The Verdant Passage

SIXTEEN ENDGAME

Rikus and his three companions stood in an alley across from Tyr’s great stadium, listening to the roar of the crowd thunder over the high walls. Two templars stood in each gateway of the structure, their pole-axes gripped firmly in hand and their short swords dangling at their hips. Outside the gates, hundreds of men and women-overcome by drink, heat, or excitement-sat in the streets. These refugees waved fans before their faces or simply held their heads in their hands. They would have fared better returning to their homes, but the mul suspected that they hoped to recover in time for the day’s grand finale. Rikus thought they were fools-not the sort of people for whom he wanted to die.

The mul faced his weary companions. After a grueling four-day hike, they had arrived in Tyr last night, only to discover that the ziggurat had been completed and the games were scheduled to begin in the morning.

“This will never work,” Rikus said, eyeing the guards at the stadium.

“Do you have a better idea?” Sadira asked.

The half-elf was dressed like a noblewoman, with a silver circlet in her amber hair and a silken cape over her shoulders. On her fingers she wore rings of silver, gold, and copper, and the straps of her sandals were studded with tourmaline. According to their plan, she would find a vantage point in the noble tiers from which she could see both Rikus and the King’s Balcony. Just before the mul threw the Heartwood Spear, she would use Ktandeo’s cane to destroy the magical shielding that they assumed would be protecting Kalak.

“I haven’t thought of anything better-yet,” Rikus admitted reluctantly.

“We don’t have much time, Rikus,” said Agis, looking nervous and uncomfortable in a templar’s cassock. “They could close the stadium any minute.”

“Let them! Tithian will never join us.” Rikus tipped his spear toward the stadium. “If we go through those gates, we’ll all be killed before we can assassinate anyone.”

“We don’t need Tithian to join us,” Agis said, “We just need him to leave us alone. He’s already promised that much. Through Sadira’s efforts, he knows where the amulets were hidden. So far, he’s kept his word.”

Rikus had to admit this much was true. Last night, Agis and Sadira had asked around to see if people still expected the mul and his partner to fight. To their surprise, everyone assumed Rikus and Neeva would be part of the grand finale. Apparently Tithian had honored his promise and kept the escape of his two prize gladiators secret.

Nevertheless, the mul was far from enthused about the crucial role the high templar played in their plans. “Agis, you’re asking Tithian to let you attack Kalak from the High Templars’ Gallery. If that isn’t helping, I don’t know what is.”

The noble lifted a hand and nodded. “You’re right, that is helping. It doesn’t matter, though. Tithian will cooperate. Leave him to me.”

Rikus shook his head stubbornly. “He can’t be trusted, no matter how close you were as boys. There must be another way.”

This part of the plan was what made the mul nervous. When Rikus threw the spear, Agis would simultaneously pound Kalak with a psionic barrage. Unfortunately, to make his attack, the noble needed to see the king’s face. The only place he could do that from was the High Templars’ Gallery. With that in mind, Agis had donned a templar’s cassock. He intended to convince Tithian to let him pose as a minor functionary and watch the contest from the gallery.

Neeva had the same fears as Rikus. “Agis, if you’re wrong about Tithian, the instant Rikus and I step into the arena, he’ll have us killed-and Kalak will survive. I’d feel better if I knew why you’re so confident the High Templar of the Games will cooperate.”

The noble smiled. “Because Tithian doesn’t want to die,” Agis said. “When he hears that Kalak wants to become a dragon, and what that will mean to Tyr, the high templar will see that his best chance of survival lies in our success.”

“How do you know Tithian will believe you?” Neeva objected. “Or that he won’t think Kalak intends to spare him?”

“We don’t need to convince Tithian of anything,” Agis countered. “He was already frightened when the king told him to lock the stadium. He’ll be even more frightened when I tell him the reason.”

Before they had left the forest, Nok had revealed everything he knew about dragons. One of the things he had mentioned was that Kalak’s incubation would require the life-force of tens of thousands of people. Of course, the companions had immediately realized that this was why the king wanted the stadium sealed.

Agis continued, “Besides, there are two more good reasons for me to be close to Tithian. First, if he tries to sound an alarm when you and Rikus take the field, I’ll kill him. Even if he does betray us, that might give you enough tune to finish Kalak.”

