The Verdant Passage

TEN DECISIONS AND PROMISES

It was dusk in the animal shed. The beams of the descending sun rained down upon the roof of stretched hide, setting the whole interior ablaze with crimson light. In their pens, vicious animals paced, scuttled, or slithered back and forth impatiently, roaring, and yowling and clacking their mandibles in anticipation of the evening meal.

“Be quiet out there!” Rikus stormed, knowing that his command was futile even as he gave it.

It does no good to make noise, the gaj informed him. The feeders won’t come faster.

I don’t care about the feeders, the mul replied. I just want some peace.

Rikus sat on a cushion of rags in one corner of the pen, gingerly poking at the deep bruises he had received while cudgel-sparring with Yarig earlier. The dwarf had fared little better. Also covered head-to-toe in purplish marks, he sat in the opposite corner of the pen, rewrapping the leather thongs that bound the head of his warhammer to its shaft.

The young templar who had replaced Boaz allowed his charges to keep their weapons at night. He realized that fighters who took care of their own equipment would have more confidence in it. He also knew that, if the four gladiators wanted to escape, their weapons would be of little use against the magic-wielding templars whom Tithian had stationed around the compound after Sadira’s escape.

Rikus winced as he probed his side and felt the cartilage shift between two ribs. “Were you trying to kill me today, Yarig?” the mul joked.

“Why would I kill a friend?” the dwarf demanded, his square jaw set in its customary seriousness. “That makes no sense.”

“You have no business complaining about how Yarig fights,” Neeva interjected. She sat in the center of the pen, using a piece of curved antler to chip a new blade for Rikus’s short sword.

When the mul did not answer, the woman continued, “Serving wenches brawl harder than you’ve been fighting lately.” She pressed the point of the antler against the obsidian edge she was shaping. A tiny chip popped loose and tumbled onto a pile of similar shards. “If you don’t get your mind off that scullery girl, we’ll both suffer more than a few bruises in the games.”

“We’ll win our contest,” Rikus growled. “Don’t you worry about that, Neeva.”

The mul offered no further argument. There was no denying that be had been preoccupied with thoughts of Sadira over the past few days. He felt responsible for the half-elf’s fate, yet unable to aid her. The conflicting emotions filled him with guilt and interfered with his concentration.

Gradually Rikus realized that the din in the animal shed had reached a fever pitch. The increasing tumult usually meant the feeders had arrived, but it still seemed too early. A moment later, the mul heard murmuring voices approach. The other three gladiators continued to work, but he rose and stepped toward the iron gate just as six men wearing black cassocks stepped into view. Rikus recognized only one of them, a sharp-featured man with a long tail of auburn hair: Lord Tithian.

No food, Rikus! complained the gaj.

The feeders will come later, Rikus answered. Be patient. Leave me to speak with these people.

The gaj withdrew its presence and remained quiet.

“I don’t suppose you’ve come to return us to our cells?” Rikus asked.

“You can’t be serious. The least I can do for Boaz is let his punishment stand,” Tithian replied. “Actually, I’ve come to speak with you. My new trainer tells me your performance has been pitiful since Sadira’s escape.”

“I’m still sore from fighting your gaj,” Rikus said, trying to avoid the topic of the slave girl. The less the high templar knew about his feelings for her, the better. “I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

Neeva gave the mul a chiding glance, but did not rebuke his statement.

“In that case, you probably wouldn’t be interested in hearing what happened to the wench,” Tithian said sarcastically.

“Of course I would!” Rikus growled. Sensing that he had shown his opponent an opening, he added, “I owe her a debt of honor.”

“Honor is an overvalued commodity,” Tithian said coldly.

“It’s all a slave has, my lord,” Yarig said, not moving from his corner. “Knowing what happened to Sadira might help Rikus’s fighting.”

“Well spoken for a dwarf,” Tithian replied, stepping forward to peer toward Yarig.

It occurred to Rikus that he could reach through the cage and snap the high templar’s neck. The thought was such a pleasant one that the mul allowed himself to savor the imagined feel of his owner’s spine cracking in his hands, but he made no move to attack. Rikus still wanted to win his freedom in the ziggurat games.

