The Crimson Legion

FOURTEEN PARLEY

“Rikus … Rikus … Rikus …”

The mul straightened the sling holding his left arm, then hung the Scourge of Rkard from the scabbard hooks on the Belt of Rank. The company outside had been droning his name for two days, and now that he had recovered from his wounds enough to stand, Rikus was prepared to face them.

“Would you like me to stand with you?” asked Neeva. No one else had been brave enough to follow Rikus up into the room.

“No, I’d better do this alone,” he answered.

After stepping onto a small balcony that overhung Makla’s central plaza, he looked down upon the company of chanting corpses. Some were naked, with bits of singed cloth clinging to their blistered hides and blackened stubs of bone where their hands and feet should have been. A few others had lost their legs from the waist down, and supported themselves only by clinging to huge boulders that hovered in the air before them. The largest part of the crowd had been reduced to whirlwinds of ash crowned by the vague outline of a pain-racked face. All had been part of Drewet’s doomed company.

At the head of the crowd, over a small circle of blackened and cracked cobblestones, burned an orange pillar of flame. The grisly undead band had appeared in Makla only hours behind the Tyrian legion, and neither Caelum’s magic nor threats of violence had convinced them to move.

“Rikus … Rikus … Rikus …”

Their rasping chant did not change tone or inflection, and the mul could not even tell if they knew he had come to answer their call. He forced himself to stare at their gruesome forms for several moments, determined not to show the fear he felt it inside.

Rikus raised his good arm for silence, but the warriors continued to chant his name. “I’m sorry you died,” he called, speaking above them. “I tried to save you.”

The orange flame, which the mul assumed to be Drewet, advanced a pace. The entire company followed, angrily shouting, “Hurray for Rikus!”

The mul stumbled backward, shocked by the anger in their voices. When the company came no closer, Rikus recovered his composure and returned to the edge of the balcony. This time, he gripped the stone rail to prevent himself from retreating again-and to keep his hand from trembling.

“I had to save the rest of the legion,” Rikus said. Once again, he shouted to make himself heard, for the company had resumed its chant. “You were doomed anyway.”

Drewet led the company another pace closer, and again they shouted, “Hurray for Rikus!”

The mul’s knuckles turned white, but he did not step from the railing. “What do you want?” he asked. Though he tried to speak in a demanding tone, there was an undertone of dread and fear in his voice.

This time, only Drewet spoke. “Tell us why,” she demanded, moving closer. Tongues of flame began to lick at the underside of the stone balcony.

“I told you,” Rikus answered, feeling his legs begin to quiver. “To save the legion.”

The rest of the company came forward. “Hurray for Rikus!”

As they resumed the chant, it was all the mul could do to keep from turning and running. “If you want my life, then come and try to take it,” he yelled.

With a trembling hand, he reached for his sword.

Don’t, you fool! commanded Tamar. Until you bring me the book, your life is not your own to throw away. When Rikus moved his hand from his scabbard, she continued. Your warriors only wish to be dismissed. They are in pain.

How do you know? the mul demanded.

Look at them, Tamar said, a bemused note in her voice. Any fool can see they suffer the agony of their deaths. They would have abandoned their bodies long ago, had they been able.

Rikus turned his hand to the railing. “You’re free to leave.” After a moment, when the company continued to chant his name, he yelled, “Go. Leave your pain behind you!”

“Tell us why!” Drewet screamed.

She rose into the air until she hovered in front of the balcony. An orange tendril lashed out and touched Rikus’s sling, instantly setting the bloody cloth on fire. Screaming in alarm, the mul pulled his aching arm free, then ripped the rag from his neck and flung the flaming thing into the square.

Drewet’s company moved closer and chanted his name more loudly. Thinking that he had been a fool to listen to Tamar’s advice, Rikus retreated to the back of the balcony. Drewet followed, moving so close that the heat of her flaming form stung his skin. He drew his sword and held the blade in front of himself.

The Scourge won’t protect you, Tamar warned.

But she won’t listen!