“Before the templars kill us,” Rikus added. “I still don’t like this plan. I’m here to help Sadira and Neeva. I don’t care about a mob of citizens who are here because they enjoy watching slaves chop each other up. As far as I’m concerned, the crowd deserves whatever Kalak does to them.”

“And what about the rest of Tyr?” Neeva asked. “You heard Nok. Once Kalak becomes a dragon, he isn’t going to stop killing once be leaves the stadium. He’ll annihilate Tyr and probably the entire valley as well.”

“We’re not going to save any lives if we die before we have a chance to attack the king,” Rikus replied. “On the other hand, we could be certain of saving thousands of lives by spending the afternoon warning those who didn’t go to the games.”

“Rikus, this is about more than saving lives,” Agis said. “It’s about liberty-”

“We have our liberty,” the mul responded. “That’s what matters to me.”

“This isn’t about liberty either,” Sadira interrupted. “It’s about evil. If someone had stopped the sorcerer-kings a thousand years ago, Athas wouldn’t be the terrible place it is today. If we don’t stop Kalak now, who knows what the world will be like tomorrow?”

“I understand that,” Rikus answered, “but you and Neeva-and even Agis, I suppose-are more important to me than all of Tyr. I’ll help you fight Kalak, but I don’t want any part of getting any of you killed.”

“Perhaps it won’t come to that,” Agis said. “That’s the other reason I want to be near Tithian when we attack. If anyone can save us after Kalak dies, it will be him.”

“That’s a nice thought, but I don’t see why he would,” Neeva said, shaking her head. “After Kalak dies, Tithian will want to hide his part in the assassination. It’ll be in his interest to make sure that everyone who knows about his involvement is killed.”

“Which is why I’ll be nearby,” Agis countered. “The threat of an immediate and painful death will persuade Tithian to help us escape-that much I can promise.”

“It’s better than anything I’ve thought of,” Rikus admitted.

“Good,” Sadira said. “Now that we’re all happy, let’s go.” She started toward the stadium before anyone could debate the issue further.

“I didn’t say I was happy,” Rikus grumbled, laying the spear over his shoulder and starting after her.

Agis stepped to his side. “I’ll help you and Neeva get into the stadium,” he offered. “As … slaves you might have some difficulty …”

“I think they know us here,” the mul said with a smile of pride.

The mul motioned to Neeva, then walked across the street to the nearest gate. As the pair of famous gladiators entered the dark passageway, the guards moved aside and tipped their polearms in salute.

Rikus and Neeva stepped into the arena. The crowd’s thunder shook even the granite foundations of Tyr’s mighty colosseum. The two gladiators paused in the arched entryway to let their eyes adjust to the bright light. The mob roared even louder. Moments later, the matched pair walked toward the center of the fighting arena, leaving behind them the stale stench of wine and sweat that hung close to the stands.

As usual, both gladiators were lightly armored and armed, for they believed in fighting with mobility as well as strength. They were dressed in the emerald-green battle array that Neeva had selected before they came to the stadium. Rikus wore nothing but a breechcloth, leather cuirass, bone skullcap, and spiked cops upon both his knees and elbows. For a weapon, he carried the Heartwood Spear.

Neeva was armed with the steel-bladed trikal Agis had given her. In addition to her breechcloth and chest halter, she wore an ivory-horned helm and a pair of shoulder pauldrons from which hung a winglike cape. Long gauntlets covered her forearms, and a pair of greaves with spiked knee cops protected her shins.

When the pair reached the center of the immense sand field, they stopped and acknowledged their ovation by raising their weapons to the crowd. The stadium was as full as Rikus had ever seen it. In the grandstands, people sat in every available space, completely blocking the aisles and stairs. The balconies overhead were more crowded. Spectators even sat at the edge of the overhang, clinging to the rope railing to keep from being pushed off their precarious perches.

It seemed to Rikus that every person in the stands was yelling or screaming or slapping their palms against the stone seats. He could hear his name being shouted in a thousand places all at once. The mul wondered if any of those showering him with adulation now would try to help him or Neeva when he threw the spear into Kalak’s heart.

After acknowledging the crowd’s applause, the gladiators bowed to the ziggurat looming over the western end of the arena. Next they faced the High Templars’ Gallery, a small seating box protruding from the grandstand balcony. Its back and sides were screened to hide the occupants from the people in the stands, and a yellow canopy hung over it to provide shade. Though the resulting shadows prevented Rikus from seeing into the gallery itself, he hoped that one of the figures watching from the darkness was Agis.

