The Crimson Legion

SEVENTEEN HAMANU’S WRATH

Hamanu stepped toward Rikus. The mul rose, swinging the Scourge in desperation. The blade struck the great man-lion in the leg, bouncing off the thick hide with a muted thud. Screaming in frustration, the gladiator lifted his sword again.

Before Rikus could strike, the sorcerer-king kneeled on top of the gladiator, forcing him to the ground and pinning him in place.

Hamanu peered down at the mul’s face, yellow beads of hot acid dripping from his fangs. He touched the talon of one finger, as long and as sharp as any dagger, to Rikus’s throat. “Did you think I would be as easy to kill as that doddering fool who ruled Tyr?”

For the first time in his memory, Rikus felt utterly helpless. His life was completely in Hamanu’s hands. Pinned as he was, the mul could not even fight back and die honorably.

“I will teach you what happens to the those who resist my will,” Hamanu continued.

The beast closed his hand around Rikus’s throat and picked him up, at the same time jamming the mul’s sword arm to his side. The king muttered an incantation, then a yellow web wrapped around Rikus so tightly that he could hardly breathe.

This time, the spell drained no life from the gladiator’s body. Without the obsidian orb that Rikus had smashed earlier, the sorcerer-king could not use dragon magic to draw his energy from animals. Instead, the mul knew, Hamanu had to draw it from plants, as normal sorcerers did. Still, Rikus doubted that the lack of dragon magic would seriously hamper the ruler of Urik. The fields surrounding the city were well tended and full of crops that Hamanu could tap for his spells.

Once Rikus was completely swaddled in the sticky web, the sorcerer-king carried him to the fortress wall. There, he tied the cocoon to a merlon, leaving the mul to hang several yards above the cobblestones.

In the street below, the battle between the Imperial Guard and the gladiators Gaanon had boosted over the wall still raged. As the mul watched, Gaanon used his hammer to crack the skull of a Urikite half-giant, while K’kriq sank his poisonous mandibles into another foe.

Rikus looked farther down the street. At the side gate leading into the slave pits, the scene was not as encouraging. Hamanu’s soldiers had driven the Tyrians back to the threshold and were once again threatening to break through into the pens. Luckily, Jaseela had been given plenty of time to move the slave companies out of the pits and into the templar quarter. Rikus couldn’t see if any plumes of smoke were yet rising from distant parts of the city, but he was encouraged by the fact that no Urikites seemed to be moving to attack the noblewoman’s companies. The mul dared to hope that, even if he could not kill Hamanu, he had at least stalled the sorcerer-king long enough for the slave revolt to take hold.

“It is my wish that you know the fate of those who followed you,” Hamanu said, glancing over his shoulder toward the battle. “Those that you do not see me kill will be left as a special gift for the Dragon.”

“Gift?” As Rikus asked the question, the cocoon cinched down on his ribs and did not expand again.

Hamanu looked back at the mul. “Yes, in the Dragon’s Nest, where you camped.”

“The Crater of Bones,” Rikus gasped. “You must leave many gifts for the Dragon.”

“Only our proper levy,” Hamanu said, a cruel smile crossing his lips.

“Levy?” the mul exclaimed. In his shock, he forgot about the cocoon-until it compressed again, and he had difficulty drawing his next breath.

The sorcerer-king trilled a laugh, his long red tongue wagging from between his fingers. “The Dragon demands a slave levy from each city, or he will extract a terrible vengeance-as the pretender Tithian will discover when he fails to pay Tyr’s allotment.”

From the sorcerer-king’s amused expression, Rikus could tell that Hamanu enjoyed tormenting him with this news. The mul endured the abuse willingly, for the longer he detained Hamanu, the better the revolt’s chances of success. “The Dragon will demand slaves from Tyr?”

Hamanu narrowed his eyes and turned to leave, saying, “You have kept me long enough.”

Before the mul could ask anything more, the sorcerer-king strode toward the battle. Immediately, Rikus tried to pull his sword arm free, but the web held him so firmly that he could not move so much as his little finger. The only result of his efforts was to constrict the web around him more tightly.

In the street below, Hamanu waded into the company of gladiators that had followed Rikus over the wall. Several of the Tyrians attacked with bone-tipped spears and obsidian battle-axes. The spears broke against his hide, the axe-heads shattered, and the beast showed no sign that he even felt the blows. The sorcerer-king counterattacked savagely, his long claws disemboweling warriors through their armor.

