“From Neeva’s descriptions, I’d say it’s Umbra,” the dwarf replied.
The shadow giant took two long strides and was standing at the wall, looking down on the barrier with two eyes of gleaming blue. After a moment’s consideration, he stooped over and a billowing cloud of black fog issued from his mouth. It settled over the sun fence like a pall, opening a gap more that a dozen yards wide before it dissipated into the ground.
Caelum’s face went pale. “It cannot be!” The dwarf grabbed Jaseela’s arm. “Scatter your company. Tell them to run!”
The noblewoman jerked her arm free. “I’ll do no such thing. We came to fight, and fight we shall.” She waved her arms at both flanks of the line, yelling, “To the center! Plug the gap!”
It was difficult to tell whether the officers could hear her all down the line, but even if they couldn’t, her gestures and the situation were sufficient to make her meaning clear. As the first Urikites began to pour through the gap, Jaseela’s retainers rushed to meet them. The chime of clashing blades and the screams of dying men rang off the walls of the narrow gorge, with more men from each side pouring into the battle each second.
Though the Tyrian retainers held their ground well enough, Caelum felt sick to his stomach with dread. “I beg you, my lady, sound the retreat before it is too late. Our enemy is too powerful—”
“Be still,” said Jaseela. “Just because a walking shadow undoes your magic—”
“It is not my magic that he overcame,” Caelum said. “It was the sun’s!”
Ignoring him, the noblewoman stepped to the front edge of the outcropping. As the last of her retainers poured into battle, she shouted encouragement and commands with equal vigor. Although the Urikites outnumbered her men and were fighting with the desperate urgency of doomed soldiers, her company was holding the gap.
When Umbra stepped into the breach, however, Jaseela’s pride changed to concern. The shadow giant studied the battle raging at his feet for a moment, then passed his wounded wrist over the combatants. Long wisps of black vapor trailed from the stump and hung in the air.
“What’s he doing?” Jaseela demanded. “Caelum?”
The dwarf did not hear her. He stood in deep concentration, one glowing hand raised to the sun and the other stretched out over the edge of the outcropping.
As Jaseela watched, the shadow giant spread more of the black vapor in the air. The dark mist coalesced into a thin cloud and spread outward, passing over the noblewoman’s head and engulfing all of her army. At the same time, Umbra grew visibly thinner, until his limbs were no thicker than those of a half-giant. The shadow giant then began to shrink to a height proportionate with those limbs.
The black cloud began to descend like a fine mist. Almost as one, the Urikites stopped fighting and, screaming in mortal terror, threw themselves on the ground.
In that moment, Jaseela realized that she had been wrong not to listen to Caelum. “Retreat!” she called. “Run!”
Her cries did no good; the Tyrian retainers were so confused by the Urikites’ behavior and the black cloud that was settling over them that they were incapable of any cohesive action. Some of them turned to flee, as she had ordered. Some hacked mercilessly at the bodies of their prone enemies. Still others pulled their cloaks over their heads as if a thin layer of cloth would protect them from the dark fog descending on them.
Out of the corner of her good eye, Jascela saw a bright, crimson light flare at the edge of the cliff. A searing heat washed over the unscarred side of her face. Thinking to protect what remained of her beauty, the noblewoman turned away and ducked, wondering what harrowing magic the dwarf was trying to work now.
“If you want to live, come here!” Caelum yelled. “You too, K’kriq.”
The dwarf took Jaseela’s hand and pulled her toward the edge the of the outcropping. There, hovering in midair, was a hissing, crackling sphere of crimson fire. In the center of it was a man-sized opening, out of which poured a brillant golden light that hurt the noblewoman’s eyes as much as the red orb seared her skin.
“Inside!” Caelum yelled.
The dwarf pushed her off the outcropping, and before she had any idea of what she was doing, Jaseela found herself jumping into the blinding ball of light.
EIGHT
THE CITADEL
A SHARP POP SOUNDED A FEW FEET AWAY, NEAR THE granite outcropping that dominated the center of the gorge. A fleck of scarlet light appeared in midair and began to hiss and crackle. In the blink of an eye, it grew into an orb of crimson flame the size of a fist.
