The Tyrians had dubbed the place the Crater of Bones, but so far no one had guessed the reason for its existence. On three sides, the basin was surrounded by sheer cliffs. On the fourth, it was blocked by a manmade wall of porous, lime-crusted blocks of stone. The gate could only be closed and locked from the outside. Beyond that, there was no hint as to the place’s purpose. The skeletons seldom showed any sign of injuries, and they lay scattered at random across the caldera, so that it seemed the inhabitants had died where they stood, with no chance to flee or to fight.
After several moments of watching his warriors clear bones from small circles of ground, Rikus turned away and looked in the opposite direction. Below him, a lava flow had cut a mile-long channel straight down the ash-covered mountains of the Smoking Crown. The sheer canyon ended in a delta of jagged rock that spilled into the steaming waters of the vast Lake of Golden Dreams. On that delta waited Maetan and several thousand Urikite soldiers.
As he studied his enemy’s camp, Rikus could not help sighing in regret. If he had opened his escape route at the western end of Makla’s stockade instead of the eastern, the Urikites would not be camped upon the delta—and his legion would not be trapped in the Crater of Bones.
Rikus’s tactics in the village had worked well. He and his army had left Makla well ahead of the Urikites, then trudged their way along the lakeshore, intending to circle around it until they found a suitable site in which to confront the enemy. Unfortunately, the terrain of the Smoking Crown had not been cooperative. After only a full day and night of marching, their way had been blocked by a river of burning rock. They had been forced to turn back, reaching the delta just ahead of the mindbender’s forces.
With their warriors exhausted from what had become a thirty-hour forced march, Rikus’s lieutenants had counseled him to avoid a fight and flee into the mountains. Recognizing the wisdom of their advice, the mul had led his soldiers up the narrow canyon—and straight into this dead-end crater. To leave, they would have to fight their way past the Urikites below. Normally, the prospect would not have concerned the mul, but the situation was worse than it would have been in Makla. No more than a dozen gladiators could attack from the canyon at a time, and they would be surrounded on all sides by the entire Urikite force.
A hollow clatter sounded from the other side of the wall. Rikus turned to see Neeva carefully picking her way through the tangle of bones covering the crater floor. In one hand, she carried a waterskin and in the other an obsidian short sword. Skewered on the weapon’s black blade was a round cactus about the size of Rikus’s head.
Neeva stopped at the base of the wall, near the rope the sentries had rigged to make scaling the barrier easier. “How about helping me up?” she called. Her eyes were drooping and puffy, the result of a sleepless night of marching.
Rikus lay on his stomach and took the waterskin and the sword so Neeva could climb the rope.
“What brings you up here?” Rikus asked, returning the sword with the cactus. The mul asked the question in his warmest tone of voice, for he hoped that Neeva’s presence meant she had finally decided to forgive him.
“I came to see you,” Neeva said.
As Rikus resumed his seat, Neeva glanced suspiciously at the wound on his chest. “Does that ruby relieve you of the need to sleep?”
Rikus pulled his robe over the sore. There was little point in trying to hide the gem anymore, but it bothered the mul when superstitious gladiators—especially Neeva—paid too much attention to the notorious glowing stone.
“I still need to sleep,” Rikus finally answered. “But right now, I have other things to do.”
“Like worry about Maetan and the Urikites?” Neeva asked, sitting at his side.
“I don’t know if worry is the right word.”
“It’s close enough,” Neeva said, a wry smile on her lips. She pulled her dagger and began chopping the red, finger-length spines off the cactus.
“Where’d you get that?” Rikus asked.
“Drewet asked me to give it to you,” Neeva answered. “She wanted you to know she isn’t frightened by your glowing ruby.”
“That’s good news,” Rikus said, relieved. “At least one gladiator still trusts me—and a pretty one at that.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Neeva warned, slapping Rikus on the leg with the flat of her dagger blade. A jeering grin crept across her lips, then she added, “I guess you haven’t changed so much after all.”