How do you expect the warrors to accept their fate when you will not accept the onus for choosing it? Tamar asked. If you shrink from your destiny, it will destroy you-and I have no wish to find another agent to recover the book for me.

I am not your pawn!

Tamar let her silence be her reply.

At his back, the mul heard Neeva’s voice. “I’ll get Caelum!”

“No,” Rikus said, accepting Tamar’s advice. Though he distrusted the wraith as much as he despised her, the mul did not doubt that she was trying to save his life. As she had pointed out, she still needed him to recover the book. “I need no protection from my own warriors.”

Keeping his eyes fixed on the pillar of fire in front of him, Rikus slowly sheathed his sword and moved forward. Drewet backed away. When she was once again hanging over the square, the mul stopped and looked down at her company. They continued to cry his name, their voices bitter with resentment and pain. Rikus studied their tortured forms for several moments, his heart growing heavy as he accepted the full burden of what he had done.

At last, he was ready to dismiss Drewet’s company. “You died so I could win the battle,” he called, fixing his gaze on the flaming pillar before him. “I would do it again.”

The chanting stopped, and Canth looked up from the mug of bitter-smelling broy that a friend had poured for him. Like the rest of his fellows, the burly gladiator and his fire-mates had made their camp at the western end of town-as far away from Rikus and his company of dead disciples as they could.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Canth said, setting his square jaw. “What do you suppose Rikus is doing now? Has he taught Drewet and her troops a new song at last?” He supressed a shudder.

“Who knows?” replied Lor, a brown-skinned woman with a bloody bandage on the stump of her sword arm. She held her mug out to Jotano, a quiet templar who had endeared himself to the gladiators through his uncanny knack for finding broy or wine when others had to make do with water. “I’ll wager that whatever he’s about, it’s no good.”

“A dwarf told me he’s learned sorcery so he can be a king like Kalak,” offered Lafus, a stooped half-elf with an unusually broad face and a bald pate. “The dwarf heard it from Caelum himself.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Canth. “The Rikus I know doesn’t care about kings or magic. I say the ruby has taken over his mind-and it’s going to get us all killed.”

Lafus, always as ready to argue as he was to fight, countered the generous claim. “Because you once shared a stadium pen with the mul doesn’t mean you know him.” He snorted. “How do you account for those monstrous things in the square?”

Jotano shook his head. “Those are unquiet spirits, longing for rest, not creatures raised by magic.”

Canth nodded. “And you templars know your magic. Besides, I’ll believe Rikus’s word over that of a sun-sick dwarf any day,” he countered. “What makes you think Fire-Eyes knows what Rikus is doing?”

“My dwarf contact says it came to Caelum from Neeva,” said Lafus, his lip turned up in a triumphant sneer. “That’s why she won’t lie with Rikus anymore.”

In a drink-slurred voice, Lor declared, “Then I’ll lie with him.” She raised the stump of what had been her sword arm. “Maybe his magic will grow my hand back.”

She chuckled grimly, but the others looked away in uncomfortable silence.

After a moment, Canth faced Jotan. Hoping to counter the powerful case that Lafus had made by invoking Neeva’s name, the square-jawed gladiator asked, “What do you hear in your company’s camps, Jotano?”

The templar shrugged and refilled Lor’s empty mug. “It matters little to the templars whether Rikus is learning sorcery or controlled by it,” he said. “Magic is power, and it is better to have a powerful master than a weak one.”

K’kriq burst into Rikus’s room. “Come quick!” he said. “Need you.”

“For what?” the mul demanded. He sat up and placed his legs over the edge of the bed. During the last three days, he had risen from it only once, when he had gone to dismiss Drewet’s company. “Is Hamanu sending another army?”

“No,” K’kriq said. “Just come.”

Rikus forced himself to stand, gritting his teeth against the pain it caused. The spear puncture in his shoulder was already scarred over, for Caelum had used his magic to heal it long ago. Many of his other wounds, including most of the charred holes where he had been spattered by lava, were still in an awful state.