“Get down!” Rikus screamed.
Temporarily abandoning his pursuit of the fleeing Urikites, the mul dropped to his belly. Neeva landed at his side. All around them, gladiators cursed as they banged their elbows, knees, and even heads on rocky points and edges. The red ball grew into a roaring globe that blotted out the sun itself, its mottled surface crossed and recrossed by rivers of orange flame. A black seam appeared on the sphere’s underside and slowly lengthened. At any moment, Rikus expected the joint to burst and shower his warriors with liquid fire.
Instead, the rift opened slowly, revealing a fiery yellow interior so bright that it hurt the mul’s eyes to look at it. The silhouette of a woman’s form appeared in this crack, then dropped out of the ball and landed on the rocky ground in a crumpled heap. Wisps of smoke rose from her blackened tabard. Her face had turned as red as the sun, and her scorched hair hung over her shoulders in stiff and brittle locks.
“Jaseela!” Rikus gasped, rising to his feet.
As the mul rushed toward the woman’s scorched form, K’kriq dropped out of the sphere. The thri-kreen landed next to the noblewoman and used his body to shield her from the heat of the orb. Caelum came next, then the globe closed up and began to shrink. By the time Rikus reached the three warriors, the ball was gone.
The trio stank of singed hair and burned cloth. The heat had darkened even K’kriq’s tough carapace and raised small white blisters where Jaseela’s skin was exposed. Only Caelum had emerged unharmed, though his lips were swollen and cracked.
As soon as she saw Rikus, Jaseela’s tongue appeared from between her lips as she tried to say something. He kneeled at her side and placed his ear to her lips. Her words were so faint that, had he not been holding the Scourge of Rkard, the mul would not have heard them.
“Why didn’t you warn me about the shadow?” she gasped.
The mul glanced around the gorge. He and his gladiators had just followed the Urikites through the gap in the shimmering curtain, so he had not yet had time to inspect the area. Still, he realized, this was where Jaseela’s company should have made its stand. Instead of a battlefield, he saw a barren expanse of rocks. There was not even a single body to suggest that the noblewoman’s company had fought here.
“What shadow?” Rikus demanded. “Where’s your company?”
When Jaseela could not find the strength to answer, Caelum did it for her. “Umbra destroyed all of them,” said the dwarf. “I tried to warn her.”
Rikus laid the noblewoman’s head down, then summoned a pair of gladiators. “Take her to the oasis. She needs water and shade.” The mul looked to Caelum and K’kriq next. “You two go with her. You need rest too.”
K’kriq crossed his antennae. “Hunt not over!”
At the same time, Caelum frowned. “What are you going to do?”
“Avenge Jaseela,” Rikus said, waving his warriors after the Urikites. “Finish the hunt.”
“Didn’t you hear me?’ Caelum objected, following along. “You can’t go after the Urikites. Umbra is with them!”
“And he’s hurt,” Rikus said. “If I’m ever going to kill him, it’ll be today.”
“But he breached the sun’s fence!” Caelum exclaimed. When Rikus paid him no mind, he added, “If more of our warriors die, it will be on your head!”
“You’re wasting your words,” Neeva said. “Go on to the oasis and find out how the templars and dwarves are faring.”
; Caelum fell silent and stared at Rikus in exasperation. At last the dwarf turned his red eyes on Neeva. “If you’re with him in this foolishness, then so am I.”
A short distance from the gorge, Maetan of Urik stood before an ancient citadel, awaiting the return of his defeated legion. The fortress’s builders had chiseled the structure from living rock, shaping it like a great, top-heavy argosy that sprang from the hill’s limestone flanks. Four stone wheels, each twice the height of the half-giant, were carved into its foundation and decorated with concentric rings of stone flowers.
Above these unturning wheels, a square platform supported a massive edifice of tall columns and balconies with gaping, dark doors behind them. Lifelike statues of male and female humans, all armed with fanciful weapons like double-edged scythes or four-bladed battle-axes, stood scattered over these balconies.