The mul’s predatory expression was not lost on Tithian, who stepped back. “My guards would kill you in an instant.”

“They might,” Rikus allowed, smiling slyly. “And they might not. What happened to Sadira?”

The high templar chuckled. “First, you must tell me what the Veiled Alliance wants with you.”

Rikus ran a hand over his hairless scalp. “I didn’t know that they wanted anything with me,” the mul replied. An image of Sadira came unbidden to his mind. Was the sorceress tied to the Veiled Alliance somehow? “Those Who Wear the Veil are not the sort to fix the games,” the mul added quickly.

Tithian looked to one of his subordinates, an emaciated young man with bulging brown eyes. “Is he telling the truth?”

The young man nodded. “He also knew she was a sorceress.”

Realizing he had been tricked, Rikus shot his arm through the cage.

“Mindbender!” the mul hissed, closing his fingers on the astonished fellow’s cassock. Swiftly he pulled the youth to the gate and slammed his face into the bars. As the other templars moved forward to help, Rikus clasped his free hand on the mindbender’s larynx. “I’ll rip out his throat.”

The young templar began trembling. “Stay back,” he begged, barely choking out the words.

Yarig and Neeva moved to Rikus’s side. Anezka hid in the shadows, probably hoping to avoid the punishment that was sure to follow Rikus’s brash act.

The other templars looked to Tithian, who calmly removed a small jar from his pocket. It contained a purple caterpillar. “Don’t kill him, Rikus.”

The mul stared at the worm, but did not release the frightened templar. “Keep your part of the bargain.”

Tithian feigned a look of disappointment. “Have I ever broken a promise, to you?” When Rikus did not counter him, the high templar continued. “I’m not sure how, but a friend of mine bought her. There’s no need to fear on her account. Agis of Asticles cares for his slaves the way most men care for their children.”

Rikus smiled, then patted the templar on the cheek and shoved him away. “Lucky boy.”

Tithian put his jar in a pocket, then stepped away from the pen. “By the way, the mul’s little outburst will mean a week of half-rations for you all.”

Anezka threw Neeva’s chipping antler at Rikus’s head. He knocked it aside, narrowly avoiding losing en eye. The mul was getting tired of being attacked by the mute halfling, but he could understand her anger.

As soon as the templars were gone, the gaj said, Your female-Sadira-is not safe, Rikus.

The mul smashed his callused fist against the stone wall. He barely noticed as blood began to stream from his knuckles. “Tithian was lying?” he asked aloud.

Tithian did not lie, but he spoke only some of his thoughts, the gaj answered. Agis has your female, but Tithian has a watcher in Agis’s burrow. He is looking for her veiled friends.

“The Alliance?”

“What are you talking about, Rikus?” Neeva demanded.

He explained what the gaj had told him.

“Sadira in the Veiled Alliance?” Yarig scoffed. “It’s impossible.”

“Then where did the girl learn her sorcery?” asked Neeva.

The dwarf scratched his bald head. “It’s impossible,” he growled stubbornly. “We would have known.”

What does Tithian want to do with Sadira’s friends? Rikus asked the gaj.

Kill her, the gaj replied.

Rikus cried out in anger, leaping up to grab the mekillot ribs that served as the ceiling of their pen. The effort tore at his bruised cartilage, but he did not let go. He swung his legs upward and kicked at one of the thick ribs, attempting to break it.

“What are you doing?” Yarig demanded.

“Escaping,” Rikus groaned.

Before the feeders come? asked the incredulous gaj.

The mul kicked at the ceiling again.

“What about the games?” Yarig demanded. “You can’t just forget them!”

“This is more important,” Rikus gasped, cringing at the pain in his ribs.

As he lowered his legs to prepare for another kick, Neeva grasped his waist. “Let me do it,” she said. “You’re too weak to break through a straw roof, much less a mekillot rib.”

“You’ll help me save Sadira?” Rikus asked, astonished.

“Would it change anything if I said no?”

When Rikus did not answer, Neeva jumped up and grabbed the overhead grid “That’s what I thought,” she said, swinging her legs toward the ceiling. She smashed a rib with each foot, opening a hole as wide as the mul’s shoulders.

