The Cerulean Storm

SIX THE DARK CANYON

As the crimson sun slipped behind the purple crags of the Ringing Mountains, long streaks of shadow stretched across the valley outside Pauper’s Hope. The sheen slowly faded from the glassy plain that Sadira’s magic had created earlier. The smooth field of rock slowly reverted to its true nature, filling the air with a soft murmur as orange stone crumbled into orange dirt.

To half the titans who had attacked Pauper’s Hope that morning, the change no longer mattered. The one that Rikus had wounded, Tay, lay motionless and blank-eyed at the edge of the field. Three more, including Tay’s comrade Yab, had succumbed to the searing heat of the Athasian day. They were slumped over at the waist, the tips of their thirst-swollen tongues protruding from their blue lips.

That left only four living giants to rejoice in the disintegration of their magical prison. Bellowing in gleeful, thirst-parched voices, they began to dig their hips and legs free. They hurled each handful of rock-filled dirt to the ground just out of arm’s reach, where a company of dwarven warriors had surrounded each of them only moments before.

Despite the steel breastplates and helmets protecting the warriors, the giants’ barrage savaged through their disciplined companies, opening great holes in their neat ranks and sending armored figures rolling away like tumbleweeds. The dwarves countered with a volley of crossbow fire. Their iron-tipped bolts were about as effective against the thick hide of the titans as cactus needles would have been against mul gladiators.

“Call Neeva back,” Rikus said. “Their crossbows are useless.”

Caelum shook his head. “They’ve just begun,” he said. “She’ll never retreat so soon.”

“If she waits much longer, she won’t have a chance,” said Magnus, his ears twitching with tension. “I’m afraid we arrived too late. The wraiths may have failed to kill Sadira, but the delay they have caused might prove fatal to us all.”

The trio stood about a hundred paces from the battle, facing the butte over which Rikus and the windsinger had climbed when they first heard the giants. Caelum and Magnus were waiting in reserve, ready to cover the retreat as soon as the battle turned against the dwarves. Unlike Sadira’s sorcery, their clerical magic was primarily defensive in nature and not of much use in destroying titans.

Rikus had been forced to stay with the clerics, because-up until a few minutes ago-the ill effects of the scorpion sting had left his vision too blurry to fight. Thanks to his hardy mul constitution and Caelum’s magic, however, Rikus was recovering rapidly-even if he still had a queasy stomach and sporadic bouts of dizziness. In spite of his condition, the mul would rather have been with Neeva, standing near the dwarven companies and directing the attack from close range. Unfortunately, she had ordered him to stay behind, saying he would only be a liability, and the mul had been in no position to protest. Neeva had organized the assault, and it was under her full command.

As Magnus had explained to Rikus, Neeva had reacted quickly after the wraith attack on the Cloud Road. Perceiving that the original plan for dealing with the giants was in jeopardy, she had sent a half-elven runner to fetch the Kledan militia from Agis’s estate. Then, while the windsinger helped Sadira fight off the wraiths, she and Caelum had discussed their options. When it became clear the sorceress would survive but might not regain consciousness before dusk, Neeva had carried Rkard across the rope that spanned the gap. Caelum and Magnus had followed close behind, with Sadira and Rikus tied to their backs in the case the pair awakened in time to help confront the giants. The Tyrian legion would follow as soon as possible, but it seemed unlikely that they could get two thousand warriors safely across the breach in time to stop what was about to happen.

The largest giant, the one-eyed fellow Rikus had heard called “Patch” by the others, braced his enormous hands at his sides. He pushed down, and a gentle tremor rolled through the field. The orange dirt bulged slightly upward around his hips. The dwarves peppered him with crossbow bolts, but he only twisted from side to side, trying to loosen the ground and free himself.

Before the battle, Rikus had made a point of reminding Neeva to leave the one-eyed giant alive, so they could interrogate him about Agis and what would happen if the Dark Lens was not returned to them. Now, the mul was beginning to worry that it would be the titans who left no one alive.

“Caelum, I want to stop the giants as much as anyone,” Rikus said. “But your dwarves can’t do it.”

