The Verdant Passage

by Denning, Troy

  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.