The canker on his chest, especially, had grown even more disgusting. Tamar’s ruby now resembled the red pupil of an eye, looking out on the world from a black iris that oozed a constant stream of foul yellow bile. The pestilence had left his arm swollen and useless, a source of constant pain that sometimes made him gasp.

Rikus put on his robe, then followed K’kriq down the mansion hallway. Like all the other buildings in the village, this one had not escaped the ravages of the fires the legion had set during their first retreat. The whole building stank of charcoal, and the ostentatious murals on its stone walls were lost beneath deep layers of soot.

Nevertheless, the mansion was still more comfortable than anyplace the mul had slept since leaving Tyr. During the time Rikus and his legion had been trapped in the Crater of Bones, the slave-keepers of Makla had returned to reconstruct their homes and slave compounds. It was a mistake they had not long lived to regret. When the Tyrians had returned and liberated the village, the hundreds and hundreds of quarry slaves had exacted a terrible revenge on their cruel masters.

K’kriq led the mul into the mansion’s great hall, a square chamber with an entrance at each corner. A fire had burned clear through the floors and ceilings of the upper stories, and now slanting rays of the crimson sun shone directly into the room. The ruins of a massive table and other fine furniture littered the polished floor. On the walls hung charred streamers of cloth that had once been priceless tapestries.

K’kriq guided Rikus into a marble armchair begrimed with smoke. Gathered around it were Jaseela, Styan, Caelum, and Neeva, the last two standing together. In the middle of the room stood Gaanon, his head newly shaved and a crimson sun tattooed onto his forehead. In his hands, he held a larger version of the stone hammers favored by Caelum’s dwarves.

Rikus was more intrigued by the thin figure with Gaanon than by the half-giant’s latest attire. Standing in front of Gaanon was Maetan of Urik, dressed in a bronze breastplate and a fresh green robe boldly emblazoned with the winged Serpent of Lubar. Noting that the mindbender was dressed in clean clothes, the mul thought it unlikely that Gaanon had found the Urikite crawling around the slopes of the Smoking Crown.

Rikus looked from the prisoner to K’kriq. “Fetch my belt and sword.”

Clacking his mandibles in anticipation of a good meal, the thri-kreen left to obey.

Maetan’s eyes betrayed no surprise. “I came under the water banner,” he said, referring to the Athasian custom of carrying a blue flag to signal peaceful intentions. The water banner was most often used when one party wished to approach an oasis where strangers were camped, but it was occasionally adopted to arrange a parley in times of war. “I trust that even a slave will honor the courtesies of truce long enough to hear what I say.”

“We might,” Rikus allowed. “If you don’t misbehave.”

In truth, the mul didn’t give a varl’s eggsack about the Urikite’s water banner. Such niceties were for men who regarded war as a game, and to Rikus it was a vendetta. If the mul didn’t kill Maetan today, it would be because the mindbender escaped.

After glaring at the hated Lubar for a time, the mul shifted his attention to Neeva. “Call everyone back from the battlefield.”

She frowned. “But many of our warriors-”

“Now,” Rikus insisted. “Whatever he says, Maetan of Lubar isn’t to be trusted. I don’t want our search parties trapped if this is some sort of trick.”

The dwarves and a company of two hundred warriors remained at the battlefield, searching for Tyrian survivors trapped beneath the avalanche. Although they had found twenty survivors and ten times that many corpses, the legion was still missing two hundred warriors.

As Neeva left, K’kriq returned with the Belt of Rank, the Scourge of Rkard hanging in its scabbard. Rikus put the belt on, then said to K’kriq, “Wait outside.”

The thri-kreen crossed his antennae. “Maetan enemy. Stay to k-kill.”

Rikus shook his head, fearing what would happen if the enemy general took control of K’kriq’s mind with the Way. “Go. You’re needed outside, to hunt Maetan down if he uses the Way to escape.”

K’kriq’s mandibles clacked together several times, but he finally obeyed. Once the thri-keen was gone, Rikus removed the Scourge’s scabbard from his belt and sat down, laying the sword over his knees.