“Kled’s warriors are as brave as any in Tyr,” the dwarf replied sharply. “Wait until you see their axe-charge.”

“Neeva wouldn’t waste good warriors like that!” Rikus considered his objection for a moment then started forward. “Maybe I’d better go talk some sense into her.”

Before the mul had taken his second step, Magnus’s huge fingers dug into his shoulder and brought him to an abrupt halt.

“If you go out there now, Rkard will have another sleeping Tyrian to look after.” The windsinger looked across the valley to the top of the bluff, where the young mul was hiding with Sadira’s unconscious form. “Wait until you’re stronger.”

“I’m ready now.” Rikus tried to pull free, but the windsinger’s powerful fingers held firm.

“Save your strength,” advised Magnus. “If this doesn’t work-”

A tremendous rattle sounded from the battlefield as the ground around Patch’s hips loosened. Bellowing with delight, the titan leader stretched forward and slapped his palm down with a thunderous clap. Three dwarves died instantly, lacking the time even to scream.

Rikus saw Neeva barking a command, though it was impossible to hear her over the din of the battle. He reached for the Scourge’s hilt, but Magnus had already tilted his eloquent ears forward to catch her words.

“She’s come to the same conclusion as Rikus,” the windsinger reported. “Signal the retreat.”

The dwarf raised his hand. A pillar of crimson light shot from his palm and arced westward, casting a luminous glow over the battlefield. The Kledan militia disengaged instantly. They rushed toward the signal, assembling themselves into loose squares as they moved.

“At least their discipline’s good,” Rikus commented.

Caelum shrugged. “Yes, but what now?” he asked. “We’ve lost our best chance to stop the giants. They’ll raze every farm in the valley.”

“Not if we keep them busy with us,” Rikus said.

Patch grabbed another handful of rubble and hurled it at the fleeing dwarves. A hail of stones rained down on the trailing company, denting more than a dozen helmets and leaving dazed warriors scattered over the field. Magnus began one of his ballads. A powerful wind howled down out of the mountains. It swept just a few feet above the dwarves’ heads, with enough force to drive any more such barrages back the way they came.

Rikus continued speaking to Caelum. “I have an idea, but it’ll mean leaving Rkard alone until Sadira wakes.”

“Rkard will be fine. He has a sun-spell he can use to summon us if he has trouble,” the dwarf said. “What’s your plan?”

“There’s a dead-end gorge on the other side of Pauper’s Hope where I hid once, after escaping from Tithian,” the mul said. “It’s full of ancient mines. If we can make it into the canyon and harass the giants enough to keep their attention focused on us, we might keep them busy until morning.”

“And by then, Sadira should be well enough to help us.” Caelum nodded. “Let’s give it a try.”

They waited a few moments for Neeva and her dwarven militia to arrive. Without the dwarves harassing them, Patch and the other giants concentrated on digging their legs free. Soon, they were each ringed by mountainous heaps of dirt, and Rikus knew that reaching the gorge would be an uncertain proposition.

When the first company of militia arrived, Rikus saw by their clenched jaws and narrowed eyes that retreating grated on the dwarves’ pride. He waved his arm at them, yelling, “The battle’s not over yet. Follow me! I have a plan.”

Neeva winced, no doubt remembering his disastrous plan to invade Hamanu’s city during the war with Urik. Nevertheless, she took a long breath and ordered her dwarves to obey. The mul started toward Pauper’s Hope at a sprint, padding over the ground in near silence. Neeva joined him and ran just as quietly at his side, but Caelum’s feet slapped the ground loudly with every step, and Magnus’s heavy footfalls actually shook the ground. The four companies of militia spaced themselves out across the field and followed at a short distance, armor clanking and booted feet stomping.

By the time they reached the edge of the field, Ral and Guthay had risen. Both moons were in a crescent phase. The flaxen light they cast over the broken ground was so pale, Rikus found it difficult to distinguish between shadows and stones. Nevertheless, he continued to run at his best pace, finding his way as much by feel as by sight. The queasiness in his stomach was fading with the exercise, but the bouts of dizziness came more often. Several times, Neeva had to reach out to steady him, not because he had stumbled, but because he had lost his balance and was listing to one side or the other.