“Me?” Rikus mocked, gestering at Neeva. “You’re the one who’s been different. You’d think something happened between you and Caelum while I was gone!”
By the way Neeva’s face fell, he knew he had touched upon a tender subject. She looked away and chopped the last of the spikes off the ball, leaving nothing but a stubble-covered husk with a leathery skin. “I didn’t come up here to talk about Caelum—or myself.”
“All right, what did you come to talk about?” Rikus demanded, holding his temper in check.
Neeva took the stripped cactus husk off her sword, then cut a small hole in the top. “I just wanted to say that you saved our lives back in Makla. Jaseela thinks so, too, and so does Caelum.”
“That makes three out of a thousand,” Rikus said, gesturing over his shoulder at the rest of the legion. “Everyone else thinks I led them into trap.”
“Not everyone,” Neeva answered, hardly glancing up. “You have the support of the templars.”
“The templars?” the mul asked, shaking his head in amazement. “You’re joking.”
Neeva held the opened cactus toward him. “You know how templars are. They respect strength,” she said. “When you punished Styan, you proved that you were stronger than him.”
“And the dwarves?” Rikus asked. He plunged his hand into the leathery husk and felt dozens of little warm bodies slithering through his fingers.
“Dwarves are dwarves,” Neeva shrugged. “They’re with you as long as you work toward their focus.”
Rikus pulled a handful of white, scale-covered grubs out of the ball. “Nice and juicy,” he said picking out a thumb-sized wiggler and squeezing off its brown head.
Neeva sheathed her dagger, then placed the cactus husk in her lap. “It’s the gladiators you have a problem with. They don’t like magic they can’t understand. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to explain that glowing ruby in your chest. Why don’t you start with me?”
Rikus avoided an answer by placing the headless grub between his teeth and sucking out the insides. It had a rich, gamey flavor a little too sweet for the mul’s taste, but in the Athasian desert a hungry man ate what was available.
Neeva pulled a handful of grubs out of the thornball. As she popped the head off one, she said, “If you won’t tell me about the gem, then tell me how we’re going to get out of here?”
“I don’t know yet,” the mul admitted. “That’s what I was up here thinking about.”
“At least you’re still honest about something with me,” Neeva made a sour face as she consumed her first wiggler, then gestured for Rikus to pass the water.
They ate in silence for several moments, tossing the empty grub skins into the lime-crusted rocks at the base of the wall. Finally Neeva suggested, “Maybe we should ask the others if they have any ideas.”
Rikus shook his head. “And risk what little confidence the gladiators have left in me?” he asked. “Let me think about it for a while before I give Styan another chance to cause trouble.”
Neeva remained thoughtful for a moment, then scraped her hand around inside the cactus and emerged with the last dozen grubs. She gave half to Rikus, then tossed the empty husk into the rocks. “Let’s finish these and go for a walk.”
No, you’re not, hissed a voice from deep inside him. There will be no matings between you and any human, half-dwarf.
Before the mul could respond to Tamar, Neeva smacked Rikus lightly in the stomach. “I meant we should sneak down the canyon and come up with some sort of plan,” she said, givi
ng him a sad smile. “I’m not going to lie with you any more—at least not until things are better with us.”
“What things?” the mul demanded, checking to make sure his robe remained over Tamar’s ruby. “What do you want from me?”
“Three things that, apparently, you can’t give me,” Neeva answered. “Trust, devotion, and love.”
Inwardly, Rikus cursed Tamar for coming between him and his fighting partner. To Neeva, he said, “I do trust you. When this is over, you’ll understand.”
“Perhaps that’s true,” Neeva allowed. “But what about love and devotion? You’re not devoted to any woman, not even Sadira.”
“What do you call our success as a matched pair?” Rikus demanded. “We’ve even stayed together since we killed Kalak. If that’s not devotion, I don’t know what is.”
Neeva looked into the mul’s eyes and smiled patiently. “Devotion is when someone else’s happiness matters to you more than your own,” she said. “What you’re thinking of is loyality. You and I will always have that much.”