“You needn’t doubt my honor,” Maetan said. “I have accepted that in coming here, I may well die.”

“Then why come?” demanded Jaseela.

When the mindbender looked upon the disfigured noblewoman, he did not even do her the courtesy of hiding the repulsion that flashed across his face. “My defeat has disgraced my family,” he explained freely. “By delivering a message for the king, I redeem the Lubar name-and mighty Hamanu will confiscate only half of our lands.”

Rikus allowed himself a smug smile. “What is your message?”

“It is for your king,” Maeton said.

Rikus reached into a pocket on his belt and withdrew the olivine crystal. “You can pass your message through me-or not at all.”

Maetan nodded. “That will be acceptable.”

Rikus held the olivine out at arm’s length. Tithian’s sharp features quickly appeared in the gem, and the king scowled in anger. “I had hoped not to hear from you again.”

“I bear good news, my king,” Rikus said. “We have destroyed the Urikite army that Hamanu sent to attack Tyr, and we have captured the village of Makla.”

“Are you mad?” Tithian roared. “Makla’s quarries are Urik’s only source of trade. Hamanu will wipe you out-and raze Tyr in retaliation!”

Rikus looked away from the gem, careful not to betray Tithian’s reaction since only he could hear the king’s ranting. Behind Maetan, Neeva slipped back into the room.

Rikus returned his attention to Maetan. “What’s your message?”

“Mighty Hamanu will suffer the pretender Tithian to sit on the throne of Tyr,” the Urikite said. “In exchange, Tithian must relinquish Makla, maintain Tyr’s trade in iron, and present to Hamanu all the gladiators in this legion. The mighty king of Urik will not tolerate slaves loose in the desert.”

Rikus dutifully repeated the offer to the king.

“Accept it!” Tithian commanded. From the anxiety that still colored the king’s face, however, it was clear that he did not believe Rikus would do as ordered.

Remembering Tithian’s betrayal in the nest of the slave tribe, the mul gave the king a bitter smile, then looked up at Maetan. “Tyr refuses!”

“I am king!” Tithian screeched, his voice sounding inside the mul’s ears alone. “I decide what to refuse and what to accept!”

Maetan nodded as though he had expected Rikus’s response. “Hamanu thought you might be reluctant to return to your rightful station, Rikus,” he said. “Therefore, he has sent his army to block all the routes to Tyr. You will not be allowed to return to your city.”

Rikus raised his brow. “That must have taken many legions. The desert is a large place.”

“Hamanu’s army is larger,” Maetan anwered. “His legions have blocked every route. You have only two choices: surrender or die.”

Rikus remained quiet, though not because the mindbender’s words frightened him. If Maetan’s claims was true, the mul had a third choice-albeit a desperate one: attack Urik itself. Even Hamanu’s army was not so large that it could garrison the city and still seal all the routes between Urik and Tyr.

Taking advantage of the mul’s silence, Jaseela demanded, “If Hamanu has marshaled his legions, why isn’t he sending them here?”

Maetan did not even bother to look at the noblewoman. “Because that would achieve only part of his goal,” said the mindbender. “He wishes to guarantee access to Tyr’s iron and to use your gladiators to replenish his supply of slaves. Destroying this legion would accomplish neither, whereas a negotiated peace will achieve both.”

“It doesn’t matter. Hamanu’s offer is refused,” Rikus said.

In the gem, Tithian yelled, “You ill-begotten larva of an inbred cilops!”

Rikus silenced the king’s voice by slipping the olivine back into his pocket. At the same time, Styan stepped to the mul, asking, “Is it wise to reject this offer? Aren’t you endangering Tyr for the sake of a few warriors?”

“Would you ask if you and your templars had to stay to work Urik’s quarries?” demanded Neeva. “Stop trying to save your own life.”

The templar spun on her. “I’m trying to save Tyr!” he yelled. “If that means some of us suffer, then so be it!”