At the top of the citadel was a deck with a single balcony that overlooked the front of the temple. On the prow of this loge stood the huge statue of a handsome man with a great mane of hair and a tightly curled beard. Unlike the figures below, he carried no weapons, and a pair of large leathery wings sprouted from his back.
“Is this edifice so interesting?” asked Umbra, gliding across the rocky canyon floor to join his master.
Maetan looked away from the citadel. Behind the shadow giant, the first wave of his defeated legion was just rounding the sharp bend that hid the rest of the gorge from view.
Looking back to Umbra, Maetan observed, “You failed.” The mindbender made no comment on the dark vapor oozing from the shadow giant’s wounds. He had been watching the battle through his servant’s eyes and knew how he had come by them.
“What did you expect?” Umbra asked. “Your men are cowards.”
“When they are led by a fool,” the mindbender retorted.
“You call the Tyrian mul a fool, yet his warriors would rather die than retreat,” observed Umbra.
Maetan bit back a caustic reply, for he knew how little time he had to waste arguing with Umbra. The Tyrians were following his legion up the canyon, and it would be only a minute or so before they were standing where he was now. Instead, the mindbender pointed at the ancient citadel, then said, “Perhaps my soldiers will prove braver inside a fortress.”
The corners of Umbra’s blue mouth turned down. “They will be trapped,” he said. “At the most, they will last seven days before running out of food and water.”
“That will be long enough. I need only ten days to return to my family’s estate,” Maetan said.
“And what will you do there? Explain to your family how you sullied its precious honor?” asked Umbra.
“No,” Maetan answered. “I will redeem it. He reached down and picked up the shoulder satchel that he had prepared for himself, then slipped his hand inside and patted the cover of the book Book of the Kemalok Kings. “Stay with the cowards until they die,” he said. “Perhaps your presence will convince the dwarves that what they seek is inside the citadel.”
The mindbender took a deep, steady breath, calling upon the Way to aid with his escape. He pointed a finger at the top of the cliff and imagined that all the space between himself and that location did not exist. A surge of energy rose from deep within himself, flowing outward to make what he wished temporarily so. When he opened his eyes again, where there had been only flakes of orange sandstone a moment earlier, Maetan saw a silvery tuft of ground holly growing from the crevice of a broken slab of limestone. It was, he knew, the terrain at the top of the gorge.
Maetan started to step onto the clifftop, then decided to give Umbra a last instruction. He stopped halfway there, with one foot on the sandstone in the bottom of the gorge and the other planted squarely on the limestone atop the cliff.
To Umbra, it looked as though the mindbender had divided his body in half. One part stood before him in the gorge, and the other stood far overhead, barely visible at the top of the cliff.
“One more thing,” Maetan said. “Kill the mul.”
Umbra raised the throbbing stump of his missing hand. “Nothing would please me more.”
The mindbender nodded, then stepped all the way onto the clifftop and left the gorge altogether. Umbra took a moment to look up and watch his master climb away from the cliff edge, then turned his attention to the task of rallying Maetan’s cowardly soldiers. Already, the first Tyrians had appeared at the bend and were busily hacking down the slowest Urikites from behind.
“Come with me!” called Umbra, moving toward the citadel. “You will be safe in here!”
The shadow giant’s lie worked easily, for the panicked soldiers were eager to seize any hope of salvation. There was no obvious entrance to the fortress, but Umbra could see a stairway in the deep hollow between the great wagon’s stone wheels. Followed by the fastest of Maetan’s cowards, he led the way to these steps and began climbing.
They passed though an opening on the lowest deck and came out on a balcony on the first level. In the middle of this loge was the lifelike statue of a fully armored woman smashing a spiked club into the floor. Beneath this club lay a shattered, sun-bleached skull, and scattered over the rest of the deck were the splintered bones of another half-dozen skeletons.
Umbra slipped over the bones silently, moving toward the door that stood at the back of the small balcony. He had time to glimpse a bright room at the end of a long hallway before a gray, insubstantial form appeared at the end of the corridor and drifted toward him.