As Rikus entered the faro field near Rasda’s Wall, Patch dug himself completely free. Instead of chasing after the fleeing warriors, the titan went over to his companions and began pulling them out of the ground like a crop of tubers.

Keeping a wary eye fixed on the giants, Rikus turned to Neeva, “Have your warriors drop their shields and whatever else they can discard on the run-aside from their weapons. Right now, speed’s more important than armor.”

Neeva shook her head. “They’re well disciplined, but they are dwarves,” she replied. “That equipment came from Kemalok’s armory. They’ll die on the spot before they cast any of it aside.”

“I was afraid of that,” Rikus grumbled, starting down one of the paths between the faro rows.

Behind them, Patch’s voice cried out in an angry howl that seemed to shake the sky. Rikus looked back to see him kneeling over Yab’s body and remembered that Tay had said something about the young titan being the leader’s brother. The rest of the giants were racing after Rikus and the militia, their heavy steps reverberating through the valley like thunder.

The ground between the faro rows was packed hard. Rikus and his followers crossed the orchard at an all-out sprint, quickly passing around the shoulder of Rasda’s Wall. If Rikus had possessed any regrets about the fate of Yab or any other giant, they quickly faded when he saw what had happened in the farm buildings of Pauper’s Hope.

The night air was thick with the stench of corpses that had lain rotting in the sun all day long, and it was apparent that Patch’s brutes had taken great delight in killing the inhabitants. The bodies of men and women lay heaped at the bottom of Rasda’s Wall, while dark smears of blood, barely visible in the pale moonlight, speckled the cliffs above. As if mere slaughter were not enough, Patch and his warriors had also stomped every building flat, usually with the inhabitants inside. They had even destroyed the irrigation dam, leaving a shallow depression of cracked mud cakes where once the pond had been.

A short distance beyond the farm lay a moonlit wall of foothills. Covered with little except jagged stone and flakes of clay-rich soil, they rose steadily upward to form the lower slopes of the Ringing Mountains. A narrow gorge twisted its way into the hills, the blackness of its depths creating the impression of a snake crawling up the steep scarps.

As the militia neared the far side of the compound and started toward the dark canyon, the giants reached the other end of Rasda’s Wall. The titans stopped long enough to lift several boulders off the outcropping and hurl the huge stones at the fleeing dwarves. Two of the rocks landed just ahead of Rikus and shattered harmlessly into a hundred pieces, but the others were better aimed and came down in the midst of the trailing company. Several of Neeva’s warriors died amidst the crinkle of steel armor.

“Loose formation!” Neeva called. “Spread out!”

As the dwarves scattered, Rikus saw the giants start forward again. They covered half the distance across the compound with a single stride then stopped to pluck more boulders off the cliff. The mul was tempted to fight them here, on the site where the brutes had slain so many helpless people, but he resolutely resisted the temptation. Nearly a decade earlier, during the war with Urik, he had learned the foolishness of allowing emotions to guide his tactics.

Instead, he waved the dwarves on toward the canyon but stopped Magnus near the dry irrigation pond. “Can you slow them down?” he asked. “We’re two hundred paces from the canyon, but they’ll cover the distance in ten.”

The windsinger nodded. “I have a powerful song that will give you time,” he said. “Go on.”

“Don’t get yourself-”

“I have no intention of dying tonight,” Magnus replied.

Flecks of dried mud stung the mul’s face as a rock crashed into the irrigation pond just a few yards away, then he heard a crumple as heavy stones crushed the armored forms of several more dwarves. Magnus raised his voice in a thunderous song, summoning a tempestuous wind from the depths of the desert night. It roared down from the mountains in the blink of an eye, bringing with it a thick fog of cold mist. The blast surged across the compound, hurling broken mud bricks and dead livestock high into the air. It slammed the debris into the outcropping with a deafening boom, loosening a slide of rock to come pouring down on the giants’ heads.

Magnus pushed Rikus toward the canyon. “Go! This will hold them for only a few moments. You must show the others what to do when they reach the canyon.”

