The Verdant Passage

SEVENTEEN THE DRAGON

The stadium remained tense, but calm. Most commoners stayed in their seats, too frightened or too stunned to move, filling the air with the steady drone of their astonished voices. Knots of angry nobles yelled at stony-faced templars, trying in vain to make them open the sealed gates. Glowering half-giants stalked the terrace aisles, their massive clubs resting over their shoulders and their red-rimmed eyes scanning the crowd.

It was not the reaction Agis had anticipated. He had envisioned a thunderous uproar, the stands breaking into a riot, the frenzied crowd pouring onto the fighting field. There was none of that. The spectators were too shocked to do as the noble expected, and Larkyn’s half-giants were too efficient to let them.

The crowd’s reaction was not the only thing that had failed to go as Agis had pictured. The timing of the companions’ attack had been perfect, but that was where their success had ended. As powerful and well-placed as Rikus’s throw had been, it had not killed the king. From the High Templars’ Gallery, the noble had seen Kalak gesturing angrily as his half-giants helped him off the King’s Balcony and into the Golden Tower.

Agis turned his attention to the fighting field, where a swarm of templars and half-giants surrounded Rikus and Neeva. The two gladiators were allowing themselves to be escorted toward Tithian’s gallery. Agis suspected their complacence was due to their faith in his influence over the high templar, for he knew that Rikus and Neeva would have died fighting rather than suffer the indignity of execution.

When the swarm of guards stopped below the gallery, Tithian stepped to the edge of the porch and regarded the pair with a spiteful glare in his eyes. Rikus and Neeva glared back, their faces betraying distrust and hatred of the high templar. Agis moved forward, so he would no longer be hidden in the shadows below the canopy. Neeva’s clenched jaw relaxed, but Rikus’s expression merely changed from hatred to defiance.

“Bring your prisoners to the gallery,” Tithian said, speaking to the man who had assumed command of the mob.

The templar looked uneasy. “We’re assigned directly to the High Templar of the King’s Safety,” he said. “Larkyn has instructed us to accept orders only from him.”

Tithian glanced at the chair where Larkyn’s body sat slumped. Though the man’s eyes were closed and he was not moving, that was the only visible of evidence of his death. If anyone in the stands could see into the shadows engulfing the gallery, Agis hoped it would appear to them that the high templar was merely sleeping in the chair.

“I’m afraid the attack on our king has left Larkyn indisposed,” Tithian said, looking back to the fighting field. “Bring the prisoners to him, and he’ll attend to them from his chair.”

The templar looked uncomfortable, but nodded his assent. He prodded the two prisoners toward the edge of the arena.

Tithian retreated into the shadows of the canopy. “Now what?” the high templar asked, staring at the king’s balcony. “Kalak is a thousand years old. I doubt that he’ll do us the favor of dying from his wound.”

Agis could only shrug. He was beginning to think Rikus had been right in hesitating to attack without a better plan.

A messenger poked his head into the gallery. “High One, a noblewoman insists upon seeing you.”

“What does she want?” Tithian demanded. He looked past the guard and frowned at the partition that screened the gallery from the balcony grandstands behind it. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Sadira of Asticles,” he answered. “She-”

“Send her up,” Tithian interrupted. He faced Agis and snickered. “Sadira of Asticles?”

Agis felt the heart rise to his cheeks. “Not … formally, my friend,” he said, wondering at the implications of the sorceress’s choice of title.

A moment later, Sadira stepped onto the porch, her chest heaving. Her silk cape was tattered and ripped, and the silver circlet was missing from her head. Agis went to her side and took her arm. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“The mob is getting ugly,” she answered breathlessly. She stopped just beneath the canopy and braced herself on Ktandeo’s cane.

Agis glanced out the front of the gallery. Across the fighting field, the crowd swarmed toward the gates. Fighting had broken out in dozens of places, most of the brawls involving spectators trying to force their way into the locked exit tunnels. Outside the High Templars’ Gallery hundreds of voices were demanding that the gates be opened and that Rikus and Neeva be freed.

Ignoring the tumult erupting in the stands, Tithian stepped to Agis’s side. With a sarcastic smile, he took Sadira’s hand and said, “Lady Asticles, I can’t tell you how it pleases me to see you again.”

