As they streamed into the avenue, they ran for the nearest gate in the noble quarter. The aristrocratic armies met them with a hail of arrows and bolts. Rikus cried out as Jaseela clutched at the shaft in her throat and fell. Behind her, the rest of the slaves in the first wave also crumpled to the ground, and soon the cries of the wounded drowned out even the toll of clashing weapons.
It didn’t matter, for the slaves continued to charge from the templar quarter. They soon reached the other side of the street, attacking the noble armies. Unfortunately, the Urikite quarry slaves were poor substitutes for Tyrian gladiators, and they died as quickly as they reached the melee. Nevertheless, they continued to crowd the avenue, and it soon became apparent that the pressure of sheer numbers would force a breach in the nobles’ defenses.
Closer to Rikus, Hamanu discarded K’kriq’s shredded body and look toward the outpouring of slaves. His tail began to swing back and forth more eagerly, smashing into the wall just a few feet away from Gaanon. The half-giant cringed and pressed himself against the yellow mudbricks, trying to remain clear of the dangerous obstacle. The sorcerer-king stepped toward the slave army, simultaneously lifting his mouth toward the sun and belching forth a puff of yellow smoke.
Gaanon slipped away from the wall. But as the half-giant took his first step, the man-lion stopped and glanced over his shoulder. A wicked grin flashed across the sorcerer-king’s lips, and Rikus realized that Hamanu had been toying with Gaanon all along.
The mul started to cry a warning, but the cocoon was too tight. Nothing but a strangled gasp left his lips.
Hamanu’s tail smashed Gaanon in the ribs, though not hard enough to cause serious injury. Cringing, the half-giant looked toward the sorcerer-king, futilely raising his hammer to defend himself.
Instead of attacking physically, Hamanu stared at his prey. A look of terrible pain and fear came over Gaanon, who dropped his weapon and grabbed his head, howling in agony. Blood suddenly began to gush from the half-giant’s nose and ears. He fell to the ground and began rolling about, leaving long red smears on the streets.
Rikus screamed in rage. Ignoring the searing pain it sent shooting through his entire body, the mul tried again to free himself.
Don’t weaken yourself, the wraith said. Wait.
Wait for what? Rikus demanded, fixing his eyes on Hamanu’s back. His lungs were starving for air, and he could feel himself beginning to grow dizzy. He’s only going to kill me.
Perhaps not, Tamar answered. I have summoned help, but even the wraiths cannot move so far in an instant.
It’s too late now, the mul said bitterly. What makes you think I want to live now?
A ball of flame rolled from the tangled melee between Neeva’s company and the Imperial Guard. It passed through the nearest gate. Then, just inside the noble quarter, it erupted in a great spray of crimson fire. Dozens of Urikites voiced their dying screams, and the gateway collapsed into a heap of rubble.
In the next instant, Caelum and Neeva rushed out of the melee and through the smoldering debris, followed by the rest of their small company. Half the gladiators disappeared into the noble quarter, leaving only a dozen warriors behind to act as a rear-guard. A large band of the Imperial Guard quickly pursued, and soon the brutal clamor of battle raged from the shattered gateway.
What are they doing? demanded Tamar.
Going for the book, Rikus answered, allowing a smug note to creep into his tone.
They mustn’t! Tamar snarled.
Hamanu passed the gate Caelum had smashed, pausinglong enough to spray a maroon fog over the entryway. As the mist settled over the area, warriors on both sides screamed. The battle abruptly ended as a handful of warriors stumbled back into the street, their steaming flesh dripping from their bones.
The sorcerer-king sent a company of half-giants after Neeva and the others, then took the rest of the Imperial Guard and continued toward the far end of the avenue. There, the slave army had captured two side gates and were streaming into the noble quarter at a steady rate. The rest of the entrances held firm, and the bodies were piled so high in front of the slaves that it was proving difficult for them to continue their attacks.
Rikus was just beginning to think the slave revolt might succeed when Urikite regulars began to appear at the other end of the boulevard. For a moment, the mul wondered where they had come from, then he remembered the troops that Hamanu had sent to seal the outside of the slave gate. As these fresh soldiers entered the fray, they cleared the street, driving those they did not kill toward Hamanu.