The mul obeyed, sprinting for cover. Once, he was overcome by dizziness and fell. Nevertheless, with his longer legs and lack of heavy armor, he caught up with the dwarves easily and led the way into the gorge.

The place was really more of a gash than a canyon, a sheer-sided crevice of crumbling rock that twisted its way less than a mile into the base of an enormous mountain. There were no smooth bends or gentle curves in the entire course. It changed directions at unpredictable intervals and at sharp angles. In some places, an entire dwarven company could have stood in dress formation across its breadth. Then, less than a dozen paces later, it grew so narrow that a giant would have to turn sideways to pass between its towering walls.

At last, Rikus came to a bottleneck in the gorge, where the cliffs stood so close together that he could have leaped from the brim of one to the other without a running start. Although it was not possible to see much in the pale moonlight, the mul knew that those cliffs were pocked with dozens of caves, the portals of ancient mines that had been worked, abandoned, and forgotten centuries ago-perhaps even before Kalak had conquered Tyr.

On the other side of the bottleneck, the canyon opened into a large circular valley. It was enclosed on every side by sheer walls of red-stained stone, many times the height of a giant. Like the cliffs of the bottleneck, these were pocked by mine openings. Those near the top could be seen as dark circles on the moonlit rock faces. Rikus knew that there were also several mine tunnels near the bottom of the cliffs, though they were hidden behind huge mounds of waste rock that covered most of the valley floor.

An angry bellow echoed up the stony canyon, then the walls began to shake with the steady crash of heavy footsteps. Rikus looked back down the gorge. The dwarves of the first two companies were beginning to peer nervously over their shoulders. The mul could not see the two companies bringing up the rear, for the gorge took a sharp bend.

Rikus joined Neeva, telling her, “There’s a huge tunnel on the far side. I think it connects to most of the others, so let’s go over there. Once the giants think they have us trapped, we can duck inside, then come out from the other mines and harass them from behind. With luck, we may even be able to circle back and block the canyon.”

Neeva nodded and passed the order back. The mul entered the valley, picking his way between mounds of red-stained waste rock and the stone foundations of several huge buildings. Neeva and the dwarves came close behind him, their armor filling the still valley with a clatter such as had not been heard there in a thousand years.

Finally, upon reaching the back of the gorge, they slipped from between two piles of rubble and came upon a small area of open ground. It was located beneath a towering cliff that seemed to rise straight to the crescent moons. At the base of the scarp, a tunnel ran toward the heart of the mountain. Though the passage was easily broad enough for three dwarves to walk down and high enough that an elf could have stood inside it at his full height, it was not so large that a giant would be able to do more than thrust an arm inside.

From the far side of the valley rumbled Patch’s deep voice. “There they are, Fosk!”

Rikus looked toward the entrance in time to see the giant’s immense form stepping into the valley, his shoulders turned sideways so he could fit through the narrow gap. He was pointing toward the open space in front of the tunnel, where the dwarven companies were gathering.

“Let’s draw them closer,” Rikus said. “Make it look like we’ll fight here.”

Neeva traced a line in front of the cavern entrance. “Form ranks by companies!” she ordered.

The dwarves rushed toward the place she had indicated, milling about purposefully. Although the scene seemed one of utter confusion to Rikus, each of Neeva’s warriors seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

While they arranged themselves, Patch and one warrior-probably Fosk, judging by the name Rikus had heard a moment ago-entered the valley. In three steps, they had already walked more than a quarter of the way across. The mul did not see the other two giants.

At Rikus’s side, Neeva suddenly cried, “Sult? Where in the name of Ral are you?”

The mul looked toward the tunnel entrance, where he saw three ranks of dwarves standing with axes drawn and bucklers guarding their chests. “What’s wrong?”

“Sult Ltak and his Granite Company are missing,” Neeva reported.

Just then, a giant’s angry bellow rolled across the valley, followed by the distant sound of crumpling armor. Rikus looked back toward the canyon. Beyond the lumbering forms of Patch and Fosk, he saw a third titan kicking madly at something on the ground.

“They’re still in the canyon!” Rikus said. “They must have fallen behind!”