He started to kiss her hand, but Sadira jerked it away.

“I assume you’re with us,” she snapped. “Agis would have killed you by now if you supported Kalak.”

Tithian cast an exaggerated look of hurt in Agis’s direction, but did not seem surprised or angry. He faced Sadira again and said, “At this point, girl, I’m not against you.”

“Open the exits,” Sadira demanded. She pointed toward the grandstands across the arena, where Larkyn’s half-giants were trying to clear the gateways by smashing spectators with their heavy bone clubs.

“The gates can’t be raised,” Tithian answered. “Kalak had the chains cut.”

Before Sadira could respond, Rikus and Neeva came up the stairs. They were followed by two of Larkyn’s templars. Both held short swords pressed against the gladiators’ backs. Though Neeva’s steps were slow and measured, she seemed to have recovered much of the strength lost in her battle with the gaj.

Agis leaned close to Sadira and whispered, “Keep your dagger ready and follow my lead.”

Though she looked confused, the sorceress slipped a hand beneath her cape and nodded.

Tithian led the two gladiators and their guards to the front of the porch. Agis and Sadira followed, taking care to stay behind Larkyn’s men.

The leader peered over Rikus’s shoulder at the slouched body of his commander. “High One?”

Tithian said, “He’s dead.”

Keeping their daggers concealed beneath their robes just in case anyone outside the shady gallery could see what was happening, Agis and Sadira stepped up behind the two templars. They pressed the tips of their weapons to the men’s backs.

Tithian said, “You two have a simple choice to make: stay quiet and live, or sound the alarm and die.”

“The king will-”

“Probably kill us all,” Tithian interrupted. “That has nothing to do with your choice. Drop your weapons or die.” When both men let their swords clatter to the floor, the high templar added, “A wise decision. Lest you change your minds, remember that I have just given Rikus and Neeva their freedom. If you so much as move, they’ll kill you in the blink of an eye. Given the chaos in the stands, I doubt anyone will notice.”

Tithian waved the two templars to the front of the gallery, where they would be easy to watch. Once the templars had done as ordered, Neeva asked, “Agis, what’s all this about Larkyn? I thought Tithian was in charge of the games.”

Agis described the complication he had run into when he asked Tithian to secure their escape, and explained how they had improvised a solution by luring Larkyn into the gallery and murdering him.

When the noble finished, Tithian said, “At the moment, Larkyn is hardly the issue. What are you going to do about Kalak? I doubt your little pinprick will stop him from proceeding with his plan.”

“We’ll have to track him down and finish him off,” Rikus said coldly.

Neeva regarded the mul with a look of surprise. “Is this the same man who said he wanted no part in getting his friends killed?”

“I finish what I start. You know that,” Rikus replied. “Besides, if we don’t destroy Kalak now, he won’t rest until he kills us. Let’s go.”

“The Golden Tower is a big place,” Tithian said. “Perhaps it would help if you knew where to find the king the before you enter it.”

“Of course it would,” Agis said. “Are you saying you can help us?”

The high templar nodded. “I’ll want something in return.”

“Isn’t living enough?” Sadira snapped. “Help us or die, it’s that simple.”

Tithian gave her a condescending smirk. “Nothing is ever that simple.”

“It is this time,” Rikus said, moving toward the high templar. “No purple caterpillar is going to stop me from killing you now.”

Agis stepped between the mul and Tithian. “Let’s hear him out.”

Rikus shook his head and started to circle around the noble, but Neeva pressed her hand against the mul’s chest. “What is it you want, Tithian?” she asked, still watching Larkyn’s men from the corner of her eye.

Smiling, the high templar said, “I’m not asking for much, but it occurs to me that after you kill Kalak, Tyr will need a new king.”

“Never!” cried Sadira.

Rikus and Neeva added their protests in the form of disgusted snorts, then Agis asked, “Why would we change one tyrant for another?”

“Because without a king, Tyr will fall into chaos,” the high templar replied, nonplussed by the objections.

“Someone will have to run the city. Otherwise, it will fall into ruins as surely as if Kalak becomes a dragon. Who better to assume that position than the templar? We’ve been running the city for a thousand years-”

“And we all know what you’ve made of it!” Agis objected.

