Rikus tried to stand, but collapsed back to his knees, too sick from the serpent’s poison and too fatigued from battle to stand.
Neeva swept the mul off his feet. “We’d better get you back to bed,” she said, starting for the back of the mansion.
“And bring Caelum—a snake bit me,” the mul said. He clutched at her arm. “And if he lets me die—”
“He won’t,” Neeva said sharply.
“Wait!” Styan called. “What about King Tithian? Shouldn’t we warn him about what happened? Hamanu may send some of his legions to attack Tyr.”
“The king can wait,” Gaanon said.
“No, put me in the chair,” Rikus gasped, smiling weakly. “Styan is right. We must tell the king.”
Neeva frowned, but placed Rikus in the marble throne. The mul drew the olivine from the pocket in his belt and looked into it. When Tithian’s face appeared in the crystal, the king’s features were twisted in rage.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Killing Hamanu’s messenger.”
“What?” Tithian shrieked. “You’ve doomed the entire city!”
“Not at all, Mighty Tithian,” Rikus sneered. “Hamanu is going to be too busy defending Urik to attack Tyr.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Tithian gasped. The sound reminded the mul of nothing so much as the hissing of the Serpent of Lubar.
“I have no choice—it’s my gladiators’ only hope of survival,” Rikus said. “It’s too bad you didn’t hire the slave tribe. A hundred extra warriors might have made the difference between victory and defeat.”
Tithian’s face fell. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t you think you should talk this over with Agis and Sadira?”
“Give them my regards, but no,” Rikus replied. Relieved to hear that his friends had returned safely to the city, he closed his fist over the gem and handed it to Neeva. “Crush this. We won’t be needing it again.”
FIFTEEN
SLAVE GATE
THE TAIL OF THE WHIP POPPED OVER RIKUS’S SHOULDER. “Eyes down, boy!” commanded a snarling voice.
Rikus lowered his head and trudged onward, cursing the gladiator’s obvious delight in berating his commander. Along with two dozen fellows, all wearing the tunics of Makla’s village garrison, the imposter was driving a small force of Tyrian gladiators toward Urik’s slave gate. This larger group was disguised in the tattered cloaks and bandages of quarry slaves. On their backs, they carried heavy satchels of obsidian in which their weapons were concealed.
In spite of the escort’s command, Rikus kept his eyes raised enough to study the area ahead. Urik’s slave gate, like the rest of the city, was square and clean. It stood at the end of a short causeway of rutted cobblestones, flanked by high walls plastered with lime and stained yellow with sulfur paints from the Lake of Golden Dreams. Bas-reliefs of a stylized lion, standing on two legs and carrying its foreclaws like hands, marched along the ramparts in long lines. On one side, the lions left the gate with spears and swords, and on the other they returned with booty plundered from distant cities. Blood-colored merlons, each carved in the shape of a lion’s head, capped the walls on both sides. From between these battlements peered more than a hundred attentive archers, their squinting eyes fixed firmly on the wretched throng of quarry slaves below.
“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” whispered Neeva, staring at the heavy, stone-faced gates ahead.
“First, to save the legion, and second, to recover the Book of the Kemalok Kings,” Rikus answered.
“And how is attacking Urik going to do that?” she asked, scowling at the mul’s logic.
“After we secure the gate, Jaseela leads the rest of the legion into the city. We free Urik’s slaves, then led them into revolt,” Rikus answered. “Hamanu will have to recall his legions from the desert to restore order. That’s when we will take the book, our warriors, and any Urikite slaves we’ve freed and go back to Tyr.”
“It doesn’t look like most of Urik’s legions are in the desert to me,” Neeva objected. She cast a furtive glance at the archers along the top of the wall.
“No king would send all his soldiers out,” Rikus assured her. “That’s just a small garrison. After we overpower them, you take the dwarves to find Maetan’s townhouse and recover the Book of Kemalok Kings. The rest of us will take the slaves and sack the city.”
“That might be harder than you make it sound,” observed Neeva. She frowned, then asked, “With all those archers up there, it occurs to me that Hamanu may know we’re coming. Has that possibility crossed your mind?”
