The Crimson Legion

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 fresh 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.

It hardly mattered. He had only one hope of survival: perhaps the unseen creature had a supply of water with it. The lirrs seemed to sense Rikus’s change in attitude, closing the distance between them and their prey. They moved so silently that Rikus doubted he would have heard them had it not been for the Scourge of Rkard. He paid them no attention, relying on their natural caution to keep them at bay while he investigated the noise.

After Rikus had progressed less than twenty agonizing limps up the hill, whatever was hiding behind the boulder shifted position, creating a loud crackle. Fearing that their hard-won prey was about to walk into the waiting arms of some other hunter, the lirrs charged after Rikus in a mad scramble. The mul spun around to face the creatures, knowing that he was inviting attack from the rear-but having no other choice.

The lirrs leaped at him en masse, their claws slashing and their jaws snapping. Behind Rikus, stones rattled as the mysterious creature left its hiding place and came after him. Cursing his bad luck, the mul threw himself at the central lirr, leading with the tip of his sword. After impaling itself, the beast slid down the blade, clawing and biting at the gladiator’s head. The other two beasts, surprised by the maneuver, sailed past and met the creature that had been lurking behind the boulder.

Rikus released the sword and dropped to the ground, allowing the saurian to land on top of him. The beast feebly raked the mul’s flanks and opened more than a dozen shallow scratches, then gave its death shudder and fell motionless. At the same time, from behind Rikus came several moments of scratching and roaring as the other two lirrs battled whatever had jumped at the mul from the rocks.

A thick scale shattered loudly as it was struck, then the lirr howled in pain and fell aruptly silent. Afraid that he would soon be facing whatever had killed the beast, Rikus crawled from beneath the lirr he had killed and pulled his sword free of its body.

When he looked up, he saw a cyclone of flashing arms and claws as a thri-kreen grappled with the last lirr. As Rikus watched, the hulking mantis-warrior managed to grasp the saurian with three claws, then used his fourth hand to rip a scale off the beast’s throat. Finally, the insect-man bent down and inserted its mandibles into the exposed skin. The lirr howled, then began to convulse as the thri-kreen’s poison paralyzed it.

“K’kriq?” Rikus croaked, only half-lowering his sword.

The thri-kreen tossed the lirr on top of the other he had downed, then used two arms to point at the one Rikus had slain. “Good kill,” said the mantis-warrior. “Lirr strong.”

“Why didn’t you show yourself?” Rikus demanded. His parched throat ached with each word.

K’kriq’s antennae curled at the question. “And ruin lirr hunt?”

“Give me another waterskin,” Neeva ordered, tossing aside the one Rikus had just drained.

It was just past dawn, and a short time ago K’kriq had walked into the oasis camp bearing the mul’s half-conscious form in his arms. Rikus now lay on a soft carpet of burgundy moss, his head and shoulders cradled in Neeva’s arms. The puffy yellow crown of a chiffon tree shaded his face, and the honey-scent of its green blossoms filled his nose.

Over the mul’s shoulders was a robe of soft hemp, which he had made K’kriq fetch before bringing him into camp. Tamar’s ruby still peered out from his chest, and Rikus had no wish for his followers to see. Several of those followers were gathered around him at the moment, including Styan, Caelum, Jaseela, and Gaanon. K’kriq had returned to the desert to retrieve the lirr carcasses.

Caelum handed his waterskin to Neeva, but cautioned, “He shouldn’t drink too much at once-”

“He’ll drink as much as he likes,” Neeva snapped, opening the skin’s mouth and offering it to Rikus.

The mul took the skin, but did not immediately lift it to his lips. His stomach was bloated from the first one he had emptied, and he even felt a little dizzy.

“I told you to wait for me,” Rikus said, casting an accusing look at Neeva.

“We did,” Caelum offered. The dwarf raised his red eyes to meet the mul’s, at the same time laying his palm on Neeva’s shoulder.

Rikuse eyed the dwarf’s hand bitterly. “That’s strange. There was no one there when I came out.”

“I waited five days, Rikus,” Neeva said, her ivory brows raised in a mixture of apology and anger.

The mul’s jaw slackened. It seemed inconceivable that he had lain in Bory’s coffin for five days.

“I’m to blame,” Caelum said, stepping toward the mul. “I convinced Neeva you were dead.”

Rikus looked up, his eyes black pits of ire. He wasn’t sure why the dwarf’s admission made him so angry, but there was no denying that it did. “I wouldn’t get too close just yet,” the mul growled.

Caelum’s angular face betrayed no shock or fear. He remained standing in front of the mul.

“What did you want us to do?” Neeva demanded. “We couldn’t get inside.”