“Then help me make it better,” Tithian urged. He almost sounded sincere.

Agis suddenly felt the familiar tingle of life-force being pulled from his body. He looked to Sadira.

“I feel it, too,” she said. “Something’s drawing power from us.”

A cacophony of panic erupted in the stadium. Agis stepped to the back of the gallery and pulled aside one of the heavy curtains shielding the porch from the grandstands.

In scattered places, aged men and women clutched at their chests and dropped gasping to the ground. Stronger spectators screamed in anger, attacking half-giants and templars with stones or seats they had pulled from the terraces. They pushed and shoved into the exit tunnels, trying in vain to force the gates open. The mob succeeded only in crushing those who had entered the passage ways first. In many places, Larkyn’s guards organized counterattacks against the crowd, the templars firing lightning bolts and the half-giants clubbing anyone within reach.

Amidst all the confusion, more than a few hands were pointing toward the summit of the great ziggurat. A small geyser of burgundy flame was shooting from the top of the structure. A moment later, a billowing cloud of yellow smoke replaced the pillar of fire.

Rikus and Neeva asked, “What’s happening?”

“Kalak has started his incubation,” Sadira answered, pointing toward the obsidian pyramid. “He’s drawing the life out of the spectators.”

Agis looked in the direction the sorceress pointed. The air around the pyramid shimmered with raw energy, and waves of flaxen light scintillated over the structure’s glassy surface. Deep within the thing’s black heart glowed a steady golden light that grew brighter even as the senator watched.

“Well,” Tithian asked. “The longer we delay, the weaker we become and the stronger Kalak grows.”

“You will have to make Tyr a better place,” Agis said. “The first thing will be to free the slaves.”

“Of course,” Tithian replied. “You have my word on it.”

The Golden Tower was every bit as large as it appeared from the outside. It had a floorplan as twisted as the tangled branches of a faro tree, with dimly lit halls arranged in spiral patterns, gloomy rooms built in warped shapes, and dark nooks that served no apparent purpose except to make a passerby wonder what lurked in them.

Nevertheless, the group had little trouble following Kalak. A trail of black, steaming fluid that Agis took to be blood led the way deeper and deeper into the palace. Every time they rounded a corner, the noble cringed, expecting to meet some hideous beast Kalak kept to guard his home. Tithian, however, moved with the speed and confidence of someone who knew what surprises the palace did and did not contain.

At last, after they had descended to the foundations of the ancient tower, they reached a cavernous, circular vault. It was lit by an alabaster ceiling panel set into a grid of copper-plated beams. In the shadowy squares between the beams hung carved reliefs of beasts and races that Agis had never before seen. At the edges of the ceiling, fluted columns of granite, capped with sculpted leaves and flowers of strange shapes, rose from the floor to support the rafters. Between these columns stood dozens of rows of shelving, empty save for a few ancient steel weapons.

Tithian held a finger to his lips, then led the four companions to the other side of the room. In the shadows near the wall, the huge bodies of Kalak’s two-half giant guards rested on the floor. The shattered remains of an obsidian ball were scattered over the areas, and two more globes, still intact, sat nearby. Between the two corpses lay the dark circle of an open trap door.

As they stopped to inspect the bodies, a voice said, “Sacha, isn’t that your worthy descendant, Tithian of Mericles?”

Agis and the others brought their weapons to ready defense postions.

“So it is, Wyan,” answered another voice. “It is. Such a handsome fellow, too. Perhaps he could find it in his heart to open a vein in those half-giants and feed us.”

To his astonishment, Agis saw that the voices came from a pair of heads sitting on a shadowy shelf. He grabbed a steel sword and started to approach the abominations, but Tithian laid a hand on the noble’s shoulder and restrained him.

“What are they?” Agis asked.

“Kalak’s friends,” the high templar answered. “The last time I was here, they called me a snake-faced runt.”

“That was Sacha!” objected Wyan. “I wouldn’t blame you if you left him to starve.”

“Ignore them. They’re harmless, as long as you don’t get too close.” Tithian used his toe to nudge the desiccated body of a half-giant. It fell apart like a wasp’s nest. “What caused this?”