A stream of scarlet fire shot from the gate leading into the slave pens. Dozens of half-giants and war-templars turned to ash in a mere instant. Once the flames were gone, Neeva and Caelum charged out into the street.

“No! Go back!” Rikus cried, his heart pounding in fear. The cocoon constricted again, filling his torso with painful cramps. “You can’t stop him,” he finished weakly.

With the din of clanging weapons and screaming warriors, they did not hear him. The pair turned toward the man-lion, followed closely by a handful of dwarves and a large company of weary gladiators. Rikus watched in horror as Neeva dodged past a half-giant’s lance and knocked a few scales off his leg armor. As he reached for her, she found a seam between the guard’s massive thigh and his lower abdomen. She plunged her sword deep into the crevice, drawing an immediate spray of blood.

A stooped half-elf stepped to Neeva’s side, intercepting another half-giant who had come forward to lance her. The gladiator beat down the Urikite’s shaft, then thrust his barbed lance under the shield to rip his opponent’s knee to shreds. The half-giant had not even finished collapsing to the ground before Neeva ran a blade across his throat.

Rikus continued his efforts to work his arm free, but to little avail. He succeeded in moving the blade of his sword a fraction of inch and opened a small tear in the web. The yellow strands only cinched down and pinned the mul’s elbow more tightly against his belly.

Rikus cursed, then silently complained, What am I suppose to do?

Watch your legion die, Tamar replied. What else?

Can’t you help me? the mul pleaded. Summon the other champions, like you did in the Crater of Bones.

I could, but what good will that do? You would only attack Hamanu again-and destroy us both.

Near the entrance to the slave pens, the Tyrians formed a wedge with Neeva at the front. They started forward, leaving a wake of corpses, gladiator and half-giant alike, behind them.

In the midst of his revelry of death, Hamanu paused to look toward the sortie.

How touching, Tamar observed wryly. The fools will die trying to save you.

Not if I can help it, Rikus said. He shook his head, the only part of his body free to move from side-to-side. “Go back!” he cried, causing himself another wave of agony as the cocoon tightened.

The wedge continued forward, oblivious to the mul’s command. The sorcerer-king pointed five claws of one hand toward the advancing Tyrians, uttering a spell. Bolts of energy streaked from his fingers, each one arcing into the center of the wedge and burning a hole into the chest of a different gladiator.

Instead of falling, the victims screamed and reached for their injuries, then broke formation and began running about in all directions. As they moved, wisps of yellow smoke poured from their wounds and spread throughout the company. Wherever the fumes passed, gladiators gave strangled cries, then collapsed clutching their throats.

Hamanu looked away from the battle and returned his attention to the gladiators he had been destroying before the wedge had formed.

Rikus closed his eyes, unable to bear the pain of watching Neeva die. He heard several more choking warriors fall, then the Scourge brought Caelum’s voice to him: “To the ground!”

The mul opened his eyes in time to see other survivors do as the dwarf asked. Once the others were out of the way, the men who had been struck by Hamanu’s spell fled the confines of the formation, not wishing to spread the deadly fumes among their fellows.

Caelum thrust an arm toward the sun, and his hand began to glow. From his fingers issued a shimmering mantle of blistering air, which spread outward and covered the gladiators like a blanket. The mantle hung over their heads, the heat rising from it and carrying away the deadly yellow fumes.

As the dwarf saved the lives of his companions, Rikus noticed that Gaanon was slipping along the wall toward him.

Another fool, Tamar commented.

He’ll make it, Rikus insisted, noting that Hamanu had shown no sign of seeing the large gladiator. I’ll soon be back in the fight.

For all the good that will do. It would be wiser to slip away unnoticed.

Abandon my legion?

It will perish with or without you.

After the smoke had cleared, Neeva returned to her feet at the head of a decimated formation, with Caelum at her back and two dozen gladiators scattered among the bodies of their fellows. Rikus guessed that three times as many half-giants remained between the Tyrians and Hamanu.

Neeva stepped forward, carrying the attack to the throng of Urikites crowding the street. The other survivors closed ranks behind her.

“What are you doing?” Rikus whispered, sadly shaking his head. “Can’t you see your plan’s hopeless?”

The first of Hamanu’s half-giants thrust his lance at Neeva. Screaming in anger, she sidestepped it and slipped forward, driving her sword into her attacker’s abdomen. As the dying Urikite stumbled away, another stepped forward and pushed his lance into Neeva’s stomach.

“No!” Rikus hissed.