“They could have waited for you as long as they wished,” Styan said, nodding to the mul. “Under my command, the legion has been pursuing Maetan closely-”

“And would have pursued him right to the gates of Urik-without ever attacking,” growled Jaseela, sneering at the templar. She looked at Rikus straight-on, the beautiful half of her face a dizzying contrast to the disfigured side. “They thought you were dead, Rikus. What else would you have wanted them to do?”

“Nothing,” the mul snapped, looking away. “Neeva will tell me what happened while I was gone.”

With the exception of Caelum, the others took the hint and quickly left.

The dwarf, however, acted as though it had not occurred to him that Rikus meant to dismiss him as well as the others.

“Caelum, when I said I wanted to talk to Neeva, I meant without you here,” Rikus growled.

The dwarf looked up, his face a mask of perfect composure, then pointed at the wounds on the mul’s savage leg. “I will call upon the sun to mend your wounds.”

“No,” the mul said. After hearing the dwarf admit that he had convinced Neeva to abandon her vigil at the citadel, and seeing how he had squeezed the woman’s shoulder, the thought of allowing Caelum to touch him annoyed Rikus no end. “Not now.”

“It’s best if I heal you immediately,” the dwarf said, raising a hand toward the sun. “You’re losing strength by the minute.”

Rikus shoved the dwarf away. “I won’t have you touching me,” he shouted.

“The heat has affected your mind,” Neeva said.

“Has it?” Rikus demanded. “He’s the one who told you to leave me behind! Why should I want his help now?”

Without a word, Neeva pinned Rikus into her lap. “Lie down and let Caelum use his magic-the legion can’t wait here long enough for you to recover on your own.”

The dwarf lifted his hand to the sky again, and soon it was glowing red. Knowing that what Neeva said was true, Rikus looked away and allowed Caelum to touch him. It felt as though the cleric had poured molten steel into the veins.

When Rikus looked back, the flesh was fiery red. Trying to take his mind off the pain, he asked, “What of Maetan?”

“Styan managed to keep him from returning to Urik, but he’s retreated into a village called Makla,” Neeva answered.

Rikus cursed. “I know the village,” he said, his teeth clenched against the pain in his leg. “It’s a supply base for quarry gangs. It’s protected by a small Urikite garrison.”

As the wounds on Rikus’s legs closed, Caelum removed his hand and reached up to open the mul’s robe. Rikus caught him quickly. “No. These wounds need no attention.”

Caelum scowled. “Animal scratches are the most dangerous of all,” he said. “And from the ichor staining the robe, I’d say these have already gone foul. If I don’t attend to them now, the poison could kill you.”

Rikus shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “And I’ve had about as much healing as I can stand for one day.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Neeva snapped.

Before Rikus could stop her, she jerked his robe open. Beneath it were scratches the lirrs had inflicted on him, a burn in the center of his chest that had already started to heal, and, on his left breast, a festering sore about the size of the coin.

At its base, the inflamed sore glowed bright red scarlet, but the skin around the rupture’s lip had turned an ugly dark green. From the center of the wound oozed a steady flow of yellow purulence that almost obscured the red face of the ruby lodged in its center. From deep within the gem glowed a tiny spark of crimson that drew the eyes of both Caelum and Neeva straight toward it.

“What’s that?” Neeva demanded.

“I’m not sure,” the mul lied. “After I killed Umbra, I passed out for several days. When I woke up, it was in my chest.”

Though Rikus did not like lying, he intended to tell Neeva the truth later. With Caelum present, however, the mul thought it best not to mention the wraiths-especially since they wanted him to recover the same book that he was supposed to be returning to the dwarves of Kled.

“You woke up and it was there?” Caelum asked, incredulous.

“That’s what I said!” the mul snapped, pulling his robe closed.

Caelum calmly reopened the robe, then began poking and prodding at the sore. His fingers were quickly coated with rancid-smelling yellow goo. Rikus winced in pain and pushed the dwarf’s hand away. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I believe it to be a sort of magic vex,” Caelum explained, cleaning his hands on Rikus’s robe. He raised a hand toward the sun. As his fingers turned red, he said, “With the power of the sun, perhaps I can rid you of the stone.”

“You’d better know what you’re doing,” Rikus growled. He did not know which appealed to him less: remaining at the mercy of Tamar, or being indebted to Caelum for ridding him of the wraith.

Instead of replying to the mul’s threat, Caelum laid his hand to the glowing wound.

Where the dwarf touched him, Rikus felt a brief sensation of burning. An instant later, Caelum’s face went pale and he let out a terrified shriek. A gray shadow crept from the mul’s festering wound and moved over the dwarf’s hand, darkening the glowing flesh. The blotch slowly spread up the cleric’s arm, slipping onto his shoulders and up over his head until only the dwarf’s red eyes shone from the shadow. Even they quickly faded from view, rolling back in their sockets as Caelum toppled over.