Thoughts of his helpless prisoner driven from his mind by the battle, Hamanu formed the remains of his Imperial Guard into a triple rank and began to press the slaves from his end of the street. As he marched down the boulevard, the sorcerer-king gestured at the two gateways that had been breached. A shimmering wall of force appeared in each, hardly visible save for occasional glints of yellow light flashing off the transparent barriers.
Rikus watched the destruction in disheartened silence, knowing that the slave revolt had been a failure, that the sorcerer-king regarded him as so slight a threat that he had been left unguarded. Hamanu’s response had covered every possibility, and the mul had done little except play into the sorcerer-king’s traps. He had no doubt that a few of his warriors would survive and escape, but only enough to return to Tyr and tell of the great disaster that had befallen them in Urik.
The blame for his legion’s defeat, the mul knew, did not lie with the soldiers themselves. Quarry slave, gladiator, dwarf, or even templar, they had all fought as bravely as any warrior could. They were still dying bravely—if foolishly—as Hamanu set about constructing simple but efficient death traps.
Each time Maetan had anticipated his schemes or pressed him into a corner during the long trek from Tyr, the mul had believed the misfortune to be the work of a spy, somone who had betrayed the legion to the mindbender. Now it was clear to Rikus that he was the one who had betrayed the warriors. Styan had died fighting, as had all the templars. Caelum was struggling against terrible odds to recover the Book of the Kemalok Kings and to protect Neeva. There was only one person left for Rikus to blame, and that was himself.
In vain, the mul tried to close the screams of the dying from his mind, but he could not do even that. The web kept his fingers closed firmly around the Scourge of Rkard, and as each voice cried out for the last time, it rang in his ears with the clarion knell of a wealthy lord’s death bell.
I wish I could take it all back.
There is no such magic, Tamar said. But you can still recover the book.
In the street below, Rikus saw several gray forms rise from the cobblestones. One of them glided to Gaanon’s still form, then slipped over the body. The half-giant’s corpse slowly rose, then lumbered to the fortress wall and climbed up the surface with a grace that it could never have managed in life.
Just kill me and be done with it, Rikus said. I’ll never give you the book.
You will keep your promise, Tamar responded. It is the one thing left to you.
Gaanon’s corpse reached the top of the fortress wall, then removed the cocoon cord from its merlon and slowly lowered Rikus to the ground. Once the mul lay face-first on the ground, the wraith abandoned the half-giant’s body atop the wall and slipped back down to the street on its own.
Another wraith limped up in a body so mangled that Rikus could not even recognize the gladiator to whom it had belonged. This one rolled Rikus onto his back, then used an obsidian dagger to laboriously cut the cocoon away from the Scourge of Rkard. When the sword was free, the wraith used the magical sword to slice away the rest of the web.
After he was free, Rikus remained on the ground, refusing to rise. The gladiator’s corpse grabbed him by the shoulder and hoisted him to his feet, then thrust the Scourge of Rkard at him. Rikus made no move to accept the sword.
You swore on Neeva’s life, Tamar reminded him. It is your choice whether we leave Urik with the dwarves’ book or with her
corpse.
Rikus took the sword and screamed.
EIGHTEEN
THE BOOK OF
KINGS
“CAELUM, GIVE ME THE BOOK,” RIKUS DEMANDED, keeping a tight grip on the Scourge of Rkard.
The dwarf clutched the leatherbound volume closer to his chest. “I’ll carry it back to Kled myself.”
They stood on opposite sides of the Lubar townhouse’s central courtyard. It was a large enclosure full of earthenware pots brimming with dazzling, crescent-shaped blossoms. From a net on the ceiling dangled long strands of sweet-smelling moss, and several small trees sprouted from circles of ground left uncovered by the flagstone floor.
Rikus had sometimes been kept here as a young gladiator, so it had been an easy matter for him to make his way through the battle-torn streets of the noble quarter and find the townhouse. He had hoped to beat Caelum and Neeva to the mansion and recover the Book of the Kemalok Kings before they did, but he had not been so fortunate. By the time the mul had arrived, they had already fought their way inside, leaving the front door smoking and hanging off its hinges, the bodies of household guards and Tyrian warriors scattered over the foyer beyond.