“Either that, or stayed on purpose,” said Caelum, coming to the mul’s side. “The yalmus of the Granite Company is a brave man-sometimes overly so.”

“You think he’d hang back on purpose?” Rikus gasped.

Neeva nodded. “If he thought he could kill a giant, he would.”

In the dark shadows of the narrow canyon, the mul could see little, only the silhouette of a huge knee rising and falling as the giant stomped at his attackers. Curt death cries and the creak of folding armor suggested that the brute’s foot found its target all too often, but Rikus could also hear a softer sound: the incessant thump, thump, thump of dwarven axe blades biting into tough flesh.

Looking back to Patch, Rikus said, “Call him back, Neeva. They’ll be wiped out.” Neeva shook her head. “I can’t do that, even if Sult Ltak’s men would obey,” she said. “They’ve declared for honor.”

“Declared for honor?” the mul asked.

“You remember how Yarig fought?” Neeva replied.

Rikus groaned. “They wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

He and Neeva had trained with a dwarf named Yarig during their days in Tithian’s gladiator pits. Before each match, the squat gladiator would make victory over his opponents his life focus.

Neeva nodded. “In Kled, they call that declaring for honor,” she said. “Sult and his warriors must kill the giant or die trying. If they retreat now, it’s the same as breaking their life focus. They’ll become banshees when they die.”

“I thought your militia was disciplined!” Rikus snapped. He cursed and kicked at the ground. He barely noticed as his callused foot sent a melon-sized stone rolling away.

“It’s not Sult’s fault,” Neeva said. “Every yalmus has the right-even the responsibility-to act on his own initiative.”

“Sult is dividing the enemy’s forces, just as Neeva taught him,” added Caelum.

The mul cursed the dwarf’s initiative and tried to think of a way to save the company. During the war with Urik, too many brave warriors had died needlessly for him to want to see the same thing happen to the Granite Company.

Before anything came to mind, Patch and Fosk surprised the mul by stopping their advances. The giants stood thirty of Rikus’s paces away-only five or six of their own-and glared down at the three ranks of dwarven warriors.

Rikus drew his sword and stepped forward. The blade remained gray with the stain of the wraith attack, and the weapon’s magic did not seem quite as powerful as before. Although the Scourge brought the dying screams of Sult Ltak’s dwarves to his ears more clearly, he still could not understand their words-as he would normally have been able to do.

“Where is our Oracle?” demanded Patch.

“If you want to talk, call off your warrior’s attack,” Rikus countered, pointing toward the gorge.

Patch peered over his shoulder then looked back down at Rikus with his one uncovered eye. He smiled, revealing a cruel set of filed yellow teeth. “Not until you answer.”

Rikus sighed, then said, “We don’t have it here.”

“We knew that when your ugly little dwarves started shooting needles instead of giving it to us,” sneered Fosk, standing a step behind his leader. “Where have you hidden it?”

“If you make us call the rest of the tribe to break into Tyr, we’ll raze the city,” warned Patch. “We won’t leave nothing standing.”

“There are many powerful wizards in Tyr-including the one who imprisoned your war party this morning,” Rikus bluffed. “Besides, we only need to borrow the Lens. We’ll give it back as soon as we kill the Dragon.”

Patch’s single eye went as round as the sun, and Fosk could not stop himself from stepping forward.

“No!” boomed the giant leader. “Especially not for that!”

Rikus frowned. “The Dragon is everyone’s enemy,” the mul said. “He may not take giants to fill his levy, but it’s his magic-and that of his followers, the sorcerer-kings-that turned Athas into a wasteland.”

“Better to live in a wasteland than to die in a paradise,” countered Fosk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rikus asked.

Patch and Fosk looked at each other with blank expressions. Then, as if it would explain everything, the leader said, “That’s what Jo’orsh and Sa’ram say.”

“What do you know of Jo’orsh and Sa’ram?” demanded Caelum, stepping to Rikus’s side.

“They gave us the Oracle,” Patch informed him. “They said if we lose it, almost everyone on Athas could die.”

“Then they must have changed their minds,” Neeva said, joining the pair. “Because they’re the ones who told us that it was time to kill the Dragon.”