“Tell me, on whom should I place my wager, Rikus or Kalak?” Tithian asked, leaning toward Agis to make himself heard above the din of the stadium.

“Rikus, of course,” Agis answered. He looked toward the King’s Balcony, where Kalak’s wrinkled face could be seen just above the railing. “If you bet on Kalak, you lose-no matter what.”

The high templar raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Agis nodded, then leaned closer to Tithian’s ear. Speaking just loud enough to make himself heard, the noble reported what they had learned from Nok. There was a small risk that Kalak was magically eavesdropping on their conversation, of course, but Agis suspected the king would have other things on his mind at the moment.

Tithian’s face paled, and he slumped back into his well-padded chair. “I suppose I should find this too incredible to believe.”

“Do you?” asked the noble.

The high templar shook his head.

“Then you’re with us?” Agis asked, leaning close to Tithian’s ear.

As a matter of routine, the senator had been searched before being allowed into the gallery and was unarmed. Nevertheless, his command of the Way was always with him. If he did not receive a satisfactory answer from his old friend, Agis was prepared to kill the high templar.

“I never said I would help, only that I wouldn’t stand in your way,” Tithian answered. “I’ve kept my word, as is obvious from the fact that you’re here and my gladiators are down there.” He pointed toward the center of the arena, where Rikus and Neeva still waited his answer to their salute.

“There are no bystanders in this,” Agis said. “You’re either with us or against us.”

Tithian met his friend’s menacing gaze evenly. “I’ll want something in return.”

“What?”

The templar shrugged. “It depends on what you want me to do.”

“What we need should be a simple matter for someone of your authority,” Agis said. “Just get us out of here after Rikus throws the spear.”

Tithian closed his eyes and let an ironic sigh escape his lips. “Agis, I’m not in charge of the security force,” he said. “Kalak assigned that responsibility to Larkyn.”

In the center of the field, Rikus was beginning to fear that he had been right not to trust Tithian. At any moment, he expected a detachment of half giants to rush into the arena, or a pair of magical lightning bolts to streak out of the gallery and destroy both him and Neeva.

He waited. Nothing happened, save that the din in the stands rose to a fevered frenzy. The two gladiators stood motionless in the stifling afternoon heat, the stale odor of the morning’s blood and death lingering in the sands.

At last Tithian stepped to the edge of the porch, where Rikus and Neeva eould see him. He acknowledged their salute by waving a black scarf. “It’s about time,” Rikus growled, spinning on his heel to face the eastern end of the arena.

“Don’t complain,” Neeva countered, also turning. “It looks like Agis was right about Tithian.”

This time, the two gladiators faced the Golden Tower, where the King’s Balcony overlooked the end of the fighting field. A single pair of half-giant guards stood on each side of the balcony, flanking a huge throne of jade. The throne sat at the front edge of the small box. The pate of Kalak’s bald head, his golden diadem, and his dark eyes were barely visible above the balcony’s front wall.

“I hope he stands up when I’m ready to throw the spear,” Rikus said, dipping his weapon to the king. “Even at half this distance, his head isn’t much of a target.”

Kalak did not keep them waiting nearly as long as Tithian had. After the formality of a two-second wait, a half-giant bodyguard motioned the pair to a corner of the arena. As they went to their starting positions, Rikus studied the other gladiators on the fighting field.

On each side of the arena stood six matched pairs. Some were full humans or half-elves, rough-looking men and women who had been sold into the pits to pay their debts or as punishment for a crime. There were also several representatives of more exotic races, including a set of hulking baazrags, two purple-scaled nikaals, and a pair of stooped gith.

Rikus recognized only a few of the other fighters. In the opposite corner stood Chilo and Felorn, a skilled pair of tareks. Like muls, tareks were big, musclebound, and hairless. Their heads, however, were square and big-boned, with sloping foreheads and massive brow ridges. They had flat noses with flared nostrils and a domed muzzle full of sharp teeth. Neither tarek wore armor of any kind, and each carried two weapons: a steel handfork that could serve equally well as a parrying tool or a slicing weapon, and a bone heartpick, a hammerlike weapon with a serrated pick on the front and a heavy, flat head on the back.

