To emphasize the threat, a searing streak of pain shot through the mul’s body. Rikus gasped, then nodded slowly.
Very good, she said. You may survive to serve our purpose.
Rikus retrieved his weapon, then stood. “Can I leave?”
Catrion’s eyes flashed brillant yellow, then she said, “Follow me.”
With that, she walked to the bas-relief depicting her slaughter of the caravan-dwelling dwarves. She stood before it for a moment, then the figures slowly came to life and backed away from the center of the panel. When they had vacated an area about as large as a man, a door-shaped area of stone darkened to jet black. Catrion stepped into the black area and disappeared.
Follow her, advised Tamar. The portal will not remain open for long.
Rikus reached out to touch the blackened wall and found that there was nothing there. He stepped into the portal and emerged instantly in the small foyer where he had fought Umbra. Next to him stood one of the statues from the exterior balconies of the citadal. It was the same tall, gaunt man that who had been attacking the dwarves in one of the bas-relief panels inside the tomb, and his arms were held out before him as if to carry something.
“That wasn’t here when I came down,” Rikus observed. Nikolos used it to carry you down here, Tamar explained. Outside our tomb, it is difficult for us to touch material things directly. Instead, we use our power to animate the statues.
Rikus nodded, then went to where he had thrown himself on Umbra’s flame. The shadow giant’s body was nowhere in sight, but the stones where he had fallen were stained black and they felt cold to the touch. The mul smiled.
“I killed him, didn’t I?” he asked.
“Who?” asked Catrion.
Rikus pointed at the stones. “Umbra. The beast I was fighting when I got hurt.”
“We saw no beast,” Catrion answered simply. She gestured at the stairs. “That way out.”
Shrugging, Rikus climbed the stairs. If Umbra had not actually died there, then he had certainly suffered a grievous wound. Right now, the mul was satisfied with that.
After ascending the stairway into the circular chamber into which he had fallen earlier, Rikus found the hallway that led to the first loge. By the damson light flooding the corridor, he could tell that the hour outside was approaching dusk.
“I’ve been here all afternoon!” the mul exclaimed, slipping between the high marble walls and walking briskly toward the outside. Never had he wanted to leave a place behind him as badly as this citadel.
When Rikus stepped on a windy loge, he could not help gasping. The battlefield beneath the citadel was bathed in the purple shadows of dusk, but there remained enough light for him to see that it was deserted—save for hundreds of Urikite skeletons and the flock of kes’trekels that had stripped them bare.
“Neeva!” Rikus yelled, gripping the hilt of his sword so that its magic could aid him in listening for a reply.
He heard nothing but kes’trekels using their powerful beaks to crack bones, and their sharp claws to scratch for marrow.
TEN
LIRR HUNT
A BEASTLY, DEEP THROATED ROAR BROKE THE NIGHT’S cold silence. The bellow rolled across the stony barrens for several seconds, wavering from one bass note to another in an eerie song that sent a shiver down Rikus’s spine. When the uncanny noise finally died away, it was answered by a similar wail far to the other side of the mul.
The cries hardly roused Rikus from his numb lethargy, and he did not even look up. Over the last few nights, the forlorn howls had become as much a part of the landscape as the stones that littered the parched ground upon which he walked.
The gladiator yawned and stumbled onward, every step a test of his determination. His good leg burned with such fatigue that he could hardly swing it forward. When he put the limb back down, the loose rocks turned beneath his foot. Inevitably, he had to catch himself on his makeshift walking staff, the headless shaft of a Urikite spear. Once his footing was secure, he dragged his injured leg, too numb and swollen to bend, over the rocks, then planted it besides the first. After bracing his crutch against his sore shoulder, he took a a moment to lift the heavy lids of his eyes, then started the process all over again.
So it had gone for the last four days as he tried to catch up to his legion. During that time, he had stopped only once, to fill his waterskin at an oasis. He had taken his meals along the way, catching snakes or locusts as he walked, then devouring them raw. Rikus had not even slept, for his legion had left such an obvious trail of churned sand and overturned stones that he could follow it by the light of Athas’s two moons.