Fosk’s cavernous mouth dropped open, and Patch raised the brow of his uncovered eye in disbelief. “They’re here?” asked Fosk.

“They visited us ten days ago,” Rikus said. He carefully avoided any mention of Rkard, deciding that he would leave it to Neeva to reveal or keep secret what the banshees had said about the boy’s destiny. “They said nothing about returning the Lens to the giants.”

Patch scowled doubtfully. “If you really saw them, what’d they look like?”

“They were the size of giants-not quite as big as you, but close,” Neeva replied. “They were nothing but bone, all twisted up. One had a skull, and the other didn’t. Neither one had any skin, but both had orange eyes and long gray beards.”

Patch ran a hand through his snarled hair braids. “And they didn’t take our Oracle back?” he gasped. “Where are they?”

Neeva started to answer, but Rikus raised a hand to keep her from speaking. “First, stop your warrior from smashing any more of our friends.”

Patch motioned to Fosk, who turned and bellowed, “Galt, leave them guys alone for a minute-but don’t let ’em out ’til Patch says.”

Galt reluctantly stepped back. He grabbed a huge boulder and dropped it into place at the mouth of the canyon. Rikus heard the sound of crumpling armor, then dozens of angry dwarves screaming for the giant to come back and fight.

“Right now, we don’t know where Jo’orsh and Sa’ram are,” Rikus said. “We haven’t seen them since they said it was time to kill the Dragon. But I suspect they’ve gone to protect the Lens until we get there.”

“Get where?” Patch demanded. “Our Oracle isn’t in Tyr?”

Rikus smiled, proud of himself for salvaging their original plan. Even with Sadira unconscious, it seemed he would be able to lure the giants away from Tyr-perhaps even convince them to abandon their demand for the Lens altogether.

“No, Agis didn’t bring the Dark Lens back to Tyr,” Rikus said. “He sent word for us to meet him someplace else.”

Fosk scowled, and Patch narrowed his eye. “Agis told you to meet him?”

“Yes,” Rikus replied. “We’ll leave as soon-”

“Liar!” Fosk thundered. He stooped down and scooped up an entire pile of waste rock.

Caelum touched his palm to the crimson sun on his forehead and pointed his other hand at the giant. Rays of scarlet light shot from between the dwarf’s fingers, illuminating the valley in eerie, flickering hues as they streaked over and enveloped the titan’s hand.

When Fosk whipped his arm forward, no stones flew from his hand. Pink balls of sticky, bubbling gel arced off the ends of his fingers, igniting small circles of flame wherever they spattered. The drops that fell on the ground flared briefly and faded, but the burning sludge stayed in Fosk’s hand. The giant screamed in pain and slapped the hand at his thigh, kindling a fire even larger than the one he was attempting to put out. Finally, he simply dropped to the ground and began to roll, sending clouds of dust high into the sky.

“Nicely done, husband,” said Neeva.

Rikus grunted his agreement. Keeping a watchful eye on Patch, who was studying the fallen giant with a wary scowl, the mul asked, “How many other spells do you have like that?”

“That was my most effective. That’s why I saved it,” Caelum replied. “It may not kill him, but it should keep him from bothering us, for now.”

“Perhaps Magnus will have some wind-magic-”

“I doubt he’ll be coming,” Rikus interrupted. “I assigned him to slow the giants back at the farm. He must have gotten trapped on the other side, or he’d be here by now.”

As the mul spoke, Patch looked back toward the gorge. “Kill the dwarves, Galt!” he yelled. “All of ’em!”

Neeva spun around, commanding, “Into the tunnel. Now!”

As the dwarves obeyed, the mul shook his head in bewilderment. “Stop it, Patch!” he yelled, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “I thought you understood. Jo’orsh and Sa’ram don’t want the Lens back.”

“Be quiet, little liar!” Patch countered. He picked up a huge boulder and stepped toward the mul. “Agis died in the Bay of Woe.”

“You’re the one who’s lying!” Rikus yelled. “Agis is alive. He just sent us a message!”

“Tithian stole our Oracle,” Patch insisted. “And you’re trying to hide him.”