To Rikus’s right stood a hairy half-giant carrying an obsidian axe with a head as large as a dwarf. His partner was a full-blooded elven woman armed with a whip of bone and cord. The mul did not know the elf, but the half-giant was a former guard named Gaanon, whom he had wounded in a contest a year earlier. For armor, Gaanon wore a leather hauberk that a normal man could have used as a tent. The elf wore a bronze pauldron covering her left shoulder and a spiked gauntlet on her right arm.

Upon noticing that she was being studied, the elf gave Rikus a twisted smile. The mul did not know whether she meant the gesture to be polite or intimidating, but it made him think she was looking forward to battle. He shrugged and looked away, turning his attention back to his own partner. “Any sign of Sadira in the noble booths?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” Neeva replied. “Don’t you trust her charms to get her into position?”

“I trust her charms,” Rikus said, giving his fighting partner a warm grin. “But maybe not as much as I trust your trikal.”

“I hope you remember that when this is finished,” she returned, giving him a meaningful glance.

A loud creak echoed throughout the stadium drawing the attention of gladiator and spectator alike to the center of the arena. A great bulge formed in the sand as an immense pair of doors began to open. Excited murmurs of curiosity rustled through the crowd, for those huge doors covered a subterranean staging area where Tithian stored building-sized props. They seldom opened unless some special amusement was being raised into the arena.

Today was no exception. As the doors reached their locked position, a familiar orange shell rose out of the pit. A pair of barbed, arm-length mandibles protruded from the underside of one end of the shell.

“The gaj!” Sadira whispered, watching the beast rise out of the prop area.

She stood on the terrace above the noble tiers, having spent the last two hours trying in vain to work her way into position. Unfortunately, because the stadium was so crowded, common spectators had been trying to sneak into the lower tiers since early morning. The nobles had complained bitterly and now the half-giant guards at the top of each row would not allow anyone down the stairs unless someone in a booth vouched for the newcomer.

As Sadira watched the gaj rise out of the pit, she soon saw that it sat atop Kalak’s obsidian pyramid. Hoping that the spectacular object would supply the distraction she needed, she worked her way down the terrace until she found a guard who seemed more interested in the arena than in his job. The sorceress took a deep breath, then boldly stepped past the half-giant’s hip.

A huge hand descended in front of her. “Where are you going?” demanded a deep voice. The half-giant did not look down to see whom he addressed.

Sadira fixed her eyes on the one vacancy in the throng below, then rapped the guard’s knuckles with the pommel of her cane. “To my seat!”

“Oww!” The half-giant pulled his hand away and looked down, astonished.

Sadira started to step past.

“I’m sorry,” the half-giant said, fixing his baggy eyes on her face. “I do remember you from-”

The guard furrowed his brow, and Sadira instantly realized that she had a problem.

“Pegen!” the half-giant gasped. He latched onto her shoulder. “You’re the one who made me look like a fool at the city gate! You killed Pegen!”

“In the name of-” Sadira hissed, cursing her bad luck.

She spun around and swung her cane at the guard’s groin, which on a half-giant was at perfect striking level for her. He groaned and released her shoulder, reaching for the bone club he had left leaning against the terrace wall.

Sadira resisted the temptation to use magic, for she was in plain view of much of the stadium. Instead, she slipped past the guard and ran for an exit tunnel. The half-giant followed, yelling orders for her to stop and threatening dire consequences if she did not obey. The scene evoked a few chuckles from those in the immediate vicinity, but the sound of Tithian’s magically-augmented voice quickly drew their attention back to the obsidian pyramid.

“The rules of the game are simple: the last pair of gladiators able to stand on the summit of the pyramid will win the contest.”

Though Sadira wondered what was happening in the arena, she did not dare pause to look. The half-giant lagged only a few steps behind her.

All around the stadium, loud bangs began to sound from the entryways as the gates came crashing down. Realizing that she was about to be cut off from the streets, the sorceress ducked into the nearest exit. The clatter of chains rang through the rock archway, and the templars at the far end of the tunnel leaped into the street. A huge gate crashed to the ground and blocked the short passageway. Sadira was trapped.

Kalak rose and stepped to the edge of his balcony. “Let the games begin!”

The other gladiators charged toward the pyramid, which a group of templars had levitated into position in front of Kalak’s balcony. Neeva started to follow, but Rikus quickly grasped her shoulder.

“Let everyone else fight for a bit. The gaj will keep them from claiming the prize too soon,” he said, pointing to the top of the glassy pyramid, where the murderous beast still sat. “Besides, if Kalak stays at the edge of his balcony, we might get a clear throw at him from below.”