Yarig watched their efforts with a perplexed and hurt look.

As Neeva dropped back into the fighting pit, Rikus said, “You know, Yarig, you and Anezka could come with us. After we warn Sadira, we’ll join a slave tribe somewhere in the desert. We’ll be free.”

“Free?” the dwarf echoed. His eyes clouded over, and Rikus could see that he was struggling with an internal conflict.

Anezka stepped to her partner’s side and took his hand. Yarig looked at the mute. “Is that what you want, Anezka?”

The halfling nodded eagerly.

Yarig looked at the floor and took a few deep breaths. “You go ahead,” he said. “I can’t go with you. I just can’t.”

Anezka’s wild eyes betrayed her disappointment, but she shook her head and clung to the dwarf’s arm.

“Go on!” Yarig ordered. “There’s no reason for you to stay.”

The halfling stayed at her partner’s side.

Neeva glanced at the pair with the closest thing to a sympathetic expression Rikus had ever seen on her face. “Yarig, just this once, can’t you change your mind? If you don’t go, neither will Anezka.”

“I can’t help it,” Yarig answered. “She’s free to go, but I’ve got to fight in the ziggurat games. It’s my focus.”

“Focus?” Neeva asked.

“Dwarves choose a purpose for their lives,” he said. “I’ve chosen to fight in the ziggurat games. If I abandon that purpose, I’ll become an undead creature after I die.” Yarig gazed into Anezka’s feral eyes. “Go with Rikus and Neeva. You were a halfling, not a dwarf. You were meant to be free.”

Anezka shook her head and clung to Yarig.

Ignoring the pair’s sentimental moment, Neeva said, “We’ll need a plan, Rikus. With templars lurking all over the place, we can’t expect to walk out of here easily.”

After the feeders, I’ll help, the gaj offered, clamoring at the gate of its cell. You must take me.

“No,” Rikus said. “We can’t fight our way out, so we’ll have to use stealth. With you along, we wouldn’t have a chance.”

I’ll hide us, it countered.

Wishing that the gaj could communicate with more than one person at a time, Rikus relayed to Neeva what the beast wanted. She shook her head.

“We’re doing this on our own,” the mul declared.

No! Take me or I’ll tell the feeders where you’re going.

Rikus frowned and relayed the threat to his partner, then they studied each other for several moments. “We have no choice,” Rikus growled.

“We need a better plan,” Neeva complained. “There’s no way under the two moons we’ll sneak that thing over the wall.”

After feeders, I’ll hide everyone, the gaj repeated.

“How?” Rikus asked.

Trust me.

“I don’t trust you,” Rikus insisted.

The gaj did not answer, but an idea occurred to Rikus. “One set of feeders will come into the animal shed, and one set will leave,” the mul said. “We’ll use their wagon to haul the gaj out of the compound.”

Both Neeva and Yarig smiled. “Just because I’m not going with you doesn’t mean I can’t help you escape,” the dwarf said.

Neeva used her hands to make a stirrup for Yarig, boosting him high enough to slip out of the gap in the ceiling. He used the rope and pulleys to open the gate. The four gladiators left their pen, taking with them Neeva’s trikal and Anezka’s cudgel. They did not bother with Rikus’s sword or Yarig’s warhammer, for both were in disrepair.

Outside the pen, the shed was nearly dark, with only a few faint rays of flaxen moonlight shining through the hide roof. The wild clamor of the impatient animals was louder than ever.

“Neeva, you and Anezka sneak over to the entrance and take a look outside,” Rikus said. “See if you can find the templars.”

Neeva nodded, then she and Anezka started down the path toward the entrance.

Remember me, the gaj demanded. Leave, and I’ll tell the feeders where you’re going.

Rikus grabbed the rope in front of the gaj’s gate and began pulling. “We’re not leaving you, but you must do as I say.”

Yes. I promise.

Rikus peered through the iron bars. The gaj crouched on the other side of the gate, two of its antennae flattened against its head. Where Neeva had torn off the third one, a new, small stalk waved tentatively. The gaj had closed its mandibles, and its compound eyes were staring at the floor.