Such exertion would have killed anyone else. In muls, however, the hardy constitution of the dwarven father enhanced the natural resilience of the human mother. When the need arose, such as now, they could drive themselves for days without sleep or rest. Still, as his eyelids drooped and a yawn rose to his jaws, it occurred to Rikus’s fatigue-numbed mind that he was dangerously close to collapse.
The sonorous notes of another morbid beast-song rolled across the plain, reminding the mul that he did not dare fall asleep. Less than a hundred feet ahead, the dark form of a lirr scrambled up a jumble of boulders and fixed its amber eyes on Rikus. As the mul watched, the saurian creature stood upright, using its thorny tail to cling to a boulder and balance its torso over its rear feet. The thing was about the size of a dwarf, with a tubular body armored by diamond-shaped scales as rough and hard as the stones upon which it stood.
Rikus altered his course so that it would take him directly toward the beast, calling, “Come on and fight!”
Though the mul had intended to shout the challenge, nothing more than a long croak escaped his swollen throat. He had run out of water two mornings ago. Now, well into his second complete day of hard traveling with nothing to drink, his tongue and lips were so distended that he could not choke even the simplest words past them.
Knowing from experience that the lirr would not let him within sword’s reach, Rikus grabbed a large stone and hurled it at his would-be devourer. The mul’s aim was as dismal as his arm was weary. The rock clattered to the ground well wide and far short of the beast.
The lirr flared its spiked throat-fan and snarled at Rikus, showing a mouthful of serrated teeth. The mul threw another rock. This time the aim was better, but the beast swatted the projectile away with a clawed forefoot. It remained on its rock, angrily slashing at the air, taunting the weary gladiator with hisses.
When the lirr let Rikus close to ten feet without fleeing, the gladiator began to hope it would be stupid enough to fight him. Electing not to telegraph his attack by drawing the Scourge of Rkard, the mul lashed out with his staff.
The blow stuck the lirr in its scale-covered torso. Not flinching, the beast flicked its long tongue across Rikus’s face. The mul’s cheeks stung as though he had been slapped.
Rikus tried to yell a curse at the beast, but barely croaked instead. He swung his staff again. This time the pole sliced through the air without hitting anything, for the lirr had already jumped off the rock pile and was scampering away on all four legs.
Do not let them harass you, stupid dwarf, Tamar said, her voice echoing inside the mul’s head. They want you to waste energy.
Be silent, Rikus ordered, resuming his weary march. You have nothing to say that interests me in the least.
What interests you does not matter, the wraith snapped. Listen to me or die.
Your threats mean nothing, the mul returned, shaking his head in an effort to keep his eyes open. If you’re going to kill me, do it—otherwise, stay quiet.
You will do as I say! Tamar roared. You will kill the lirrs tonight, before you collapse.
Rikus dragged his numb leg over the sharp edge of a large rock. I’m not going to collapse, he responded. We’re too close to my legion.
You have claimed the same thing every night of this trek, Tamar said.
Rikus used his staff to point at a stone that had been overturned
by the passage of his warriors. The wind had not yet piled any sand around it, suggesting that it had been disturbed quite recently. Tonight is different.
And if you are wrong? What then?
Then I will die, and you will be trapped with my corpse—at least until a lirr swallows you, Rikus said.
When Tamar fell silent, Rikus smiled. Over the last four days, his fear of the wraith had turned to hatred. Her imperious attitude reminded him more and more of how he had been treated in his days as a slave, and the mul was determined that she would have to kill him before he let her enslave him.
Despite his hatred of the wraith, Rikus was not eager to die, especially before he avenged himself on Maetan and recovered the Book of the Kemalok Kings. Therefore, as he continued to struggle over the rocky plain, he considered her advice. If he was wrong about catching his legion tonight, he would collapse from thirst shortly after the sun rose. That, he knew, was when the lirrs would move in to attack. The mul had to admit that there was a certain wisdom in the wraith’s suggestion.