“What about Agis and Sadira?” Neeva asked. “You can’t attack if they’re not ready.”

“They’d better be watching,” Rikus said.

Ahead of them, Gaanon drew first blood by leveling a vicious swing at a dimwitted baazrag. The furry creature blocked with its trident, its sunken eyes betraying its confusion at being attacked. The half-giant’s axe snapped the weapon as though it were a twig, then sliced the baazrag’s massive torso into separate pieces just below the breast tine. A thunderous roar sounded from the stands.

The female baazrag went into a rage. It threw its twin-bladed axe at Gaanon’s leg, causing the clumsy half-giant to teeter at the brink of falling. The baazrag raised its massive arms and bared its yellowed fangs, then charged. The half-giant’s elven partner suddenly disappeared from Gaanon’s side, then reappeared behind the raging baazrag.

“The elf’s a teleporter,” Rikus noted.

Neeva grunted to let him know she had heard, but seemed otherwise unimpressed.

The elf lashed her whip around the baazrag’s legs. The furry beast-woman fell at Gaanon’s feet. He quickly beheaded it with another swift stroke of his axe.

“Let’s see if we can work our way toward Kalak,” Rikus said, leading them toward the general melee.

The seeming chaos of free-for-all combat was actually comprised of many smaller fights between a handful of combatants. Rikus carefully picked his way past these little battles toward the center of the field.

A few yards from the pyramid, two gith moved forward to intercept the mul and his partner. Keeping their bulging eyes fixed on Rikus and Neeva, the hunched lizard-men moved forward in a stooped gait that could not quite be described as scuttling or loping. Each of the scrawny creatures wore a plumed helmet atop its bony, arrow-shaped head. Mekillot-shell plates protected the vulnerable spines on their backs.

“Let’s make quick work of these two,” Rikus said, bringing his spear to a defensive position. He did not add a warning to watch for psionic tricks, for he and Neeva had fought gith before. She knew their innate abilities as well as he did.

“Don’t waste time talking!” she said, stepping to his side. “Just kill them.”

The smallest gith led the charge, rushing Rikus with a series of awkward hops. The mul brought the creature to a quick halt by threatening it with his spearpoint. The gaunt lizard-man reluctantly raised its spike mace to trade blows. The maneuver, Rikus knew, would soon result in its undoing.

The other gith stopped a few yards from Neeva and studied her trikal with a bulging, lidless eye. An instant later, Neeva’s weapon slithered to life in her hands.

“The damn thing animated my trikal!”

Without taking his eye off his own foe, Rikus shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said loudly, addressing Neeva’s attacker. “It only makes her mad.”

A stout templar with a lined, leathery face stormed into the gallery. The man stopped directly in front of Agis’s chair, blocking the noble’s view of the fight between his friends and the two gith.

“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded the newcomer. He ignored Agis completely and fixed his attention on Tithian.

“The meaning of what, Larkyn?” Tithian asked.

“You closed the gates too soon!” Larkyn said. “Half my templars are locked outside, and the crowd is already growing restless.”

“Is that so?” Tithian asked nonchalantly. He gave Agis a knowing glance.

Larkyn looked at the senator and frowned, but showed no sign of recognizing him. This did not surprise the noble, for high templars avoided the Senate as diligently as senators avoided the High Bureaus. Though their names were certainly known to each other, Agis doubted that they had ever been within a hundred feet of one another before today.

When the noble made no move to rise, Larkyn cleared his throat forcefully.

A sly grin flashed across Tithian’s thin lips, then he cuffed Agis with the back of his hand. “How dare you sit while a high templar stands!”

Agis jumped to his feet with all the chagrin of a subordinate who had forgotten his place. “Please forgive me, High One,” he groveled, bowing to Larkyn. “I was absorbed by the contest.”

Larkyn dismissed him with a wave of his hand, then sat in the chair the noble had just vacated. Agis stepped to the back of the booth and glanced down the stairway. At the bottom stood a knot of two dozen lower-ranking templars. Though it was impossible to tell Tithian’s men from Larkyn’s, Agis could see that one group was blocking the other’s access to the gallery.

Admiring the astuteness with which Tithian had maneuvered Larkyn into the chair, Agis stepped close behind it so no one could see what be was doing. He reached under his robe and withdrew the stiletto Tithian had given him before Larkyn arrived-the high templar, of course, being free from any sort of weapons search. While the noble would have preferred to use the Way, leaving Larkyn alive but incapacitated, his old friend had insisted upon a dagger in the back.