“Not in the last few moments,” Rikus said. “If he did, why would he let us march into the city?”
“Because it’s easier than chasing us down,” Neeva answered. “And because, once we’re inside the walls, there will be no place to hide.”
Rikus shook his head. “No. Hamanu would have had to know that we would attack Urik when Maetan told us where his legions were,” the mul said. “That’s not possible. I didn’t even give our own army enough information about our plan—or time enough to react—for a spy to give us away.”
Neeva did not contradict him.
They continued on in silence, until the gladiators began to crowd into the cramped tunnel leading beneath the city wall. Someone fell victim to the jostling and shoving, stumbling over a companion’s feet and falling to the ground. The orderly line became a confused jumble as those in the rear continued to press forward and those in the front did their best to avoid trampling the one who had tripped.
A few moments later, Rikus and Neeva caught up to the fallen man. To the mul’s surprise, he had sun-bronzed skin and a crimson sun tattooed on his forehead.
As Neeva reached down to jerk the dwarf back to his feet, Rikus growled, “Caelum.”
Once they had passed into the tunnel beneath the wall, Rikus grabbed Neeva’s arm. “What’s the dwarf doing here?” he demanded, nearly stumbling as they shuffled up the steeply sloped floor.
“You said he was in my charge,” Neeva countered, her tone already defensive and angry.
“I also ordered him to stay with Jaseela and the rest of the legion until it attacks,” Rikus said. “If he sounds the alarm—”
“Caelum is no spy,” Neeva spat back. “Besides, if any of us are going to survive this crazy plan of yours, we’ll need his sun-magic.”
“Rikus, I would never do anything to hurt Neeva,” Caelum said. “And I want the Book of the Kemalok Kings returned to Kled as much as you do.”
The dwarf fell silent as they left the tunnel and entered the city. Looking over the heads of those in front of him, Rikus saw that they were moving toward a narrow boulevard paved with cobblestones. To either side of the street rose yellow walls capped with spiky shards of obsidian and breached at irregular intervals by smaller gates. In the center of the avenue sat a massive, wedgelike block of granite. Located on a steep ramp in front of the slave gate, the granite block was mounted on huge rollers and held in place by a hemp rope larger around than a tree trunk. Next to this rope stood one of Hamanu’s templars and two half-giants armed with axes of steel. They were protected by a small contingent of gate guards wearing leather hauberks and armed with long obsidian swords.
As the group shuffled forward, Tamar appeared in Rikus’s mind. Her form quickly changed from that of a silky-haired woman to a semblance of Rikus himself, save that ruby-red orbs glowed out from where the mul’s black eyes should have been. A cold shiver of foreboding ran down the mul’s spine, then he heard the wraith say something that, at first, made no sense to him.
Caelum, you have disobeyed my commands for the last time, the wraith said.
Rikus felt his lips move along with those of the double inside his mind, then heard his own voice repeat Tamar’s words.
Still in the mul’s form, Tamar clenched her fist and took a step sideways. Rikus found himself moving toward the dwarf, his fist also clenched.
Stop it, Tamar! Rikus ordered, strugglin
g in vain to make his muscles obey his own will and not the wraith’s. You’ll doom us all!
You’re sending him and his dwarves after the book, she said. I won’t allow it.
Inside Rikus’s mind, Tamar reached out. In accord with her movements, the mul found his arm rising toward Caelum.
Neeva stepped between the mul and the dwarf. “Rikus! Are you trying to draw attention to us?”
Tamar thrust her arm out and Rikus felt himself shove Neeva away. The satchel slipped from her shoulders and crashed to the ground, echoing off the high stone walls surrounding the entanceway. Frowning in confusion, Caelum backed away from Rikus and thrust one hand toward the sun, collecting the energy for a spell. “Have you gone mad?”
On all sides of them, astonished warriors turned toward the commotion. Seeing that Neeva had dropped her sack, they did likewise and began digging their weapons out of their satchels.