After dragging himself onward until he came to the base of the knoll, the mul began to stagger more than usual. Though the slope was a gentle one, the rocks covering it were much larger, and the effort of lifting his leg even a little higher made his thigh muscles burn with fatigue. Just as he realized that he was more weary than he had thought, Rikus shifted the Scourge of Rkard’s scabbard forward, then stumbled and nearly fell.
All around the mul, the lirrs cried out in excitement, filling the night with their gruesome songs. The beasts began to circle their weary prey in tightening rings, flicking their long tongues in his direction and flaring their large throat flaps. For the first time, Rikus was able to count their number: six beasts, not as many as he feared, but more than he could slay easily.
The mul tripped again when his foot refused to rise high enough to clear a large, glassy rock. He plunged to the ground, barely managing to break his fall with his walking stick. Immediately, the desire to sleep flooded over him and his mouth opened in a terrific yawn.
The lirrs roared in unison, then moved closer.
Rikus tried to spring back to his feet, but found that it was all his weary muscles could do to lift them.
If you can barely stand now, how much worse will it be the next time you fall? asked Tamar. Lure them into striking range now—before you can neither walk nor fight.
Seeing the wisdom of the suggestion, Rikus slipped his good hand down to his sword hilt, then lay his head on his walking staff.
Instead of rushing in to attack, the lirrs fell silent and dropped to the ground, their amber eyes watching the mul on all sides. There they remained, absolutely motionless and so quiet that, even gripping the Scourge of Rkard, Rikus heard only the soft hiss of their panting.
Close your eyes, advised Tamar. I think the lirrs can see that they’re open.
I’ll fall asleep, Rikus said. The stones beneath his body, still warm from the day’s heat, were soothing the mul’s sore muscles and taunting him with relaxation.
It will not matter, Tamar said. With the Scourge in your hand, you will hear them coming.
Eager to draw the lirrs into the battle, Rikus closed his eyes. In his mind, he began repeating, Stay awake, stay awake.
With each refrain, his words seemed to grow more and more distant, and soon he could not hear them at all.
Rikus started awake to the sound of a soft clack, then felt his crutch slipping from beneath his face. As his cheek dropped onto the sharp edge of a stone, the groggy mul opened his eyes and saw a lirr backing away from him. It was using its long tongue to drag his walking staff away.
Rikus hoisted himself to his feet and stumbled after the beast, pulling his sword from its scabbard. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the gleam of moonlight in a pair of amber eyes and heard stones clatter off to the side. By the time he turned, the second lirr had launched itself at him and was flying through the air with the claws of all four feet fully extended.
The mul raised his sword to defend himself, shaking his head violently in vain effort to clear the fog from his mind. It was to little avail. Even under the threat of death, the reactions of his exhausted body were slow and cumbersome. The lirr struck him full in the body.
Searing pain burned through the mul’s torso as the beast’s foreclaws raked across the unhealed burn wound on his chest. He felt the thing’s rear feet scratching at his stomach, and the gladiator knew that only his Belt of Rank had stopped the monster from disemboweling him.
Instead of fighting to retain his feet, Rikus allowed the lirr’s charge to bowl him over. As he hit the rocks, he tucked his chin and used his good leg to kick off the ground, continuing the roll and throwing the beast off himself. It landed on its back two paces away. Rikus rolled over his sore shoulder, sending a dull ache shooting through his entire body, then brought the Scourge of Rkard down across its exposed throat.
The magical blade sliced through the stony scales. A geyser of dark blood shot high into the air, and the lirr howled in pain, scattering rocks to and fro as it whipped its heavy tail about.
Rikus had little time to gloat over his victory, for he heard stones clattering to both sides as two of the beast’s fellows rushed to finish him off. The mul tried to leap to his feet, but his slow reflexes and battered limbs were still not up to the task. As the creatures closed in, he dropped back to his knees and spun around, swinging his sword in a wide arc.