Hoping the creature’s meek demeanor meant it would be as cooperative as it had promised, Rikus pulled on the rope. A wave of pain shot through his injured rib cage, causing him to groan.

Yarig stepped toward the gate to help. Before he grasped the iron bars, he peered at the gaj and ordered, “Back to the other side!”

The creature obediently scuttled across the stone floor. With a deep groan, the dwarf lent his strength to assist with raising the heavy gate.

Without warning, the gaj leaped, shooting across the pen in a rust-colored streak. It struck Yarig straight on, its barbed pincers snapping shut around the dwarf’s neck before he could scream.

Rikus released the rope. The heavy gate crashed down on the beast’s shell, trapping it halfway out of the pen. Its canelike legs scraped madly at the stones of the pathway.

Oblivious to his sore ribs, Rikus leaped toward the gaj’s head. Blood poured from the barb punctures in Yarig’s throat.

“You lied!” Rikus yelled, smashing his fist into one of the gaj’s eyes.

Lying is a useful thing, it replied, unimpressed by the blow.

Rikus struck again, aiming for a spot just behind the three stalks. The beast countered by slapping the gladiator with an antennae, sending a bolt of searing agony down the mul’s side and paralyzing his left arm. He punched with his right hand.

The gaj slapped Rikus across the face. Images of gray, empty nothingness floated through the mul’s mind, and he felt himself stumbling. The beast clubbed him with its mandible, knocking him halfway across the corridor.

Rikus glimpsed the gaj as it wrapped its stalks around Yarig’s head. Painfully gasping for breath, the mul returned to his feet.

He has no thoughts! the gaj exclaimed, disappointed. He’s dead.

With a casual flip of its head, the beast tossed the dwarf’s limp body aside. It turned toward Rikus, then pumped its shell up and down in an attempt to dislodge itself from the gate.

Gathering his strength, the mul rushed for the gaj. As it opened its pincers, Rikus leaped into the air. He sailed over the huge mandibles and planted both feet in the center of the beast’s head. The flying kick dislodged the gaj and knocked it back into its pen. The mul threw himself to the left, landing on his belly as the gate crashed down only inches behind him.

Rikus crawled away and lay on his stomach. He could do nothing but force his throbbing ribs to draw breath. The animals in their pens screeched madly, stirred into a frenzy by the sound of fighting and the smell of blood.

At length, the mul saw torchlight farther down the pathway. Anezka rushed past, pausing to drop a black bundle of cloth in front of Rikus. She kneeled beside Yarig’s body and closed the dwarf’s lashless eyes, touching her brow to each one in some halfling sign of affection that Rikus did not understand.

Neeva stepped to the mul’s side, a torch in one hand. In the other she held a pair of spears and an obsidian dagger. She wore a black templar’s cassock similar to the one Anezka had dropped.

“What happened?” she asked, laying the weapons aside and helping her partner to his feet.

Rikus pointed at the pen. “The gaj attacked Yarig,” he said. “It was lying about coming with us.”

“A little trick it learned from Tithian,” Neeva observed. She touched her heart, then held her hand out to Yarig in the gladiator’s traditional gesture of farewell.

Rikus motioned at the equipment Neeva had brought.

“What’s this?”

“We met the feeders and a pair of templar escorts at the door,” she reported. “They didn’t last long.”

Rikus picked up a spear and went to the gaj’s pen. The beast crouched in the corner, its eyes and lethal stalks turned toward the gate.

“This is for Yarig,” the mul said, flinging the spear through an opening.

The shaft struck the gaj in the center of its antennae. It let out a high-pitched squeal and pulled its head beneath its shell.

“Will that kill it?” Neeva asked, holding her torch over the cage so she could see inside.

“Not for a few hours, I hope,” Rikus answered.

You have not beaten me yet.

The squealing did not cease as the gaj sent its message, but the creature lifted its shell and pointed the tip of its abdomen at Rikus and Neeva.

“Time to leave,” the mul said. He pulled his partner away from the pen just as the gaj sprayed the corridor with fetid vapor.