By the light of Ral! Rikus growled. Because Tamar still controlled his body he could not look around to see how the Urikites were responding. Nevertheless, he could hear the gate guards calling for the archers to reinforce them.
Rikus willed an image of himself into his mind, directly in front of Tamar’s double. He launched himself at the wraith with such fury that she stumbled away, vainly raising her arms to block the barrage of fists.
Stop! Tamar ordered. The dwarf is ready to kill you.
Let him, Rikus answered. He kicked the wraith in the ribs, then knocked her to the ground with a vicious overhand punch. You’re losing the battle for me—that’s all that matters.
Rikus’s double suddenly faded to mist before his eyes. The mul braced himself, expecting the wraith to return in the form of some hideous monster and rip him apart. lnstead, Tamar’s voice echoed in the black depths of his mind. The battle is far from lost, she said. I will wait for a more convenient time.
Once again, the mul found himself in control of his own body, standing in the middle of Urik’s slave boulevard while war cries sounded all around him. Caelum remained in front of him, red eyes burning with anger. The dwarf held one glowing hand toward the sun, and only Neeva’s firm grasp kept the other pointed at the ground instead of the mul.
“It’s over,” Rikus said. “You’re safe for now, Caelum.”
He dropped the satchel from his back and plunged his hand into it. A shard of obsidian opened a long cut on his hand, but he paid no attention and found the Scourge’s hilt.
“Not yet,” Caelum insisted. “Not until you apologize to—”
“I need no apology,” Neeva snapped, pulling a pair of short swords from her own sack. “We have a fight to attend to.”
After Rikus pulled the Scourge from the scabbard, he spun around to face the templar and the half-giants guarding the granite wedge. Already the echoes of clashing weapons and screaming men filled the street as Rikus’s gladiators attacked the gate guards, cutting them down.
At the granite wedge, the templar cried, “Plug the slave gate!” He was already fleeing toward the nearest exit from the boulevard.
The half-giants brought their axes down on the massive rope. The blades bit deep into the cord, and it snapped with a vibrant twang. There was a loud rumble as the block shot down the ramp, the logs beneath it clacking in rapid succession.
Caelum pointed his free hand at the base of the block, and a defeaning boom resounded off the boulevard walls. A bolt of flame shot from the dwarf’s fingertips and, arcing over the heads of the warriors in front of him, engulfed the logs beneath the huge stone. In an instant, the blaze reduced the rollers to ashes. The wedge dropped to the stone ramp and ground to a halt with a loud rumble.
The Tyrian gladiators roared a tremendous cheer, many of them calling Caelum’s name, and rushed forward to finish off the gate guards. Their moment of victory was shortlived, however. A moment after the wedge ground to a halt, bowstrings hummed from atop the wall. A volley of black shafts streaked down into the street, and a dozen voices cried out in anguish as gladiators began to fall.
Rikus waved his sword at a mass of warriors near him. “You gladiators, come with me!” he cried, starting toward the nearest side gate.
The mul had taken only a couple of steps before he realized no one was following him. He stopped and faced them, “Follow me!”
A few gladiators reluctantly moved to obey, but many others pretended they had not heard and advanced down the street to fight the battle on their own terms. Such a wave of anger came over Rikus that the blood rushed to his head and he could feel the veins in his temples throbbing. He started to move toward those who had disobeyed him, but Neeva quickly intercepted him.
“Later,” she said. “The middle of a battle is no time to deal out punishment.” She gestured toward the wound on his chest. “Besides, you can’t blame them for being reluctant. Half the legion thinks you’re a necromancer, and the other half thinks you’ve lost your mind.”
The bowstrings atop the wall snapped again. This time, it seemed to Rikus that many more voices cried out as black shafts rained down on the crowd.
“If they don’t do as they’re told, what they think won’t matter,” the mul growled, once again turning toward the side gate. “See if you can get some of them to follow us.”
On the other side of the square portal, he found a pair of astonished guards armed with obsidian-bladed glaives. After dodging a badly timed slash and a clumsy thrust, Rikus killed them both with a single slash of his magical blade. He stepped over their bodies and went a few yards down the street.