The Scourge sliced across the first lirr’s leg just below the crooked knee, then cut deep into the second’s jawline. Wailing in pain, the beasts sprayed the mul with dirt and small stones as they stopped their reckless charges. Whipping his blade around, Rikus lunged at his first attacker, sinking the sword deep into the skull. The other one launched itself at its prey. The beast sank its serrated teeth into the swollen flesh of the gladiator’s bruised leg. Rikus screamed, then instantly regretted his lack of restraint as the raw tissues of his parched throat burst in agonizing spasms.
The lirr whipped its head around violently and backed away, trying to drag its prey off his feet. Rikus jerked the Scourge free of the other beast’s skull and brought the blade down across his attacker. The blade cut through the scales and deep into the neck on the first hack, but the saurian’s jaw only clamped tighter. The mul struck again, this time lopping the head cleanly off.
The jaws remained closed. Rikus backed away with the lirr’s head still attached to his leg, stumbling about in a circle to face anymore beasts that might be attacking. The other three predators kept their distance, circling around the battle site, well out of the mul’s reach.
“Come on!” Rikus croaked, again sending a burning wave of pain through his throat. “Let’s finish this!”
Two of the lirrs stood on their hind feet and let out a series of mournful notes. The third, the one that had stolen his walking staff, angrily gnashed the wooden shaft into bits, tossing its head about and flinging the pieces far into the night.
Pathetic, observed Tamar. There are still three of them, and you’re in worse condition than before.
Ignoring the wraith, Rikus stuck the Scourge’s blade into the lirr mouth clinging to his leg, then cut the muscles holding the jaws shut. When the head fell away, blood poured from the wound so freely that he could not see how badly the thing had injured him—and he was not sure he wanted to.
The mul ripped a strip of cloth from his breechcloth. He tied it above the injury to slow his blood loss.
Cover the wound. It will heal faster.
When I get to camp, Rikus said, wincing as he started to limp forward.
You have no idea how far away your camp is!
Sure I do, Rikus said, looking toward the top of the knoll. It’s just over this hill.
It was a statement of desperation, not fact. Nevertheless, Rikus had to believe what he said, for if he let himself think anything else he would not have the strength to continue. He knew that if he did not reach his legion soon, the combination of his fr
esh wounds, old injuries, thirst, and exhaustion would kill him.
Unfortunately, Rikus’s warriors were not camped beyond the summit of the knoll, nor beyond the summit of the next one, nor even beyond the one after that. The mul struggled onward, always telling himself that the legion was just beyond the next ridge. The three surviving lirrs kept him company, once again giving him wide berth and sporadically bellowing their grim songs. Every now and then, they would close in and rush forward to test his reflexes, then quickly retreat when he demonstrated that he could still swing the Scourge.
As the two moons began to sink behind the Ringing Mountains, Rikus stood in the bottom of yet another rocky valley. He was looking up at the distant summit of yet another knoll, watching the soft morning breeze send tiny sand-devils skittering across the gentle slope. Already the green tendrils of first light were creeping up from the eastern horizon. The mul knew that, by the time he set foot atop the hill, the crimson sun would be shining down on him with all his fury.
Rikus dropped to his knees and laid the Scourge of Rkard across his thighs. The lirrs tightened their circle and bellowed their ghastly songs in wild glee.
Get up! Tamar ordered.
Rikus tried to rise, but found that his weary muscles would not obey. He was no longer conscious of the ache in his savage leg. It hurt so badly from exhaustion that he could not even feel the pain of its lacerations.
You have not recovered the book. I will not allow you to quit!
You can’t do—
Rikus dropped his answer midsentence, for the Scourge’s magic brought a new sound to his ears. He scanned the hillside, searching its shadows for some sign of what had caused the noise. He saw nothing except motionless silhouettes, but the whisper of soft, controlled breathing was coming from behind an elongated boulder a short distance ahead. The mul struggled to his feet and limped forward. The movement drew a long series of mournful notes from the lirrs.
What is it?
Rikus did not bother to answer the wraith’s question. Instead, he gripped the Scourge more tightly and limped onward. The mul had no idea what had made the sound, but he doubted that it was someone from his legion. There was still enough moonlight for sentries to recognize their commander standing in the open, and Rikus had heard no one call his name or even issue a challenge.
The Crimson Legion Page 18