Rikus lifted his sword and started across the compound, his black eyes fixed on Caelum.
Behind the dwarf Neeva stepped from a doorway leading deeper into the house. A blood-soaked bandage covered the wound on her stomach, and she looked as though she were ready to collapse at any moment. She was using a slave rope to lead a skinny old man with bound hands. The fellow had a wispy white beard, sad gray eyes, and wore a fine robe of green hemp. On his forehead was tattooed the Serpent of Lubar, identifying him as a special slave to be killed upon sight if found outside the family compound. If the old man was interested in the strangers in the courtyard, his eyes showed no sign of it.
When Neeva saw Rikus, her eyes lit with surprise and joy. “Rikus! How did you escape?”
The mul ignored her and continued to advance on Caelum. “I’ll have that book, dwarf,” he said. “I need to protect Neeva.”
“Protect her from what?” Caelum demanded. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and fixed them on the gem in Rikus’s chest. “From the wickedness lodged in your breast?”
The dwarf shoved the book into Neeva’s hands, then thrust a hand skyward in preparation for casting a spell. “I have another way to protect her,” he snarled. “A more permanent way.”
Stop him! Tamar commanded. If he destroys me, Neeva’s life is forfeit—Catrion and the others will see to it.
Rikus was already rushing across the courtyard. He crashed through a pair of flower jars, then reached Caelum just as the cleric’s hand turned crimson with the sun’s energy. The mul pressed the tip of his sword against Caelum’s throat, and the dwarf pointed his glowing hand at the gladiator’s chest.
“Cast your spell,” Rikus snarled. “Before I die, I’ll kill you.”
Caelum did not activate his spell, but neither did he withdraw his hand.
“What’s this all about, Rikus?” Neeva demaded. She stepped from behind the dwarf, being careful to keep her body between the mul and the book. “You promised to return the book to Kemalok!”
“I can’t keep that promise,” the mul explained. As he admitted his failure, a deep sense of shame came over him—though he remained determined to do what he must to save Neeva. “Give me the book.”
“No!” Neeva dropped the slave rope and slipped the tome under her arm, drawing her sword with her free hand. “And if you kill Caelum, you’ll have to kill me, too.”
“Neeva, take the Book of the Kemalok Kings and leave,” said Caelum, his red eyes still fixed on Rikus’s face.
“So you two can kill each other in private,” Neeva scoffed.
“No.”
We are anxious to have the book, Tamar informed Rikus. Neeva will not be harmed—unless the dwarf tries to stop us.
No sooner had the wraith spoken than the old slave backed toward the doorway crying, “Phantoms!”
A dozen gray silhouttes, their eyes glowing with the hues of various gems, rose from the cracks of the floor and encircled Neeva. She cried out in alarm and swung her weapon at the nearest one. The black blade passed through the shadowy form without harming it.
Caelum started to move his hand toward the wraiths, but Rikus pressed the tip of his sword against the dwarf’s throat. “Don’t,” he warned. “You’ll get her killed.”
The dwarf stopped moving, his red eyes flaring in anger. “If she comes to harm—”
“She won’t,” Rikus interrupted. “Unless you cause it.”
Neeva swung her sword through the wraith twice more, then one with glowing yellow eyes held out his hands.
“Give the book to the wraith,” Rikus said.
Neeva hesitated. “I won’t!” She clutched the Book of the Kemalok Kings under her arm.
The wraiths tightened their circle, and the one with yellow eyes slipped forward until its gray hands were almost touching Neeva.
“Give them the book!” Rikus yelled, afraid that his fighting partner would insist on dying before she gave up. “You can’t stop them from taking it—and if you try, you’ll only get killed.” He looked to Caelum. “Tell her!”
The dwarf scowled at Rikus, then nodded. “Let them have it,” he said. “Rikus’s betrayal leaves us no other choice.”
Neeva stared at the yellow-eyed phantom, then reluctantly held out the Book of the Kemalok Kings. As she lowered it into the wraith’s waiting hands, the black tome slowly turned gray and insubstantial. Soon, the book was no more than a shadow.