As Agis thrust the blade through the soft chair, a white light flashed from the gateway into which Sadira had fled. It was not particularly bright, neither was it long-lived, nor did it create a peal of thunder. Nevertheless, it was quite visible, and many curious spectators found their attentions split between the combat in the arena and the mysterious pyrotechnics in the stands.

“Did you see that?” Rikus asked, looking away from the flash he had just seen in the stands. At his feet lay the two gith, dispatched easily and without so much as a scratch to himself or Neeva. On the balcony above, Kalak perched at the edge of his throne, watching the fight with no indication that he was concerned by the flare of light. The mul decided it must have been a templar dispatching an unruly spectator.

“Rikus, pay attention!” Neeva said. “The tareks!”

The mul spun around. The powerful male tarek was so close that his musky odor filled Rikus’s nose. The female had already engaged Neeva. The two women were exchanging lightning-fast blows, filling the areas with staccato pops as they blocked and parried.

Chilo swung his heartpick at Rikus, striking for the mul’s arm. For his part, Rikus used his spear to block. A sharp crack sounded, then the pick whistled past Rikus’s side. The tarek opened his muzzle and bared his white fangs, then slashed at the mul’s stomach with the handfork. Rikus pulled back. As the sharp blades scraped across his light cuirass, he leveled a side-thrust kick at Chilo’s massive chest. As it landed, the tarek flared his cavernous nostrils. Otherwise, he did not flinch. Rikus pushed away, trying to put a little space between himself and Chilo’s hulking form.

Felorn slipped between the mul and his partner. To prevent himself from being separated from Neeva, Rikus started to move backward. The dark eyes beneath Chilo’s bony brow flashed. Rikus knew he was doing what his opponent expected. He caught himself in midstep and returned his foot to the ground. Chilo charged, swinging both weapons with fully extended arms.

Rikus raised the tip of his spear. “Expecting to intimidate me was your last mistake,” he said, stepping forward.

Chilo’s weapons sliced through the air behind Rikus. The mul thrust his spear at his enemy’s heart. The point slipped easily into the tarek’s densely muscled chest. Chilo’s mouth dropped open, his eyes glassed over, and his charge stopped-but he did not fall or even drop his weapons. He merely stepped away from the mul and pulled his body off the spear.

“I hate tareks worse than Asticles wine!” Rikus growled.

He did not doubt he had struck Chilo a fatal blow. Unfortunately, tareks often continued to fight after death.

Rikus took advantage of Chilo’s momentary shock and threw a glance over his shoulder. Felorn still stood between him and Neeva. The mul stepped backward, slipping the butt-point of his weapon between the female’s ribs. Howling in pain, she futilely tried to pull herself off the spear.

As Rikus looked back to Chilo, Felorn dropped her weapons. She thrashed about so wildly that the mul could barely hold on to the Heartwood Spear.

Chilo staggered forward and swung his heartpick at the mul. Rikus reached inside the pick’s arc and blocked the attack at the tarek’s wrist. The serrated blade flashed over his shoulder. The mul found himself staring into Chilo’s lifeless gaze. Without looking away, he kicked at Felorn backward, like a horse, and knocked her free of his spear. Chilo dropped his heartpick. Grabbing Rikus by the shoulder, the dead tarek raised his handfork.

One of the things that made Neeva and Rikus a great fighting team was their ability to recognize when they needed help. Now was one of those times. “Neeva!” Rikus shouted calmly.

The handfork started down. Neeva’s trikal flashed past Rikus’s head. He heard a sharp whack, then the hand holding the fork tumbled to the ground. The stump of Chilo’s bloody wrist struck the mul’s face, opening a long gash on his cheek.

Rikus reacted quickly, smashing his spiked elbow cop into Chilo’s mouth. The lifeless tarek dropped to the ground and made no move to rise. Rikus turned to assist his partner.

At that particular moment, Neeva had no need of his help. The gladiator brought her trikal down on Felorn’s neck, separating her head from her shoulders. The tarek’s body did not try to fight on.

Rikus glanced up at the King’s Balcony. Kalak stood behind the railing, his sunken black eyes fixed on the dead tareks. The mul was tempted to throw the spear at that moment, but he didn’t have a clear shot at the ancient king’s body.