“A wraith!” Umbra hissed.
He retreated from the corridor immediately, though not because he was frightened. No being from the Black had need to fear a wraith, for undead spirits were themselves merely shadows of the living. If it detected Umbra at all, the wraith would regard the shadow giant as a human might an oasis spirit: something dimly sensed and best left alone. Unfortunately, the same would not be true for the Urikites. The wraith would sense the life pulsing in their veins and try to drive them away.
The gray silhoutte slid past Umbra and slipped over the woman’s statue like a pall. The stone sculpture darkened to a dusky shade of brown, and its blank eyes suddenly glowed with a ghastly red light. As the first Urikite tried to slip past, the stony woman cried, “No!”
She swung her club, driving a dozen long spikes deep into the soldier’s neck and chest. He flew off the balcony and crashed onto the heads of his fellows below. They hardly seemed to notice, for the Tyrians were closing in and a battle was already beginning to rage within a dozen yards of the citadel.
Had the choice been Umbra’s, he would have abandoned Maetan’s plan and gone to search out Rikus that instant. Even if he could find another way into the citadel, he doubted the Urikites would survive for very long. Unfortunately, if he did not follow Maetan’s commands to the word, the mindbender would not be compelled to deliver the obsidian he traded for Umbra’s services. The shadow giant could not allow that, for his wives needed the glassy rock. It was almost egging season.
Umbra stepped toward a narrow catwalk that led from this balcony to the next, pausing to address the men who had been following the dead soldier. “Fight past the statue,” he ordered. “I’ll find another entrance.”
When the Urikites hesitated, Umbra pointed back down the gorge. “Fight past the statues or die!” he snapped. “Tyr does not take slaves, so surrender brings only death.”
Rikus stood knee-deep in Urikite bodies, his gaze fixed on the top floor of the strange citadel. There, standing as tall as the winged statue of the bearded man, was Umbra. The shadow giant’s blue eyes were studying the battlefield below, as if he were searching the bodies for a single Urikite survivor.
“What’s he doing up there?” Rikus asked.
“And how did he get past all the statues?” Neeva wondered, pointing at the balconies on the citadel’s lower level. Next to her stood Caelum, who was also looking at the uppermost loge, and K’kriq, who was staring at the dead with as much interest as Umbra.
Rikus studied the lower levels of t
he building. There was a gap in the stone railing of the first loge, and the statue that had been guarding the door behind it now lay scattered in the rocks below, broken into a dozen pieces. Despite their success in destroying the stony woman, that was as far as the Urikites had gotten.
The statue of an armored man had moved from the second loge and still patrolled the balcony, a four-bladed axe in one hand and a wide-bladed dagger in the other. Sprawled over the railing and lying beneath the balcony were more than a dozen Urikites with slashed throats, missing limbs, and smashed skulls.
As Rikus studied the rest of the citadel’s lower level, he noticed that only the loge from which this statue had come was empty. On each of the other balconies stood another lifelike statue, each cradling some sort of fantastic weapon in its inert hands.
After studying the stone figures for a moment, Rikus took a deep breath, then said, “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” asked Neeva.
The mul pointed at Umbra, whose blue eyes now seemed to be locked onto him. “Up there.”
“Rikus, I’ve seen you do a lot of stupid things in your life, but this would be the worst,” Neeva said. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that if half a Urikite company couldn’t make it past the first balcony, then neither will we?”
“No,” the mul answered. He started toward the stairway concealed beneath the foundation. When he did not hear footsteps behind him, he stopped and turned around. “Aren’t you coming?”
K’kriq was the first to answer. “No. T-too scared.”
Rikus scowled and, not bothering with Caelum, looked to Neeva. “What about you?”
“If you can tell me how we’re going to get past those statues, I’ll follow you,” she said.
Rikus pointed his sword toward Umbra. “The same way he did.”
“How was that?”
The mul shrugged and started toward the stairs again.
Neeva did not join him until he had set a foot on the bottom step. “You’re as one-sighted as a dwarf and about as smart as a baazrag,” she growled.
The Crimson Legion Page 15