The stooped half-elf gladiator swung his lance at Neeva’s attacker. The barbed head raked across the Urikite’s face, and the Imperial Guard fell away holding his eye. A moment later, a long spear pierced the half-elf’s throat. He died clutching at the shaft. Rikus saw Neeva pull the shaft from her stomach and turn to attack the half-elf’s killer, then lost sight of her as the rest of the street erupted into a jumbled melee.

Rikus looked toward Gaanon. The half-giant had been forced to stop ten yards shy of the fortress wall. Hamanu had all but eliminated the gladiators fighting him, and was now unknowingly swinging his tail across Gaanon’s route as he faced the last of the brave Tyrians. One of the survivors was K’kriq, who stood with his carapace against the wall, using all four hands to keep one of the sorcerer-king’s claws away from his face.

All at once, the thri-kreen reversed tactics and clawed at his foe’s arms, pulling it toward him. As Hamanu’s massive hand closed around K’kriq’s throat, the mantis-warrior stabbed at the sorcerer-king’s wrist with his poisonous mandibles.

Hamanu roared in laughter. Holding his victim with one hand, he reached down and tore the thri-kreen’s shell away. As pulpy white thorax was exposed, K’kriq screeched in pain. The sorcerer-king studied the strange flesh for a moment, then began ripping it to shreds.

At the far end of the avenue, Jaseela led a company of Urikite slaves from a side gate, and more slaves were emerging from other exits. Some carried swords, spears, bone clubs, or other weapons they had scavenged from the templar quarter, but most were armed with only hammers and rock picks.

As they streamed into the avenue, they ran for the nearest gate in the noble quarter. The aristrocratic armies met them with a hail of arrows and bolts. Rikus cried out as Jaseela clutched at the shaft in her throat and fell. Behind her, the rest of the slaves in the first wave also crumpled to the ground, and soon the cries of the wounded drowned out even the toll of clashing weapons.

It didn’t matter, for the slaves continued to charge from the templar quarter. They soon reached the other side of the street, attacking the noble armies. Unfortunately, the Urikite quarry slaves were poor substitutes for Tyrian gladiators, and they died as quickly as they reached the melee. Nevertheless, they continued to crowd the avenue, and it soon became apparent that the pressure of sheer numbers would force a breach in the nobles’ defenses.

Closer to Rikus, Hamanu discarded K’kriq’s shredded body and look toward the outpouring of slaves. His tail began to swing back and forth more eagerly, smashing into the wall just a few feet away from Gaanon. The half-giant cringed and pressed himself against the yellow mudbricks, trying to remain clear of the dangerous obstacle. The sorcerer-king stepped toward the slave army, simultaneously lifting his mouth toward the sun and belching forth a puff of yellow smoke.

Gaanon slipped away from the wall. But as the half-giant took his first step, the man-lion stopped and glanced over his shoulder. A wicked grin flashed across the sorcerer-king’s lips, and Rikus realized that Hamanu had been toying with Gaanon all along.

The mul started to cry a warning, but the cocoon was too tight. Nothing but a strangled gasp left his lips.

Hamanu’s tail smashed Gaanon in the ribs, though not hard enough to cause serious injury. Cringing, the half-giant looked toward the sorcerer-king, futilely raising his hammer to defend himself.

Instead of attacking physically, Hamanu stared at his prey. A look of terrible pain and fear came over Gaanon, who dropped his weapon and grabbed his head, howling in agony. Blood suddenly began to gush from the half-giant’s nose and ears. He fell to the ground and began rolling about, leaving long red smears on the streets.

Rikus screamed in rage. Ignoring the searing pain it sent shooting through his entire body, the mul tried again to free himself.

Don’t weaken yourself, the wraith said. Wait.

Wait for what? Rikus demanded, fixing his eyes on Hamanu’s back. His lungs were starving for air, and he could feel himself beginning to grow dizzy. He’s only going to kill me.

Perhaps not, Tamar answered. I have summoned help, but even the wraiths cannot move so far in an instant.

It’s too late now, the mul said bitterly. What makes you think I want to live now?

A ball of flame rolled from the tangled melee between Neeva’s company and the Imperial Guard. It passed through the nearest gate. Then, just inside the noble quarter, it erupted in a great spray of crimson fire. Dozens of Urikites voiced their dying screams, and the gateway collapsed into a heap of rubble.