He found himself in an austere neighborhood of neatly kept chamberhouses. Built of fired brick, each stood three stories tall, with a single rectangular door that directly abutted the cobblestone street. Every structure and every alley appeared identical, save for a wide variety of squiggly lines painted on the chamberhouses. The place seemed eerily quiet and deserted.
“Where are we?” asked Neeva.
Rikus glanced over his shoulder to see the female gladiator coming after him. Behind her were close to fifty warriors.
“Templar quarter, I think,” Rikus answered, pointing to a set of crooked lines on a doorjamb. “That looks like writing to me, and only the nobles and templars are allowed to read.”
“This isn’t a noble borough, that’s certain,” Neeva agreed. “No lord would stand for having his house look like everyone else’s.
“Shouldn’t we go the other way, then?” asked Caelum. The dwarf was moving up from the rear of the line. “Maetan said the book was in the townhouse. Surely, that isn’t in the templar quarter.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t come with us,” Rikus said, scowling at the dwarf. “I might—uh—lose my temper again.”
“I’ll take my chances,” the dwarf answered, stepping into line behind Neeva. “If Neeva is here, then this is were I belong.”
“Have it your way,” Rikus said, shrugging.
He turned down the nearest alley and started toward the wall, confident that, in the templar quarter, there would be at least one set of stairs leading to the top of the wall. The narrow lane ran between neat rows of square windows and was crossed every fifty feet or so by a larger avenue. The tidy structure lining the streets were painted identically: the two lower stories in yellow and the upper in blood red. Rikus could not imagine how the inhabitants avoided getting lost in this grid of identical buildings.
The district appeared deserted, with no sign of a templar, slave, or any other citizen. Nevertheless, Rikus knew there were plenty of Urikites about, for he could hear their footsteps echoing down the lanes and occasionally caught the hiss of a whispered conversation.
A few yards after what seemed the hundredth cross-street, the voices suddenly became so clear that the mul swore he was standing only a few yards from them. Nevertheless, none of the templars were visible in any direction.
Rikus heard several of them call upon Hamanu’s name and realized that it no longer mattered whether he could see them or not. “Magic!” he yelled.
The air itself flashed brilliant white, then claps of thunder rolled down the alleys from all directions. A tremendous blast of air struck the mul from behind, sweeping him off his feet. As he slammed to the ground, he heard warriors behind him screaming and pieces of mudbrick clattering down upon the cobblestones.
When Rikus jumped back to his feet, he was flabbergasted by what he saw. Where there had been vacant alley a moment before, a chest-high wall of thorns blocked the way. Peering over the top of this barrier were six yellow-robed templars, some empty-handed and others armed with crossbows.
“Where’d they all come from?” Neeva gasped.
Rikus hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, in the intersection where most of the templars’ spells had struck, the charred corpses of twenty gladiators now lay scattered across a dozen smoking craters.
“They were invisible!” Rikus snarled.
Loud clacks sounded from all directions as the templars fired their crossbows down the alleys. Rikus spun around in time to see several dark flashes sailing at him, then felt a series of sharp thumps in his midsection as the bolts struck his Belt of Rank. When he did not fall, the mouths of the crossbowmen fell open and they frantically began to reload their weapons.
Behind Rikus, Neeva yelled, “Caelum, no!”
The mul turned his head just enough to glimpse the dwarf slipping past Neeva’s larger form. In his raised hand, the dwarf held a dagger of crimson flame.
Little backstabber! Tamar exclaimed. You were correct. He is the spy!
Rikus lashed out with a rear stomp kick that took Caelum square in the chest. The dwarf’s eyes opened like red saucers, and he sailed past Neeva, crashing to the ground more than two yards away. His hand opened and the fiery dagger fell to the ground. It slowly rolled away, changing from a weapon to a flaming ball.
The fiery ball began to pulsate, then erupted into a blazing sphere that filled the narrow alleyway from top to bottom. It roared away down the lane, leaving nothing but ash and cinder in its path.
“You tricked me!” Rikus cried, trying to shut out the screams of the dying warriors.
The Crimson Legion Page 27