Neeva caught his arm. “Not yet,” she said. “We’ve got to make sure Agis and Sadira know what you’re doing.”

“You’re right, as usual,” Rikus answered, looking back toward the obsidian pyramid.

The field had now been narrowed to three sets of gladiators: Rikus and Neeva; the half-giant, Gaanon, and his elven partner; and a pair of humans. The humans had removed their sandals to climb the glassy pyramid and were about to reach the top. Gaanon and his elven partner were just behind the leaders, climbing along the ridge where two sides of the pyramid met.

“Let’s win this contest,” Rikus said, retrieving Chilo’s fork from the disembodied hand that held it. “On top of the pyramid, I’ll have a better shot at Kalak, and Sadira and Agis won’t be able to miss what I’m doing.”

The mul sliced his sandal thongs. Neeva removed hers with a flick of her trikal’s blade. Before Rikus and his partner began to ascend, the two humans reached the apex of the pyramid. As the woman crested the top, the gaj extended its head in a lightning fast blur. It caught her in its pincers, wrapping its tentacles around her brow and arms. She dropped her weapons and screamed.

When her partner tried to help, the gaj slammed its mandibles into him. The man tumbled down the pyramid. As he passed Gaanon, the half-giant hefted his huge axe and sliced off an arm.

Neeva started up the ridge opposite Gaanon and the elf, observing, “It’s us and the half-giant.”

“And the gaj,” Rikus added, following her. The obsidian was so hot he could hardly bear to plant his feet long enough to take the next step.

Rikus and Neeva were about three-quarters of the way up when the gaj released the dead woman. The beast spun around to face Gaanon and the elf.

“Good,” Rikus commented. “Let the half-giant take care of it.”

Rikus! came a familiar thought-voice. I have waited to hear your thoughts. I feared you had died below.

They haven’t beaten me yet, Rikus responded, echoing the last words the gaj had said to him. How did you survive? I thought a spear through the head would kill anything.

Master Tithian sent a man to care for me. Without his thoughts, I might have been too weak to recover.

You attacked your healer? Rikus asked.

I am like Yarig. I must follow my focus, the gaj replied simply. Just as you have come here to follow yours.

Rikus looked up in time to see the elf disappear from the ridge she and Gaanon were climbing. She reappeared behind the gaj. Unfortunately, her whip and spikes were useless against its thick shell. She simply stood looking at the creature. The amused crowd began to heckle her with catcalls.

As Gaanon approached the top, it became apparent to Rikus that the elf’s strategy was a sound one. She lashed at the orange shell with her whip, capturing the gaj’s attention. It turned slowly to face her, wrapping a tentacle around her arm. The half-elf cried out in pain, then the gaj snapped its pincers closed around her waist.

Gaanon stepped onto the platform behind the creature “Now, Raffaela,” he boomed.

The elf teleported away, leaving nothing but empty space between the pincers. The gaj screeched, for the tentacle that had been wrapped around the woman’s arm also vanished. Raffaela reappeared at the base of the pyramid, writhing in agony as she pulled the tentacle from her arm.

Gaanon stooped over and grabbed the back of the gaj’s shell. The half-giant began to lift. The creature’s canelike legs shot out and scratched at the glassy surface of the platform.

“This is for the wound you gave me last year, Rikus!” Gaanon boomed.

The mul saw the gaj’s head and pincers being forced off the platform directly above him and Neeva. Gaanon’s witless face hovered over the top of the beast’s rust-colored shell. He was glaring at the mul with a gap-toothed sneer.

A faint hiss sounded from beneath the gaj as it released its defensive gas. Gaanon looked as though he would retch, but kept pushing the beast forward. Suddenly the gaj slid down the glassy pyramid appearing as little more than an orange streak as it crashed into Neeva. Rikus jumped out of the way. As he landed on the steep slope, his feet shot from beneath him. The mul tumbled head over heels down to the sandy field.

Gaanon’s brutal laugh boomed over the fighting field. Rikus leaped to his feet, spear in hand and spitting sand. The half-giant’s moronic expression changed to fear when he saw the weapon pointed at him, but Rikus restrained himself from throwing it. Raffaela had no doubt recovered by now. If he threw the spear, she would certainly teleport to him and attack before he could secure another weapon.