“You’re a fool, then,” said Jaseela, speaking calmly. “Even if we could force the gladiators to surrender-which we can’t-it would make no difference. Hamanu will honor his word only as long as it’s convenient. I say we stay and fight as one.”

“You mean stay and die,” spat Styan.

“We’re not going to die, and our gladiators are not going to surrender,” Rikus said, leaning forward in his chair. “I have something else in mind for us.”

His comment elicited puzzled expressions from his lieutenants, but only Styan questioned him. “What would that be?”

Rikus sat back. “I’ll tell you when the time comes,” he said.

The mul had no intention of revealing his plan now, for he feared the mindbender would use the Way to communicate it to Hamanu. Instead, Rikus turned his gaze on Maetan, who was quietly smirking at the discord.

“Now that you’ve delivered Hamanu’s message, our truce is finished. At the moment, you are the one who has only two choices: answer my questions and die quickly, or refuse and be torn apart by the thri-kreen.”

Maetan showed no emotion at the threat. “My choice depends upon your questions.”

“Name the spy who has been telling you of our movements and plans,” the mul demanded.

The statement elicited a rustle of surprised murmurs from his lieutenants, for Rikus had mentioned his concerns to no one except Neeva. All eyes immediately went to Styan, who, as a templar, was automatically suspect. The color drained from the old man’s face.

Maetan raised his brow and barely kept a smile from crossing his lips. “My spy?”

“Answer!” Rikus yelled.

The mindbender allowed the crowd to eye Styan for several moments, then said, “Very well. It costs Urik nothing to reveal the spy’s identity. Besides, his service did not prevent my family’s disgrace.” He pointed at Caelum. “It was the dwarf.”

“What?” Neeva shrieked.

“I promised to return the Book of the Kemalok Kings,” the Urikite explained. He held his arms up and opened his robe, showing that there was nothing beneath them. He laughed cruelly, then said, “Unfortunately, I seem to have forgotten it. What a pity-Caelum will have to go to my townhouse in Urik to recover it.”

Rikus stared at Caelum’s frightened face with a slack jaw. He had been so convinced of Styan’s guilt that Maetan had stunned him by naming the dwarf. Nevertheless, the mindbender’s accusation made a certain amount of sense. Rikus had long ago voiced his own suspicions that the dwarf would resort to treachery to recover the book. To the mul’s mind, however, the most condemning indications of the cleric’s betrayal were the times he or his dwarves had refused to do as commanded and the lengths to which he had gone to endear himself to Neeva.

“Seize Caelum,” Rikus ordered.

Styan, who looked greatly relieved, moved to obey. Neeva cut him off and stepped in front of the dwarf. “Leave him alone.”

Styan reached for his dagger and tried to circle around the female gladiator. Neeva disarmed him with a lightning-fast kick that sent his blade flying, then grabbed a handful of his long gray hair and jerked him into her grasp. She slipped a hand around his chin and placed the other against the back of his neck.

“Don’t even flinch,” she hissed “As it is, it’s been too long since I’ve killed a templar.”

“Release him!” Rikus ordered, stepping off the marble throne. When she did not obey, he repeated his order. “Let Styan go.”

“No,” Neeva answered. “If you take another step, Rikus, I’ll snap his neck.”

“That’s your choice,” the mul countered, drawing the Scourge. “It won’t save Caelum.”

Neeva yelled in anger, then pushed Styan halfway across the room and unsheathed her own sword. “If you mean to kill him, you’ll have to fight past me.”

Rikus stopped. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his gaze fixed on her emerald eyes.

“Neeva, don’t,” Caelum said. He took a slow step toward Rikus.

“Be quiet and let me handle this,” Neeva ordered, once again placing herself between the dwarf and Rikus. To the mul, she said, “If you believe Maetan-”

“It’s not Maetan I believe, it’s what happened since the dwarves joined us,” Rikus countered. “The Urikites have countered every move we’ve made before we made it.”

“Perhaps there is a spy,” Neeva allowed. “It’s not Caelum, though. It doesn’t make sense. He’s the one who saved us from the halflings, and he fought with us at Umbra’s ambush-”

“That was when we lost Jaseela’s company,” Styan pointed out, still lying on the floor.

