his knees and began running his hands through the steaming pools of dark blood that covered the floor.

  Silently cursing the high templar’s callousness, Agis went to the gladiator’s side. The noble began to tear strips from his own robe, then aided the mul in bandaging his many wounds.

  “You killed Kalak,” Rikus wheezed. He squeezed the noble’s hand. “Well done.”

  “No, we killed Kalak,” Agis corrected, warmly returning the mul’s handclasp. He looked in the direction of Sadira and Neeva, then added, “We couldn’t have done it without each other.”

  Near the wall, Tithian rose to his feet, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. In his hands, he held the golden diadem that Kalak had worn for a thousand years. Both the crown and his fingers were stained with black blood.

  “Long live the king!” he whispered, placing the circlet on his own head.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many people contributed to the writing of this book and the creation of this series. I would like to thank you all. Without the efforts of 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 the feel; Jim Lowder, who came when he was needed; Pat McGilligan, who brought a much-needed sense of drama to the desert; and Jim Ward, who contributed his ethusiasm, support, and much more.

  —Troy Denning

  October 1991

  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.