The titan hurled the stone with both hands. It arced toward Rikus. He had time to see that it was easily large enough to flatten both him and his companions. The mul brought the Scourge up and slashed at the rock with all his strength.

Rikus did not feel the enchanted blade biting into the boulder, as he had expected. His arm just went numb. A loud, clanging knell punched at his eardrums, and a black flash erupted from where his sword had met the rock. The dirt vanished from beneath his feet, and he felt himself being slammed into the ground by a tremendous blast. Everything fell quiet, and he expected to feel the crushing weight of the boulder smashing down on his body.

Instead, he was pelted by a stinging hail of gravel shards. He found himself gasping for breath as he struggled to draw air back into his lungs and marveled that he had survived.

“Rikus!” Neeva screamed.

“I’m fine,” he groaned. The mul ran a hand over a stinging cut above his ear then picked himself up off the ground, nearly fell, and put out a hand to steady himself.

It was then that he realized he no longer held the Scourge.

“My sword,” he growled, shaking his head and glaring in Patch’s direction.

“There,” Neeva replied. “It exploded.”

She pointed to the ground next to where Rikus had landed. The Scourge of Rkard lay in two pieces, still tainted gray and now disjoined about midway between the tip and hilt. From the jagged ends of the blade oozed a stream of black fluid, thicker than syrup and smelling as foul as a briny well. Instead of sinking into the dirt, the liquid drew up into glistening beads, which immediately rolled toward each other and began to form a single, much larger glob.

A cold ache rolled over Rikus’s entire body. “No!” he cried, snatching the two pieces of his sword off the ground.

The mul spattered his fingers with several drops of the black fluid. The beads quickly rolled over his hand and started up his wrist, leaving a stinging trail of blisters in their wake. He yelled in surprise and whipped his hand downward, flinging the liquid onto the ground.

“What is that stuff?” he gasped, watching the beads crawl toward the larger blob on the ground.

“What does it matter now?” responded Caelum. He pointed toward Patch, who had grabbed another boulder and was raising it to throw again. “Let’s go!”

With that, the dwarf seized the mul’s arm and pulled him into the tunnel. Patch’s boulder crashed down outside and bounced off the cliff wall, filling the mine with a resonant boom.

Caelum led them into the deep recesses of the cavern, where the three remaining companies of Kled’s militia waited safely beyond the giant’s reach. The dwarves had not bothered to strike torches. When there was no true light available, their eyes detected the ambient heat emitted by all objects. It was an ability they had inherited from their ancient ancestors, who had lived out their entire lives in the black snugness of subterranean depths. Since he was a half-dwarf himself, Rikus was also blessed with this gift.

From outside came Patch’s distant voice, deriding the dwarves as pointy-eared cowards, backstabbing thieves who couldn’t grow a hair braid among them, and a dozen other names that he considered insulting. Each time the giant uttered another indignity, the tunnel trembled with the impact of another boulder hitting the cliff face outside. Once, a stone even entered the mine and rattled around the collar for a few moments before coming to a harmless rest.

Caelum stepped over to Rikus’s side, his hand already glowing with crimson light.

“My healing magic is not as strong at night,” he said, gesturing toward the gash above the mul’s ear. “But at least I can stop the bleeding.”

Rikus pulled away. “Wait a minute. I have an idea.”

The mul looked at the Scourge’s broken blade. The black fluid continued to drip from its jagged breaks. Enough of the stuff had gathered on the tunnel floor to create a knee-high blob.

Rikus fit the two pieces of his sword together and held it toward Caelum.

“What do you want me to do?” the dwarf asked. He stared blankly at the blade and the dark fluid dripping from it. “I’m no smith.”

“If you were, you’d know steel doesn’t bleed.” Rikus pointed his chin at the oozing seam between the broken pieces of blade. “So heal it.”

“Mend steel?”

“Just try it,” Rikus interrupted. “What can it hurt?”

The dwarf shook his head then reached for the seam.

Rikus put out a restraining hand. “Can’t you do it without touching it?” he asked. “That stuff stings.”

“Pain is nothing new to me,” the dwarf replied, closing his fingers around the Scourge.