The wraiths sank back into the flagstones, save for a single blue-eyed phantom that slipped into the narrow space separating Rikus and Caelum. The mul lowered his sword and backed away. What now? he asked. You have the book.
The wraith did not respond. Instead, it slipped its nebulous hand into the festering wound on the mul’s chest. A fiery pain filled the gladiator’s breast. Rikus cried out in agony, then collapsed to his knees as Tamar’s ruby was pulled from his body. The phantom closed its fingers over the gemstone, then sank between the flagstones and disappeared. Rikus remained on the floor gasping for breath.
“Get up, traitor!” Caelum spat, his hand still glowing with the fury of the sun. “Let us finish what we started!”
Rikus lifted its head and looked into the dwarf’s red eyes. Letting the Scourge of Rkard drop from his hands, he said, “You finish it. I have no reason to fight.”
“I have no compunction against killing one who surrenders to me!” Caelum warned. “At the least, my village deserves your death.”
“Then be done with it!” Rikus yelled.
Caelum took a step backward and leveled his hand at Rikus. Before he could utter the word that would cast the spell, the flat of Neeva’s sword blade slapped his forearm and knocked it down.
“I won’t let you kill him, Caelum,” she said, keeping her weapon ready.
“He betrayed his word. My father—”
“I don’t care,” she said, sheathing her sword. “I loved Rikus once, and I won’t—”
“Let him,” Rikus said. He did not know which hurt him more: that Neeva felt he needed protection, or that she no longer loved him. “I’ve lost everything—my legion, my honor, even you,” he said. “I don’t want to live.”
Neeva whirled around and grabbed the mul by the chin. “Did you survive twenty years as a gladiator to throw your life away here?” she demanded, pulling him to his feet. “Maybe it would have been better for you to die in the arena—but don’t you dare do it here, not now.”
She reached down and picked up the Scourge of Rkard. “You may not be much of a general, but you’re still the finest gladiator I’ve ever seen,” she said, holding the sword’s hilt toward him. “Caelum and I could use your help getting Er’Stali back to Kled. Maybe we can still salvage something from this disaster.”
Rikus stared at the sword, feeling almost as ashamed of his despair as he did of betraying th
e dwarves and losing the legion. Finally, he sighed and took the sword from Neeva’s hand. “Who’s Er’Stali?”
“Er’Stali was translating the Book of the Kemalok Kings for Maetan,” Caelum explained, raising his glowing hands and allowing the fiery color to drain from it. “His knowledge may help repay the loss you have caused.”
Rikus frowned. “Translate?” he asked, thinking of the decades Caelum’s father had spent trying to decipher the language of the ancient kings. “How can he do that?”
“Sorcery,” Neeva answered, looking toward the door into which the old man had disappeared. There was no longer any sign of the sorcerer. She cursed, then started toward the townhouse. “He must have run off. I’ll go after him—”
Rikus caught her by the shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s his decision whether or not to come with us?”
“Er’Stali has read the book. That makes him a part of dwarven history,” Caelum said, starting toward the door. “Kled will treat him like an uhrnomus. He’ll want for nothing.”
“Except his freedom,” Neeva sighed. “It’s his choice. Taking him against his will would make us no different than any other slave-taker.”
Caelum cursed in the guttural tongue of his people, then looked at the ground and shook his head angrily. “I cannot deny you, Neeva,” he said. “But can I at least find him and ask what he wishes?”
“There’s no need for that,” said the old man. He stepped from the doorway, holding his hands out to be unbound. “I choose freedom—with you.”
Rikus cut the old sorcerer free, then Er’Stali led the small party into the labyrinthine streets of the noble quarter. As they made their way toward the city walls, the mul saw that Hamanu’s well-planned counterattacks had not entirely crushed the slave revolt.
The few hundred quarry slaves that had crossed into the noble quarter were taking angry vengeance on their masters. A thick pall of smoke filled the streets, at times reducing visibility to a dozen steps. Even domestic slaves roamed the streets in angry gangs, killing nobles and destroying all they could. Several times the small party had to hide in a looted mansion while a company of the Imperial Guard rushed past, pursuing a mob of rampaging slaves.
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