Sadira motioned to one of the obsidian globes. “Kalak drained their life away,” she said.

Tithian’s eyes lit up, and he retrieved one of the ebony balls. “Show me how to use it, and I’ll-”

“Not in a hundred years-even if that were the way dragon magic worked,” Sadira said.

The templar frowned. “Dragon magic?”

“Obsidian isn’t magical, it’s just a tool. Like any tool, it’s only as powerful as the person using it,” the sorceress explained, echoing the words Nok had used to explain the properties of the glassy rock. “To a hunter, it’s just a knife or an arrowhead. To a dragon, it’s a lens that converts life-force into magic-but you’ll never use it for that.”

“Why not?” Tithian demanded, motioning at Sadira’s cane. “You are.”

The half-elf shook her head. “The spells are in the cane. It draws the energy through the pommel, not me,” she said, her tone somewhat regretful. “Dragon magic relies on psionics and sorcery together. To use it you must be a master of pulling energy from your body and a genius at shaping it into spells. It’s the most difficult kind of sorcery, but it’s also the most powerful.”

“And the more time we spend here, the more powerful Kalak becomes,” Agis said, unsheathing the ancient sword he had taken from the shelf. “I suggest we get on with it.”

Neeva selected a great steel-bladed axe from the vault’s shelves. “I’m ready.”

Pointing at the hole in the floor, Tithian noted, “That leads to an obsidian-lined tunnel. The tunnel opens into the lower chamber of the ziggurat. I suspect that’s where you’ll find Kalak.”

“You mean we,” Rikus said flatly. He took a curved sword from the shelf and handed it to Tithian. “If you’re going to be a king, start acting the part.”

“Kings don’t risk their lives-”

“You’ll be a new kind of king,” Agis said, prodding the high templar forward.

Rikus gripped the Heartwood Spear; they had found the weapon lying on the King’s Balcony, where the-half giants had left it in their hurry to move Kalak into his palace. “I’ll take the lead. Nok said the spear would protect me against magic and the Way. Hide behind me, and I’ll be your shield.”

Neeva went next, followed by Tithian, then Agis, with Sadira behind him. As he dropped into the hole, the senator gasped at the eerily beautiful sight ahead of the group. They stood in a gloomy tunnel lined by bricks of obsidian. A half-dozen paces ahead, a sparkling stream of golden energy poured from an overhead shaft and flowed down the passage with a hiss. At the far end, the light passed upward through another trap door. From that opening shone a vermilion glow threaded with thin wisps of scarlet mist. A horrid, deep-throated growl came from the room above and throbbed down the tunnel.

Holding the Heartwood Spear in both hands, Rikus led the way toward the other end of the passage. He did not even pause before stepping into the golden stream of radiance, an act Agis thought to be a little foolhardy.

As Agis and the others followed Rikus into the light, their skin crawled with a ticklish, pleasant feeling. Tithian’s long braid of auburn hair rose into the air and began to writhe in a sort of macabre dance. The noble sensed his own unbound locks doing the same. Otherwise, the companions suffered no ill effects. Agis even felt somewhat invigorated.

They had moved most of the way through the tunnel when Rikus cried, “Look out!” He shifted his grip on the Heartwood Spear, holding it diagonally across his body.

At the far end of the passage, a clawed hand as large as a half giant’s dangled from the open trap door. The gnarled fingers made a series of gestures and pointed at the companions. Without warning, a ball of green flame crackled down the passageway. Neeva and Tithian hid behind Rikus, and Agis huddled as close to them as he could. Sadira pressed her body against his back.

As the fireball washed over him, everything in Agis’s vision turned green and warped as if underwater. For a moment it seemed as though they were all trapped in a molten emerald. Then the air itself rushed from Agis’s chest, and he could not breathe. Where another person’s body did not protect him, he felt as if his skin were being seared over a bed of coals. At last, almost against his will, he drew a long, deep breath. His lungs exploded with scalding pain, making him gag. The fiery air contained a horrible, caustic fume that made his eyes water and burned his stomach as badly as it scorched his lungs.