In the next instant, Caelum and Neeva rushed out of the melee and through the smoldering debris, followed by the rest of their small company. Half the gladiators disappeared into the noble quarter, leaving only a dozen warriors behind to act as a rear-guard. A large band of the Imperial Guard quickly pursued, and soon the brutal clamor of battle raged from the shattered gateway.

What are they doing? demanded Tamar.

Going for the book, Rikus answered, allowing a smug note to creep into his tone.

They mustn’t! Tamar snarled.

Hamanu passed the gate Caelum had smashed, pausinglong enough to spray a maroon fog over the entryway. As the mist settled over the area, warriors on both sides screamed. The battle abruptly ended as a handful of warriors stumbled back into the street, their steaming flesh dripping from their bones.

The sorcerer-king sent a company of half-giants after Neeva and the others, then took the rest of the Imperial Guard and continued toward the far end of the avenue. There, the slave army had captured two side gates and were streaming into the noble quarter at a steady rate. The rest of the entrances held firm, and the bodies were piled so high in front of the slaves that it was proving difficult for them to continue their attacks.

Rikus was just beginning to think the slave revolt might succeed when Urikite regulars began to appear at the other end of the boulevard. For a moment, the mul wondered where they had come from, then he remembered the troops that Hamanu had sent to seal the outside of the slave gate. As these fresh soldiers entered the fray, they cleared the street, driving those they did not kill toward Hamanu.

Thoughts of his helpless prisoner driven from his mind by the battle, Hamanu formed the remains of his Imperial Guard into a triple rank and began to press the slaves from his end of the street. As he marched down the boulevard, the sorcerer-king gestured at the two gateways that had been breached. A shimmering wall of force appeared in each, hardly visible save for occasional glints of yellow light flashing off the transparent barriers.

Rikus watched the destruction in disheartened silence, knowing that the slave revolt had been a failure, that the sorcerer-king regarded him as so slight a threat that he had been left unguarded. Hamanu’s response had covered every possibility, and the mul had done little except play into the sorcerer-king’s traps. He had no doubt that a few of his warriors would survive and escape, but only enough to return to Tyr and tell of the great disaster that had befallen them in Urik.

The blame for his legion’s defeat, the mul knew, did not lie with the soldiers themselves. Quarry slave, gladiator, dwarf, or even templar, they had all fought as bravely as any warrior could. They were still dying bravely-if foolishly-as Hamanu set about constructing simple but efficient death traps.

Each time Maetan had anticipated his schemes or pressed him into a corner during the long trek from Tyr, the mul had believed the misfortune to be the work of a spy, somone who had betrayed the legion to the mindbender. Now it was clear to Rikus that he was the one who had betrayed the warriors. Styan had died fighting, as had all the templars. Caelum was struggling against terrible odds to recover the Book of the Kemalok Kings and to protect Neeva. There was only one person left for Rikus to blame, and that was himself.

In vain, the mul tried to close the screams of the dying from his mind, but he could not do even that. The web kept his fingers closed firmly around the Scourge of Rkard, and as each voice cried out for the last time, it rang in his ears with the clarion knell of a wealthy lord’s death bell.

I wish I could take it all back.

There is no such magic, Tamar said. But you can still recover the book.

In the street below, Rikus saw several gray forms rise from the cobblestones. One of them glided to Gaanon’s still form, then slipped over the body. The half-giant’s corpse slowly rose, then lumbered to the fortress wall and climbed up the surface with a grace that it could never have managed in life.

Just kill me and be done with it, Rikus said. I’ll never give you the book.

You will keep your promise, Tamar responded. It is the one thing left to you.

Gaanon’s corpse reached the top of the fortress wall, then removed the cocoon cord from its merlon and slowly lowered Rikus to the ground. Once the mul lay face-first on the ground, the wraith abandoned the half-giant’s body atop the wall and slipped back down to the street on its own.

Another wraith limped up in a body so mangled that Rikus could not even recognize the gladiator to whom it had belonged. This one rolled Rikus onto his back, then used an obsidian dagger to laboriously cut the cocoon away from the Scourge of Rkard. When the sword was free, the wraith used the magical sword to slice away the rest of the web.

After he was free, Rikus remained on the ground, refusing to rise. The gladiator’s corpse grabbed him by the shoulder and hoisted him to his feet, then thrust the Scourge of Rkard at him. Rikus made no move to accept the sword.

You swore on Neeva’s life, Tamar reminded him. It is your choice whether we leave Urik with the dwarves’ book or with her corpse.

Rikus took the sword and screamed.