Neeva helped Rikus don the black cassock she and Anezka had procured for him. It was a snug fit, but the mul hoped it would get him as far as the gate. If someone came close enough to notice how tight the robe was, Rikus felt confident he could handle any problems that might arise.

When they were ready to leave, the mul picked up Yarig’s body, certain that the dwarf would not want to be buried in Tithian’s slave pits. “Are you coming with us, Anezka?”

The halfling nodded.

The three gladiators started toward the entrance, Anezka holding the spear, and Rikus and Neeva each carrying obsidian daggers in their pockets. They left their customary weapons in their cells. Trikals, staves, and warhammers would have drawn unwanted attention to the trio.

When they stepped out of the shed, Rikus pulled the cassock’s hood over his head. Though it was early, neither of the moons sat very high in sky, so the evening was reasonably dark. In each of the towers, the mul saw the shadowy forms of a templar and two guards.

The feeder’s four-wheeled cart sat to the side of the door. A putrid stench rose from the various dead and almost dead animals lying in its wagon. “Let’s get this unloaded,” Rikus said. “We’d better feed the animals so they’ll be quiet.”

They quickly did as the mul suggested, blindly throwing different sorts of meat into the pens without regard for the beasts inside. A few minutes later, the cart was empty. Rikus laid Yarig’s body in the wagon, then traded his dagger for the spear that Anezka carried and instructed her to lie down next to her fighting partner’s corpse.

Rikus went to the front of the cart, where a single kank was lashed into the yoke. The docile beast stood a little higher than the mul’s waist. Its chitinous body was divided into three sections: a pear-shaped head topped by two wiry antennae, an elongated thorax supported by six thin legs, and a bulbous abdomen hanging from the rear of the thorax.

Though Rikus had never driven one of the creatures, he had ridden in kank-drawn wagons enough to understand the basic principal. In his free hand, he picked up a long switch lying on the front of the cart, then tapped the kank between the antennae. To his surprise, the beast took off at a trot.

“How much attention are you trying to draw to us?” Neeva demanded, jogging to keep up with the cart. “Slow down!”

“How?”

The blond gladiator snatched the switch from his hand and passed the end over the beast’s antennae several times. It immediately slowed to a more acceptable speed.

They plodded down the lane, then turned right on the broad read leading to the back gate. Several tower guards paused to peer down at the wagon, but no one showed any sign of alarm.

At last, the gate itself loomed before them. It consisted of a large wooden door hinged between a pair of small towers. This evening, each tower was manned by one guard, with a single templar supervising them both.

Neeva steered the cart directly for the gate, not varying the kank’s pace. The tower guards and the templar watched the disguised gladiators approach without comment. A guard turned a wheel inside his tower, and the gate slowly started to open.

The escapees passed into the dark shadows between the towers.

“Wait!” called the templar.

Neeva glanced at Rikus, and the mul nodded to indicate she should obey. The brawny woman passed the switch over the kank’s antennae until the cart stopped.

“Did I see bodies in there?” the templar demanded.

“Yes,” Rikus confirmed. “They insulted Tithian. We’re taking them out for the raakles.”

“I’d better have a look,” the templar sighed, climbing down the ladder.

Neeva gave Rikus a questioning look. He shrugged, then peered over his shoulder at Anezka. She was playing dead, with one hand tucked awkwardly beneath her back.

The templar reached the ground, then went to the side of the cart. He was a human with a three-day growth of beard.

“What have we here?” the templar muttered, reaching over the wagon toward Yarig’s neck. When his fingers came back sticky with blood, he grumbled with disgust and held his hand away from his body as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. “They’re dead.”

“Of course,” Rikus answered. “I killed them myself.”

The templar regarded the mul with a disgusted look, then motioned the cart through the gate. Neeva hardly waited for it to open the rest of the way before she moved the little cart out from between the towers.

A vast plain of rocky barrenness, purple-shrouded and as silent as death itself, lay before them.

“Where do we go now, Rikus?” Neeva asked, urging the kank into a trot.

“The estate of Agis of Asticles,” the mul answered. “Wherever that is.”