An instant later, the fireball passed. The hand still dangled from the opening, gesturing in preparation for another spell. Rikus lifted the spear to throw, but stopped when Sadira cried Nok’s name and activated her cane.

Agis ducked and pulled Tithian down beside him. Everyone else had sense enough to crouch on their own.

“Mountainbolt!” Sadira cried.

A deafening boom shook the tunnel, and a sapphire flash streaked over Agis’s head. It struck the hand and exploded into a dazzling spray of blue-white sparks. Shreds of flesh and bone flew in all directions. An inhuman howl reverberated down the tunnel.

Rikus took off at a sprint, leaving the others standing behind him, astonished at his boldness. As the mul reached the end of the passageway, Kalak reached down with his other hand to grasp the trap door. The hand glowed with bright crimson light, and wet, soft scales covered it.

Before the king could pull the door closed, Rikus thrust the spear through the hand. Another howl, not quite as pained as the last, rolled down the passageway. The hand withdrew, dripping black blood. Kalak sent a cloud of yellow gas billowing through the door. The mul stumbled back to his companions, coughing and gasping for breath. Before the cloud reached the others it was carried back toward the king by the golden stream of energy coming from the shaft behind Sadira and the others.

“Quick thinking, Rikus,” Agis said, still wheezing from the effects of the green fireball. “I don’t know what we’d have done if Kalak had closed the door.”

The mul acknowledged the compliment with a grunt, then asked, “Anyone hurt? You all look pretty rough.”

Agis noticed that the fireball had burned away the robe on his arms and legs. The exposed skin was red, with white blisters forming in several places. Tithian was in much the same condition, as were the two women.

“We’re fine, Rikus,” Neeva said. “Get on with it.”

The mul led the way to the end of the corridor, then looked up at the narrow opening. “We can’t all go up at once.”

“I’ll lead the way,” Agis offered, stepping past Tithian and Neeva. “With both hands injured, Kalak won’t be casting many spells or fighting with weapons. That leaves the Way, my area of expertise.”

Rikus nodded. “You’re right,” he said, holding the spear out.

Agis shook his head. “We can’t afford the risk that I’ll lose it,” he said. “I can hold him long enough for the next person, even without the spear.”

“That makes sense, but-”

“I can do this, Rikus,” insisted Agis.

The mul regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “If you say so.” He leaned the spear against his shoulder and formed a stirrup with his hands.

Before Agis stepped into it, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “Be careful,” Sadira said.

Smiling, the nobleman handed Sadira the sword he had taken from Kalak’s treasure vault. Rikus gave Agis a boost, and he shot up into the secret chamber.

The room felt as hot as a furnace. Though its intensity did not compare to Kalak’s fireball, Agis’s lungs ached when he inhaled, and the heat scorched his skin-especially where he had already been burned. The chamber was fairly large, built entirely from glazed brick and filled with whorls of the translucent golden energy that rushed in from the shaft. Dozens of paintings decorated the walls and ceilings, portraying a huge dragon as it ravaged estates, caravans, and even whole cities.

So much dark blood covered the floor that Agis wondered how Kalak could still be alive. The black pools bubbled and steamed, sending wisps of greasy brown vapor to roll along the ceiling until they reached the center of the room, where a shaft rose toward the distant sky like a massive chimney.

Dozens of obsidian globes lay strewn over the floor. They varied in size from that of a small faro fruit to a huge melon. Scattered among the glassy balls were half-a-dozen empty husks, shaped like thick-bodied worms and made of soft, pinkish scales. The smallest of the husks was just over five feet in length, the largest more than ten.

Kalak himself lay on the far side of the room. His serpentine body, now more than twelve feet long, was covered with glowing scales that lit the whole chamber with their fiery radiance. The king paid no attention to Agis, for he was squirming and thrashing about, trying to free himself of his latest husk.

Realizing they had caught Kalak at a particularly vulnerable time, Agis reached through the opening in the floor and motioned for the others to follow. Sadira handed him his sword. As the others climbed into the room, the senator moved toward the king.