Rikus screamed, feeling as though someone had shot a flaming arrow into his heart. The inside of his chest erupted into a shattering agony, and tongues of searing pain ran down into his legs and out into his arms. With each passing moment, the raging anguish grew worse, until the mul feared that a fire was consuming him from the inside out. In Rikus’s mind, smoky tendrils of blackness rose to cloud his thoughts, and his ears were filled with a loud, pulsing roar.

Tamar’s voice came to him over the throbbing in his ears. Your dwarven ally cannot save you, she hissed.

The fire inside Rikus’s body grew unbearable. He rolled away from Neeva’s grasp, then lay on the ground thrashing in pain until, at last, his thoughts turned to smoke.

The mul did not die. Instead, Rikus saw himself inside his own mind, walking blindly through an endless bank of mordant gray fumes. As he moved onward, choking and gasping from the caustic haze, his possessions slowly disappeared: first the robe he had been wearing to hide Tamar’s gem, then his sandals and the Belt of Rank, and finally even his breech-cloth. He found himself completely naked and without equipment, save for the Scourge of Rkard floating at his side as if sheathed in an invisible scabbard.

The mul continued to wander through the hazy landscape of his mind for what seemed like hours, but may have been days or merely minutes. Occasionally he shouted for Neeva, and even for Caelum, but there was never an answer. Rikus’s stomach began to churn with anxiety, for he had seen a similar haze before.

Once, after losing a gladiator fight with a horrid beast brought in from the desert wastes, Rikus had hovered near death for several days. During that time, he had found himself standing atop a distant cliff, overlooking an endless curtain of gray nothingness. That ashen haze had looked exactly like the dingy fog that now enclosed him.

A shiver of dread ran down the mul’s back. In retaliation for letting Caelum try to destroy her, the wraith may have killed them both.

“Tamar! What did you do to me?” Rikus yelled. With his scream, the mul’s fear gave way to anger. He set off through the gray haze at a sprint, reaching for his sword and shouting, “Come out, wraith!”

No sooner he had grasped the Scourge’s hilt than the gray haze disappeared. He saw that he was standing in midair, upside down with an even surface of granite many feet below. In the next instant, he crashed to the polished floor, barely tucking his chin in time from keep from landing on his head.

A roar of raucous laughter sounded all around him. He found himself in a vast room smelling of unwashed men and lit by dozens of opened-hearthed fireplaces. Around each fire whirled the lithe silhouette of a tall dancing girl, singing and shouting ribald invitations to the drunken men watching her. Serving slaves wandered the crowd, making sure that each spectator had a full cup of potent, foul-tasting broy.

At Rikus’s back, a silky voice called, “See, you’re not dead.”

The mul scrambled to his feet and turned around, where he saw an unclothed woman with a dark complexion and long black hair. She stood before a soft bed of sleeping furs. Her dark eyes narrowed to mere slits, and a wicked smile crept across her wide, full-lipped mouth.

“Tamar?” the mul gasped.

The woman nodded, then beckoned him forward with a single long-nailed finger. “You’re learning to use the Scourge,” she said. “Good. You can trust it when you cannot trust anything else-even your own thoughts.”

As the mul stepped toward the woman, he saw that she stood nearly as tall as he did. Her voluptuous body was sinuous and strong, but she smelled of must and decay. She opened her arms to the mul. “Come. I will teach you to use it against the mindbender.”

“Why?” the mul asked, stopping short of her embrace. “You must know that after I defeat Maetan, I’ll never give you the Book of Kemalok Kings.”

Tamar’s smiled turned ominous. “I think you will, when the time comes,” she said, motioning for him to step into her arms. “Now, come here-if you wish to learn more about your weapon.”

Rikus stood his ground, acutely aware of his own nakedness. “I’ve no wish to couple with you, wraith-even in my thoughts.”

Tamar’s eyes flashed fiery red, but her voice remained calm and silky when she spoke. “And I have no wish to lie with you, half-dwarf.”

Nevertheless, she reached out as if to grasp him. Long claws sprouted from her fingertips, and glistening fangs grew from beneath her full lips.

“Stay away!” Rikus cried, slashing his sword across her stomach.

The wraith jumped away, but the blade grazed her abdomen and opened a long gash. Tamar cried out, but not in her own voice. Her hair changed from silky black to blonde, her eyes from ruby red to emerald green, and her body from sinuous to powerful.

The honey scent of chiffon blossoms came to Rikus’s nose. With a sinking heart, he realized that what he saw before him was not inside his mind. He was looking at Neeva, and they were standing under the same chiffon tree beneath which K’kriq had laid him earlier that morning.

“Why?” asked Neeva.

She held her hands across the cut Rikus had opened in her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers. Her face did not show pain or anger, only shock and bewilderment.

“It wasn’t you!” Rikus cried. Such a feeling of remorse washed over him that he felt sick to his stomach. He tossed his sword aside and dropped to his knees. “Forgive me!”