“Thanks to you,” Gaanon said. “If your templars would have been there, we’d have won.”

“True-but the dwarves weren’t there either,” said Jaseela.

“How can you say that?” Neeva demanded. “Caelum was, and he saved your life!”

“Only because she was standing next to him,” Rikus said. “He didn’t save any of her retainers.”

Caelum stepped from behind Neeva. “Rikus, I can understand why you choose to believe our enemy’s word over mine,” the dwarf said, his voice edged in anger. “But Neeva does not deserve such an insult. Apologize to her, or I’ll take measures.”

Neeva scowled. “Caelum, I’m not the one in danger here. Be quiet.”

Rikus shook his head, astonished by the dwarf’s tone. “Take measures!” The mul shouted. “Are you threatening me?”

Caelum blanched, but did not back down. “No, I’m warning you,” he said. He stepped forward, shrugging off Neeva’s hand when she tried to restrain him. “Believe that I’m the spy if you want. Go ahead and kill me. But you won’t mistreat Neeva while I’m alive.”

Jaseela stepped to the mul’s side. “Maybe we’d better think this through,” she said. “What if Maetan’s lying? He has no reason to tell us the truth. He might be trying to avenge himself on Caelum for bringing that river of fire down on his army, or he might be protecting the real spy.” She glanced at Styan meaningfully, then turned back to the dwarf who remained standing before Rikus. “Besides, I don’t think Caelum’s acting much like a spy.”

“No, he’s not,” Rikus agreed. He looked from the noblewoman to the dwarf. “He’s acting like a dwarf with focus.”

Caelum met Rikus’s eyes evenly. “That is so,” he admitted. “On the day Neeva saved my life, I swore to protect her always.”

“Then it stands to reason Caelum can’t be the spy,” Neeva said. She gently laid a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “Betraying the legion would be a violation of his focus.”

“Unless he’s lying about his focus,” Rikus said, glaring at Neeva. Despite his growing anger, the mul sheathed his sword and stepped away. “I don’t know whether he’s the spy or not, Neeva, but he’s your responsibility. If he betrays us later, you’ll suffer the same as him. Nothing will save you-not even what there is, or was, between us.”

Neeva’s eyes softened. “You’re doing the right thing.” She, too, sheathed her sword, then gave him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

Rikus turned away without responding. “Now leave-everyone,” he ordered. “Maetan and I will talk alone.”

The others frowned and began to object, but Rikus was in no mood for arguments. “Do it!” he ordered. “And don’t come back until I call you.”

The time had come to kill the Urikite, and Rikus thought it would be safer if there was no one else in the room when he attacked. Though Maetan had made it clear that he expected to die, the mindbender had given no indication that he intended to offer up his life without a fight. With the Scourge in his hand the mul would have some defense against the Urikite’s mental attacks, but no one else had the benefit of such protection.

When everyone except Gaanon filed toward the doors, Rikus nodded to him. “You, too, my friend.”

“But if he intends to attack you-”

“He’ll do it whether or not you’re holding him,” the mul said. “A mindbender doesn’t need his hands.”

As Gaanon reluctantly released Maetan and moved toward the exit, Tamar demanded, Are you preparing to kill him?

Don’t try to stop me, Rikus warned.

Why would I want to? As long as he lives, he’s an obstacle to recovering the book, she answered. But you’ll need help, or he’ll use the Way against you.

Help?

Open the robe, she said. I’ll engage his mind. It will help if you can draw his attention to my ruby.

Once Gaanon had left the room, Maetan smiled confidently. “What did you wish to discuss in private?”

“I have something that belongs to you,” Rikus said, opening his robe.

The mindbender made a sour face as he eyed the wound on Rikus’s chest. Tamar’s gem shined so brightly that it cast a scarlet light over Maetan’s face.

“What is that?” Maetan asked, gesturing at the glow.