He could barely recognize Kalak in the grotesque larva writhing on the floor. The old man’s face had flattened into a serpentlike oval, and his ears had disappeared entirely. Reptilian scales now covered his wrinkled head. The golden diadem of Tyr’s kingship lay discarded on the floor beside him. While his neck had grown long and sinuous, his arms and legs had all but disappeared. At the moment, they seemed no more than withered and useless vestigial limbs. Boiling black fluid oozed from the spear wound in the dragon larva’s chest, from the stump at the end of its right arm, and from the hole in its left hand.

As Agis approached, the larva paid him no attention. It seemed to be in horrible pain both from its wounds and the process of shedding its skin. It slowly opened its mouth, revealing two rows of jagged teeth. The repulsive beast placed its mouth on a nearby obsidian globe as large as its own head. To the noble’s amazement, it swallowed the black ball. A spherical bulge slowly began to work its way down the beast’s long throat.

Rikus and the others crept up behind Agis. They studied the gruesome beast for a moment, then Sadira said, “Let’s kill him while we can.” She raised her cane end started forward.

The larva stopped writhing and whipped its head around to face them, the dark pits of its eyes flaring with anger. “Kill me, foolish girl?” it sneered, puffs of black steam leaking from its mouth. “Perhaps five hundred years ago, but not now.”

It fixed its hateful gaze on the sorceress, and Agis realized immediately the dragon-king was about to attack. It had let them come this close only because it intended to use the Way and finish them all at once.

Five battering rams, each carved in the image of a horned dragon’s head, appeared in front of the larva. It took Agis an instant to realize that they were mental constructs and not physical, for there was so much energy in the room that they had taken on the appearance of a material form.

The noble knew that he possessed the skill to resist the direct, overwhelming attack the king intended to make, but if his friends were to survive, he would have to try something desperate. Agis visualized a sand dune and opened a pathway from his power nexus to the room itself.

Kalak’s rams shot forward. In the same instant, the entire chamber seemed to fill with sand. Three of the king’s attacks plowed to a stop instantly. The one in front of Rikus simply disappeared as it approached the Heartwood Spear. Only the rain directed at Sadira forced its way through Agis’s psionic sand and hit its target. The sorceress was knocked across the room and slammed into the wall, collapsing into a heap.

A terrible wave of fatigue and dizziness came over Agis. His knees buckled, and he let the defense drop. When he fell to the floor a moment later, he landed in a hot pool of the king’s blood.

Rikus rushed to the dragon larva, followed closely by Neeva and Tithian. Using his free arm to shield his face against the heat of the beast’s body, the mul stepped toward the head. He motioned the high templar to the mid-section and Neeva to the tail.

Kalak did not move as the trio approached, apparently as exhausted by the psionic combat as Agis. But as Rikus lifted the spear, the larva raised its head. “You can’t believe I’ll let you strike.”

“I don’t believe you can stop us!” Neeva said, swinging her axe.

She sent a three-foot section of tail skittering across the floor. Kalak roared in pain, then Rikus thrust his spear at the larva’s neck. The dragon-king smashed its massive head into the mul’s side and knocked him off balance. Before Rikus could recover, the beast sank its sharp teeth deep into his massive chest and lifted him from the ground. The mul screamed and dropped the spear, beating at the king’s scale-armored head with his bare fists.

Neeva hefted her axe to strike again, but this time the larva was ready. It slapped what remained of its mighty tail across her face. The blow shattered her nose and sent her tumbling across the floor, unconscious and bleeding.

Tithian’s face blanched to the color of alabaster. Without striking a blow, he dropped his curved sword and backed away.

“Coward!” Agis cried, vainly attempting to stand.

“If Rikus and Neeva can’t kill it, what do you expect me to do?” the high templar countered, moving toward Neeva’s prone form.

Agis took several deep breaths and concentrated on drawing as much power as he could through his energy nexus. He rose to his knees.

At the same time, Tithian picked up Neeva’s axe. The gladiator lay unconscious in a pool of her own blood, her chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. Gripping the ancient weapon, more from fear than from courage, the high templar moved to Sadira’s side. She moaned and sat up, holding her head.

Tithian looked from one wounded rebel to another, Rikus’s screams echoing off the glazed brick walls, filling his ears. It seemed as though there were a hundred muls in the room, each dying a particularly horrible, painful death.