Rikus was silent for a time, then asked, “It’s the dwarf, isn’t it?”
Neeva dropped her gaze. “Caelum is there if I want him.”
The mere idea is disgusting, Tamar hissed. I should punish her for even considering it.
Ignoring the wraith, Rikus said, “You don’t have to feel guilty about Caelum. I understand—a heart is capable of loving more than one person at a time.”
“Now you sound like Sadira,” Neeva said bitterly. “She’s wrong. No one can love more than one person at a time—at least not the way I want to be loved.”
“So where does that leave us?” Rikus asked.
“That’s up to you,” Neeva answered. “I’m still here if you want me—but be sure you know what that means.”
Before Rikus could think of how to answer, Tamar said, It’s just as well. If she laid with you, I’d have to kill her. No decent woman would let anything less than a full human touch her.
If Neeva comes to any harm, you’ll never find out what happened to Borys, Rikus threatened. I’ll stop looking for the book.
Don’t toy with me, the wraith replied. You promised the dwarves. I could kill her for no good reason and you’d still recover the book. Your pathetic dwarven blood would force you to do it.
“Rikus, what are you doing?” Neeva asked.
To his surprise, the mul realized that he had reached under his cloak and was absent-mindedly scratching at his ulcerating sore, trying to pry the ruby from where it was lodged. He pulled his hand away and closed his robe once more. “Nothing,” he answered. “The wound bothers me sometimes.”
Neeva stood and took him by the arm. “Come on.”
Rikus jerked away. “You mustn’t touch me,” he said, not wishing to test the seriousness of Tamar’s threat.
Neeva frowned, showing her hurt. “Don’t act like a child,” she said. “It had to come to this sooner or later. Being free means you have the right to choose for yourself—it doesn’t mean you can have everything you want.”
Rikus returned to his feet, holding his cloak tightly closed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with being free, or with whether I can love both you and Sadira,” the mul said, maintaning a careful distance between himself and Neeva. “It’s for your own good. You mustn’t touch me.”
Neeva stepped toward the rope. “If that’s the way you want it,” she said.
“It’s not the way I want it,” Rikus answered, following. “It’s the way it has to be—for now.”
Neeva stopped and turned toward him, an expression of sudden understanding and relief on her face. “It’s the ruby, isn’t it?” she said. “It has some sort of control over you.”
Deny it, the wraith ordered.
Why? Rikus objected. What does it matter if she understands that much?
Rikus’s vision blurred for a moment. When it cleared again, he saw Tamar’s dark features and narrow eyes where Neeva’s face had been a moment earlier. The mul was confused for a moment, but he soon realized that the wraith was using her control over his mind to trick him into seeing her form where Neeva was standing.
“It’s what I want,” said Tamar, her wide lips moving as she spoke. Her control over the illusion was so complete that it seemed to Rikus that he heard her voice with his ears, not just his mind. “That’s all you need to know.”
Remembering how the Scourge had helped him sort through Tamar’s deceptions after Caelum had tried to remove her gem, Rikus grabbed the hilt of his weapon. “She frightens you, doesn’t she?” the mul said to the wraith.
The figure standing before Rikus once again became Neeva. “Who am I afraid of?” she asked, nervously eyeing the mul’s sword hand.
Rikus did not answer. Instead, he kept his attention focused inside his mind, where Tamar stood on a rock wall identical to the one beneath his feet, save that it seemed to continue forever across an endless lake of red, frothing fire. If Neeva frightened me, she would be dead already, the wraith informed him. Tell her that the ruby has no control over you.
“Neeva, go on,” Rikus said, refusing to do as the wraith demanded. As long as Neeva understood that he had little control over what he revealed about the ruby, there was a good chance she would eventually forgive him for his silence. “I’ll see you later.”
Fool! Tamar growled.
Great arcs of fire began to shoot from the red lake inside the mul’s mind. Rikus dropped to his knees, crying out in agony. It felt as though his heart had changed to a flaming ball that pumped lava through his veins.