“Umbra,” Rikus answered. “And I want you to take him back. He’s so foul I can’t keep him locked inside any longer-he’s rotting my flesh from the inside out.”

A clever trick, Rikus, Tamar cooed.

A black shadow began to swim through the light coming from the ruby. Maetan overcame his revulsion and looked into the gem. “Umbra isn’t foul, he’s merely-”

Tamar ended his sentence by making her attack.

She filled Rikus’s mind with a vast plain of frothing yellow mud, stinking of sulfur and tolling with the thick plop of bursting bubbles. From one of these bubbles emerged the rear of a gross, many-legged thing with a ruby-red carapace of square scales. When it dragged its head out of the mud, Rikus saw that it had Tamar’s slitlike eyes and broad lips. In its huge mandibles it clutched Maetan’s struggling form.

Instantly, Rikus willed himself into the picture. He wasted no energy by assuming any form except his own, complete with the ulcerating sore on his chest. The only thing that was different, as far as he could tell, was that Tamar’s gem was not embedded in the wound.

Maetan turned toward him. “You ambushed me!” he snarled. “For that, you will die.”

The mindbender changed to the double-headed Serpent of Lubar. At the same time, the ground changed from boiling mud to roiling black gas, and Rikus lost sight of the snake.

“Maetan!” the mul screamed, furious that his enemy had eluded him in his moment of victory.

A brilliant blue light rose from the Scourge of Rkard, and Rikus found himself standing a short distance away from a massive arch of blue obsidian. Between him and the arch was a sandy plain. Here and there, jagged, square-edged sheets of translucent green glass protruded from the ground. There was no sign of either Maetan or Tamar.

“You said you wanted him!” the wraith’s voice cried, echoing down from the clouds of the black sky. “Come and get him.”

“Where are you?” the mul yelled.

The light cast by his sword suddenly narrowed to an intense beam that shone through the arch. Rikus ran toward the blue landmark. Already, he was beginning to feel tired, and he had done nothing except project himself into the combat.

A half-dozen glass sheets slipped from their places and shot toward him, their sharp edges turned horizontally so as to slice him into six different pieces from the knees to the neck. Rikus barely had time to bring his sword up, then slashed down through the plates as they approached him. They shattered into a hundred pieces, covering him with dozens of painful cuts as they struck. For many moments, the bloodied shards hung in the air, then fell upward toward the sky.

It was then that Rikus realized it took no effort at all to hold his sword with the blade pointing upward. He was standing upside down, no matter that the terrain suggested otherwise.

The mul threw his head toward the ground and his feet toward the ceiling. The icy world dropped out from beneath him, and he fell an immense, immeasurable distance. The world went black, then white again. Finally, he landed in the yellow bubbling ooze, his legs buried clear to his knees. There before him, where the blue arch had been a moment ago, was the Serpent of Lubar. The fangs of one of its massive mouths were sunk deeply into Tamar’s scaly carpace, and the second head was darting to and fro in search of an opening.

Pulling his feet free of the muck, Rikus waded toward the battle as fast as he could. Tamar tore at the serpent with her mandibles, opening long rips that oozed foul black goo. The snake coiled its body around her and squeezed. The wraith’s red scales snapped and cracked and splintered.

When he reached the battle, the mul raised his sword and brought it down on Maetan’s sinuous body. The magical blade sliced through the beast’s scales, sinking deep into its stringy flesh. The snake’s second head hissed and turned to face the mul, then shot toward him with its venomous fangs exposed. Rikus pulled the Scourge free and swung again.

The head stopped just short of the blade’s arc. The mul brought his weapon around for a thrust, but before he could strike the snake hissed at him. A blast of tepid air washed over Rikus, filled his nostrils with the sour odor of bile.

The serpent and the wraith disappeared, then Rikus found himself in the great hall of the mansion, expelled from the battle raging inside his own head. Before him stood Maetan’s motionless body, his gaze locked on the glowing ruby in the mul’s chest.