At last the high templar hefted Neeva’s huge weapon. To Agis’s surprise, Tithian rushed forward and brought the flat of the axe down on a ball of obsidian. It shattered into a dozen shards. The high templar moved to the next one and smashed it, too.

“What are you doing?” the senator cried weakly.

“There’s more than one way to fight,” Tithian answered, moving away from the noble. He went to the corner farthest away from the dragon and smashed another black globe.

Agis remained puzzled only a moment longer, for Kalak abruptly tossed the mul’s savaged body aside.

“Stop!” the king cried. “I command it!”

Tithian smashed another ball. “Why should I?” he shouted. “Will you spare my life? Will you give me control of Tyr when you’re gone?”

The king crawled slowly but steadily toward the high templar. “You know better than that,” it hissed. “But I will promise you a painless death.”

Tithian smashed another sphere, then rushed to a different corner of the room.

“You are a high templar!” the king cried. “You must obey your king’s demands!” The beast changed directions and followed Tithian, turning its back to Agis.

The high templar’s arm began to tremble so badly that Agis could see the axe shaking. Nevertheless, he brought the heavy axe down upon another obsidian ball. Standing in the center of a scattering of black fragments, Tithian made no move to leave his corner.

Agis forced himself to his feet, fixing his eyes on the Heartwood Spear. He stumbled over to it, whispering over and over to himself that he was not tired, that he had plenty of strength left. He picked up the wooden shaft. It seemed impossibly heavy, at least for muscles still liquid from the effects of psionic exhaustion.

The larva reached Tithian at last. Rising up to its full height, the dragon-king opened its maw. The high templar screamed in terror, let Neeva’s axe slip from his hands, then dropped to the floor curled into a ball.

Agis braced the spear in both hands and charged, yelling a feral battle cry and thrusting the Heartwood Spear into the back of the dragon’s head. The oak shaft slid smoothly and easily into the heavy skull, requiring no strength at all. Agis took two more steps forward, driving the point as deeply as possible into the dragon-king’s brain.

A shudder ran through the serpentine body. Kalak gave a single thunderous bellow, shaking the room to its foundation and knocking a cascade of loose bricks off the ceiling. The beast’s head dropped to the floor at Tithian’s feet, one end of the spear protruding from its mouth.

Agis dropped to his knees, trembling and gasping for breath. Tithian took his hands from his face and studied Kalak’s vacant eyes. After a moment, when the thought that the dragon-king was dead took root in his mind, the fear washed from the high templar’s face and he retrieved Neeva’s axe. Tentatively, he struck the larva’s head with the blade. When it did not flinch, he raised the axe higher and brought it down on the beast’s neck more sharply. The blow opened only a small wound, but the dragon did not respond at all.

“The king is dead,” he said, dropping the axe.

Agis nodded and also stood. “Tyr is free.”

Tithian stepped past the noble. Agis turned to follow and saw Sadira kneeling at Neeva’s side. The sorceress gently probed the unconscious gladiator’s smashed nose while holding the woman’s mouth open so she could breathe.

Rikus sat a few yards away, grimacing in pain and still dazed from the mauling Kalak had given him. More than a dozen wounds were visible on his bulky torso, all oozing dark red blood. In places, bits of white rib showed through. He stoically took measure of his injuries and, tearing strips from his clothes, began to bind them as best he could.

Tithian passed within an arm’s reach of the mul but did not pay him the slightest attention. Instead, the high templar went to the wall where Kalak had been molting. He dropped to his knees and began running his hands through the steaming pools of dark blood that covered the floor.

Silently cursing the high templar’s callousness, Agis went to the gladiator’s side. The noble began to tear strips from his own robe, then aided the mul in bandaging his many wounds.

“You killed Kalak,” Rikus wheezed. He squeezed the noble’s hand. “Well done.”

“No, we killed Kalak,” Agis corrected, warmly returning the mul’s handclasp. He looked in the direction of Sadira and Neeva, then added, “We couldn’t have done it without each other.”

Near the wall, Tithian rose to his feet, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. In his hands, he held the golden diadem that Kalak had worn for a thousand years. Both the crown and his fingers were stained with black blood.

“Long live the king!” he whispered, placing the circlet on his own head.