As his hand contacted the black liquid, Caelum drew sharp breaths between his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut but did not pull away. A soft sizzle echoed off the tunnel’s stony walls, and sparks spewed from between the dwarf’s fingers, filling the dark passage with fleeting flashes of orange light. Sweat poured off Caelum’s brow and his muscles trembled, but still he did not pull away.

“Is that going to work?” Neeva asked, stepping to her husband’s side.

“I hope so,” replied Caelum. “Without the Scourge, I don’t know how Rkard is going to kill Borys.”

The dwarf held his hand over the seam for several more moments. Finally, when no more black fluid dripped from between his fingers onto the blob at his feet, Caelum took his hand away from the Scourge.

The blade separated into two pieces, but the ends had ceased to drip. Disappointed, Rikus slipped the broken tip into his scabbard for safekeeping. “At least you stopped the bleeding.”

“Whatever that liquid is, it’s not blood,” hissed Caelum, staring at his hand.

The dwarf’s palm was covered with the black ooze, which now bubbled and spewed as though on fire. More grotesquely, the bones beneath Caelum’s flesh seemed to be writhing about like worms.

“Get that off my husband!” Neeva screamed.

Rikus grabbed the dwarf’s hand and used the back of the Scourge’s broken blade to scrape Caelum’s palm clean. The black fluid hit the floor with a splat. It gathered itself into a bead and joined the largest glob.

“By the sun!” gasped Caelum. “What’s happening to me?”

The mul looked back to the dwarf’s hand and saw the cause of Caelum’s alarm. Thick, pointed scales had sprouted along the outside edges of the palm. In the center gaped a fang-lined maw, with bright red lips and a forked tongue that rose up from the abysslike depths of its ebony throat.

“Release me.” Black wisps of shadow slipped from between the mouth’s lips. “Come and free me.”

Caelum closed his hand. He grew very pale and said nothing.

“What is it?” Neeva demanded. She pulled them all away from the blob on the floor.

Rikus studied his broken blade for a moment then shuddered. “It must have something to do with the Scourge’s magic,” he said, slipping the broken blade into his scabbard with the tip. “Sadira will know more-I hope.”

“Come out!” yelled Patch’s voice.

Rikus looked toward the entrance. The giant was lying on his stomach and looking into the tunnel with his one good eye. He peered into the darkness for a moment then pulled away.

“Then you can stay in there, cowards!” he bellowed.

A moment later, a huge boulder came careening down the passage. It bounced off the walls a few times, and finally came to rest twenty or thirty paces inside the portal. The huge stone filled the tunnel so completely that Rikus could not see even a sliver of pale moonlight shining around its edges.

“I guess we won’t be leaving that way,” Rikus said.

The mul turned around and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dearth of light. Within a few moments, he was viewing the tunnel in a dozen radiant hues: the dwarves and Neeva in luminous red, thick veils of broken spiderwebs in shining green or yellow, the cold stone of the tunnel walls in shimmering blue.

“So how are we going to leave?” asked Neeva, peering around blindly. As the only full human in the group, she was the only person present who could not see in the dark.

“It won’t take us long to find another exit,” Caelum said. With his good hand, the dwarf grasped his wife’s arm and began to lead her deeper into the inky depths. “That’s true, isn’t it, Rikus?”

“There are hundreds of ways out,” the mul assured Caelum. “I suggest we divide the militia into three groups. Two of the companies should find exits as quickly as possible then attack Patch or any other giant they see. We don’t want them to go for a kill. Just let them know we’re still alive, then retreat and try it again from another portal.”

“What about the other company?” Neeva asked.

Rikus could see that she was gripping Caelum’s arm tightly and had squeezed her ineffective eyes shut so that her mind would not automatically strain to see what it could not and would be more open to her other senses. The technique was one that he had taught her long ago, while they were training for a special match of blindfolded gladiators.

“We’ll take the rest of your warriors and try to reach the mines opening into the mouth of the gorge,” Rikus said. “With a little luck, maybe we can find our way through in time to help Sult and his Granite Company.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult,” said Caelum. He touched his fingers to his sun tattoo. “I’ve just the magic to lead us through this warren.”