“Rikus!” Neeva cried, moving toward him.
“Go!” the mul bellowed, pointing at the rope.
Neeva eyed his hand, which continued so grip the hilt of his sword. After a quick glance at the ugly scar across her belly, she retreated slowly, “I’ll get help.”
Rikus shook his head. “I don’t need it.”
The mul turned his attention inward, imagining that the black wall upon which Tamar stood had changed into a log. It burst into flames and crumbled to ash in an instant, plunging the wraith into the fiery lake.
As the mul fell, the lake of fire faded from his mind and he realized that he was tumbling head over heels into the Crater of Bones. He landed on his back, the thick mantle of skeletons breaking his fall with a loud clatter.
Defy me again and die, Tamar said, no longer visible inside Rikus’s head. Your corpse might be more useful to me without your insolent spirit inside it.
Neeva, who had slid down the rope while Rikus was not paying attention, started toward him. “Rikus! Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he answered, struggling to his feet.
Neeva stopped a step away, visibly restraining herself from touching him. “I won’t ask any questions,” she said. “Just say you’ll tell me what’s going on—
“When I can,” Rikus finished for her. “Until then, you’ll have to trust me. Now, why don’t you go back to camp? I’ll take that walk alone.”
The mul began picking his way through the bones and walked out the narrow gate, his mind as troubled by all the things he could not tell Neeva as by his legion’s poor position. Outside, the canyon ran straight and narrow down to the Lake of Golden Dreams, a pair of sheer cliffs serving as its walls. Even at their lowest points, the crags were several hundred feet high, and there were no gullies or ravines along the way that could be used to climb out of the narrow passageway.
An idea occurred to Rikus. He stepped to the cliff and used his dagger to scrape away some of the white crust. Underneath, he found a black, porous rock resembling a loaf of dark coarse-grained bread. He looked back to the wall, wondering what tools its builders had used to shape their blocks. If he could figure out that puzzle, he thought he could spare his legion a disastrous battle.
As the mul started forward to inspect the wall more closely, he heard the disgruntled voices of a large crowd moving toward the gate from inside the crater. Curious as to the cause of the commotion,
Rikus went to meet them.
When the mul stepped through the gateway, he saw Styan leading a mob of gladiators toward him. “By the light of Ral!” he cursed.
Rikus drew the Scourge of Rkard and started forward, stumbling and staggering through the bones as he marched toward Styan. Behind the templar came half of the gladiator company, among them the wine-loving tarek who had tried to defy Rikus back in Makla. To a warrior, they all carried their weapons and had sour expression on their faces.
A mutiny! hissed Tamar. I will put an end to their defiance.
No, Rikus returned. Let me handle this.
As he approached Styan, the mul grabbed the templar with one hand and pressed the tip of his sword under the old man’s chin with the other. “I should have done this two nights ago.”
“Please,” Styan gasped, his sunken eyes opened wide in fear. “This isn’t what you think.”
“What is it?” Rikus demanded, not releasing the templar.
“These gladiators came to me,” he said. “They asked me to talk to you.”
“You’re lying,” Rikus said, scowling at the gladiators gathered behind the templar. “They can talk to me themselves. They know that.”
“Maybe before that ruby sprouted in your chest,” said the tarek. “But you’re a different man now.”
There are too many of them for you to discipline alone, Tamar observed. I will summon help.
You can do that?
Tamar cooed, It will take my fellows but a few moments to reach us.
Leave them! Rikus commanded, trying to imagine the disaster that would follow if Tamar’s fellow wraiths appeared and threatened his gladiators. This is my legion. I can control it.
That remains to be seen, Tamar said.
When the wraith offered no further comment, Rikus released Styan and pushed him away. “Talk.”
The templar smoothed his cassock, then glanced over his shoulder at the men behind him. “These gladiators have no wish to stay here and starve,” he said, his voice gaining confidence. “They’re going to fight past the Urikites.”
The Crimson Legion Page 22