The scent of mildew and rot returned, and before the mul’s eyes, her face became Tamar’s. Gray smoke rose from the ground, and once again Rikus was trapped in his own mind.

The wraith stepped toward him, her ruby eyes glowing like hot coals. As before, she was naked, and there was a long gash across her stomach in the same place Rikus had wounded Neeva.

“Fool! Never let go of the Scourge!”

She slapped the mul with an open palm. The blow rocked his jaw as though she had been holding a warhammer. Unprepared for the attack, Rikus fell over backward, his ears ringing. He closed his eyes and shook his head in an attempt to regain control of his thoughts. Finally, the sound in his ears faded, and he opened his eyes once more. Tamar still stood before him. Keeping a careful eye on her, he returned to his feet.

“What about Neeva?” the mul demanded. “Is she badly hurt?”

“Forget about Neeva!” Tamar screamed.

Again she lashed out, this time with her fist. Rikus tried to block, but the wraith was too quick. He glimpsed her hand coming toward him only an instant before he felt the blow. A terrific thump echoed through the mul’s skull and his head whipped around so hard that it sent a bolt of pain through his neck. Rikus tried to counter by tackling the wraith. She changed to a translucent wisp of light and his arms passed harmlessly through her form.

Tamar rematerialized in front of the mul, this time armed with the double-edge scythe and wearing the full suit of plate armor in which she had been pictured on her sarcophagus. She kicked Rikus under his chin, rocking him over onto his back.

“Without the sword, you have no defense,” she snarled, raising her scythe to strike. “You’re lost.”

As the wraith swung the curved blade toward his throat, Rikus visualized a huge block of stone lying in its path. He felt a queasy sensation in his stomach, then the scythe clanged against the granite slab that had appeared over him.

Tamar raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that will save you from a mindbender?”

The wraith threw herself at Rikus. In midair, she changed from an armored knight into a strange, man-sized horror that resembled nothing the mul had ever seen. Its underside was protected by a black carapace, save for a snapping, red-rimmed maw that stank of carrion and offal. This mouth was surrounded by six tentacles, each ending in a gnarled hand with three sharp claws. The thing had no head that the mul could see, merely a dozen eyes located at various places along the lip of the black shell guarding its body.

Desperate to escape, Rikus imagined himself turning to air. A surge of energy rose from deep within his body, and he suddenly felt very weak and tired. The beast landed over him, its tentacles holding its mouth mere inches from its body. It lowered itself until Rikus began to choke on its stinking breath, then it opened its maw for the bite of death.

Rikus felt an eerie tingle as he changed to air, then the monster’s jaws snapped shut. They passed right through the mul’s intangible body and clacked closed without causing him any pain or injury.

The figure over him became Tamar again, her ruby-red eyes glowing from behind her helm’s visor. Rikus felt completely exhausted, and despite the terrible danger, it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

“If you fight like this, you die,” Tamar hissed, a gray fog billowing from behind her mask. “Now sleep.”

“What about Neeva?” Rikus demanded. His words whispered like the wind, and even he could barely understand them.

“Forget about Neeva,” the wraith growled, spewing gray mist into his eyes.

Rikus sank into oblivion. Thoughts of Neeva, the Scourge of Rkard, even Tamar, fled before the waves of exhaustion that overtook the mul.

Later, someone called his name, and Rikus felt the warm glow of the morning sun on his face. The air was rich with the honey-scent of the chiffon tree, and a cool breeze danced across his leathery skin.

“Rikus, stop waiting. Get up.”

It was K’kriq’s voice.

The mul opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the olive-tinged sky of early morning. He sat up and immediately looked about. He found nothing but his belt and sword, a dozen full waterskins, and a pile of diamond-shaped scales that K’kriq had discarded after eating the lirrs.

“Where’s Neeva?” the mul demanded, rising. “Is she hurt?”

“Neeva with Caelum,” the thri-kreen reported, clicking his mandibles impatiently. “Caelum with pack. Both healthy to hunt.”

“And where is my pack?” Rikus asked, his eyes searching the oasis for signs of his legion. Save for himself, K’kriq, and a few winged lizards, the pond was deserted.

“Styan take pack yesterday,” K’kriq explained. “Say to tell you message: ‘legion cannot wait. Maetan call reinforcements to village.’ Styan say you catch legion today. Fight soon.”

“Styan!” Rikus yelled, snatching his belt and sword off the red moss. He hardly noticed that, save for the festering sore over his heart, all of his injuries and wounds had been healed. “Who is he to say when my legion marches?”

K’kriq slung the waterskins over his four arms. “Styan become pack leader when you die at the citadel,” he explained.

“I didn’t die,” Rikus snapped, starting northward. “The first thing I’ll do when I catch up to the legion is show Styan-and everyone else-that I’m still very much alive!”