Sensing his opportunity to finish the battle, the mul lifted his sword and swung it at the mindbender. Maetan disappeared before his eyes. A sharp pain shot through the mul’s ankle as the invisible Urikite kicked him, then he felt his leg being swept from beneath him. Rikus tried to shift his weight to the other foot, but Maetan pushed him over before he could avoid the fall.

The mul crashed to the ash-smeared floor. As his battered body erupted in agony, the Scourge of Rkard slipped from his grasp and went skittering across the floor.

Cursing himself for a softling, Rikus scrambled after the sword. As he moved, the floor changed to a plain of boiling yellow mud, and he realized that he had been drawn back into the battle in his mind. The Scourge’s hilt disappeared into the muck, and the blade followed an instant later.

“Fool.”

Rikus looked over his shoulder and saw the Serpent of Lubar slithering after him. The viper carried its head off the ground, a forked tongue flickering from its mouth. It was using the head at the far end of its body to drag Tamar along, though she had now taken the form of a huge red bird with a needlelike beak.

Rikus looked away and started sweeping his hands through the mud, searching for the Scourge. An instant later, four sharp fangs punctured his abdomen. He felt the sting of venom running into his body as the serpent lifted him from the mud.

Realizing that he had no chance of defeating Maetan until he recovered his sword, the mul decided to try something desperate. Once, while being transported from Urik to Tyr by the slave merchant that bought him from Lord Lubar, Rikus had killed a guard during an ill-fated escape attempt. As punishment, the merchant had sent him into the mud-flats surrounding an oasis of rancid water, telling him the death would be forgiven if he could reach the far side.

Before Rikus had traveled fifty yards, a mouthful of sharp, barbed teeth had grabbed his leg and dragged him beneath the surface. The mul dived in after the beast and, blinded and choked by mud, wrestled his attacker until he snapped its bullish neck. When he had pulled it from the muck, he found himself holding a ten-foot salamander with a ring of featherlike scales around its neck and a half-dozen finlike feet along the course of its body.

Hoping that the same senses that had allowed the creature to find him in the mudflat would help him find his sword, Rikus summoned his stamina for a last stab at survival. He imagined himself as that salamander. The energy rushed up from deep inside himself, then became a long, wriggling reptile.

He slipped from Maetan’s grasp, leaving a mouthful of scales behind, and dropped into the mud below. A pair of membranes closed over his eyes, and he found himself in a world of slime, where there was no such thing as up or down, only forward and backward. As Rikus used his finlike feet to push and pull himself through the thick mud, Maetan’s poison continued to burn through his body, clouding his mind and weakening his muscles with every passing moment. Behind him, the serpent plunged his head into the mud, blindly snapping its jaws in an effort to recapture him.

Rikus continued to swim, emitting a continuous series of high squeals. They bounced back to the feathery scales around his head, constructing something like a picture of the terrain for his mind. It took him only a moment of whipping his head back and forth before he located his lost sword, and he scrambled for it as fast as his stubby legs would pull him.

When Rikus reached the Scourge, he placed a fin on its hilt, then cleared the image of the salamander from his mind. Instantly he changed back to his own form-and found himself blind and choking as he tried to breath mud.

Ignoring the panic welling in his breast, he grabbed the sword and rose from the muck.

Behind him, the Serpent of Lubar hissed, and he knew it was striking. Rikus spun around, lashing out with his weapon. The blade slipped between the snake’s fangs and passed cleanly through the back of the beast’s mouth.

Lord Maetan of Family Lubar screamed.

Rikus found himself standing back in the mansion chamber just as Maetan’s headless body collapsed at his feet.

The mul sank to his knees and closed his eyes, bracing himself on his sword. The serpent’s venom still burned through his body, but he felt it now as profound exhaustion.

It is done, Tamar said. Now, you must go to Urik and find the book. I must know Borys’s fate!

“I will recover the book,” Rikus said. “But not for you.”

The mul shook his head to clear it, but found his vision blurring. When he looked up, he saw that Neeva and K’kriq had disobeyed his orders and were rushing into the room. Behind them came Gaanon, Caelum, Jaseela, and Styan.

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.”