Instead, Rikus looked to where the gaj had landed. The beast lay on the ground without moving. Its legs were retracted beneath its carapace, and its head was pointed away from him. The mul heard a muffled scream and saw that Neeva’s trikal protruded from beneath the gaj’s shell. Without pause, he leaped atop the beast.

“Release her!” he demanded.

Neeva lay directly beneath the gaj, flailing wildly at its head. The creature’s tentacles were wrapped around her helmet, frantically trying to remove it.

Release her! Rikus repeated, this time using thought speech.

No, came the reply. Let me have her or I’ll tell the king your true reason for fighting today.

“Then tell him!” Rikus snarled, plunging his spear deep into the monster’s head.

The gaj shuddered and shrieked in pain, but the injury did not prevent it from tearing Neeva’s helm from her head. You should know you can’t kill me, it said. Go, or I tell the king!

“Rikus! Get it off!” Neeva yelled. The gaj tried to snake a tentacle around her head, but she blocked with her forearm. As the stalk entwined her wrist, she howled in pain.

“Its body!” Neeva screeched. “Hit its body.”

The gaj lashed its free tentacle around her head, and she fell silent. Somehow Neeva found the strength to grasp at the stalk. From his own experience, the mul knew even Neeva could not last long once the thing invaded her mind.

Rikus pulled the Heartwood Spear from the beast’s head, then jabbed at its hump. The point passed through the shell as easily as it had penetrated the tareks’ bodies. An ear-piercing shriek sounded from the gaj’s head. It began to lash about fiercely. Rikus pushed the spear in deeper, twisting the shaft like a butter churn.

The gaj stopped struggling. The stench of its defensive gas filled the air. Rikus pulled his spear free and leaped off the beast.

“What are you waiting for?” Neeva gasped, her voice weak and raspy. “I can’t breathe.”

Holding his breath so he would not be weakened by the gaj’s gas, Rikus flipped the lifeless creature onto its back. Using the spear, he removed the tentacles from Neeva’s head and arm. Welts and blisters had already formed where the thing had touched her.

The crowd broke into a horrendous roar. Rikus stepped away from the gaj, drawing a deep breath. He saw that Gaanon’s elven partner had returned to the pyramid’s summit. Both the half-giant and the elf stood at the edge of the platform, staring at him with an air of haughty disdain.

Rikus looked back to Neeva. “Can you fight?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” she said, though she had still not risen to her feet.

People in the stands cried Rikus’s name, urging him to abandon his partner and attack the pyramid. The mul picked up his spear and looked toward the King’s Balcony. Kalak remained at the rail. He leaned over the edge, staring down at the mul and his partner, his lips curling into a sadistic grin.

Neeva grabbed her trikal and tried to stand. Her knees buckled before she was halfway up. “I’m too weak, Rikus,” she said. “You’ll have to try without me.”

“No,” the mul said. “We’re in this together.”

He lifted the spear as if ready to throw it, pointing the tip toward Gaanon. The half-giant took a step backward. A thunderous roar exploded from the stands, with thousands of voices urging the mul to kill his rival.

Rikus let the uproar continue to build, then glanced down at his fighting partner, who lay gasping on the sand. “For you and Sadira,” he whispered.

Neeva shook her head. “For freedom and Athas.”

With that, Rikus whirled around to face the King’s Balcony. Kalak’s eyes widened.

At that moment, a deafening explosion shook the stadium. A great silver and gold flash shot out of the lower tiers as Sadira made her attack. The bright flare filled the air with a peculiar stench that reminded Rikus of melting copper. The bolt hit an invisible barrier at the balcony’s edge, exploding there into a brilliant cascade of red and blue sparks. The mul glimpsed a magical wall of shimmering force, but it faded away amidst a cacophony of loud sizzles and sharp pops.

Rikus stepped forward. Kalak looked away from the mul, his eyes drawn suddenly to Agis of Asticles in the High Templars’ Gallery. Rikus hurled the spear with all his might. As the enchanted weapon sailed toward its target, an image born of Kalak’s twisted mind, augmented by his mastery of the Way, appeared over the entire stadium: a dragon, fierce and terrible, rose to the height of the great ziggurat.

The image of the dragon reared back, ready to strike. It was in that instant that the Heartwood Spear struck Kalak, sorcerer-king of Tyr, squarely in the chest and passed clear through his body. The king’s screams filled the stadium, then the entire city. The unearthly cries did not fade as the half-giants grabbed their leader and dragged him into his golden palace.