“You can and you must,” retorted Jo’orsh.
Do as the boy commanded, added Sa’ram. Return to Mytilene and tell the others to think of the Dark Lens no more. We have taken it back, and you must learn to live without it-or perish.
Rkard looked back up at the giant. The brute had a stunned and dismal expression on his face, as if he had just been cast out of his home village.
“And know for every giant your tribe sends to seek the Lens, the tribe shall suffer a century of barbarism,” said Jo’orsh. “Now go!”
The banshee’s voice broke over the giant like a thunderclap, sending him stumbling down the hill backward. He took five huge steps before he turned around and scurried into the valley, giving Magnus a wide berth.
Once the giant was gone, Rkard’s arms and legs started to tremble. He tried to sheathe his sword, discovered he couldn’t hold it steady enough, and gave up.
“Thanks for saving me.” He could not bring himself to face the banshees again, not when he felt so frightened and foolish. “Are you as angry as my father will be?”
Why should we be angry-or your father, for that matter? Sa’ram asked.
“Because I disobeyed him.” Rkard kept his eyes fixed on the ground. “I nearly got killed.”
“You saved a friend,” countered Jo’orsh. “That was very brave, and your father won’t punish you for it.”
Rkard shook his head. “I took a foolish chance,” he said. “And when I did that, I risked all of Athas.”
Before you can save Athas, you will have to risk it, said Sa’ram. You mustn’t be afraid to do that-just as you weren’t afraid to endanger yourself to save your friend.
Rkard frowned. “But I didn’t save Magnus.” He looked up at the banshees. “You did.”
Jo’orsh shook his head. “All we did was stand behind you.”
Yes, added Sa’ram. Just as your friends and your parents will stand behind you when you attack Borys.
EIGHT
CRIMSON DAWN
Neeva stood on the ledge between her husband and son, the cold wind raising goose bumps over their naked bodies. They were gazing across the dry lakebed, where the first sliver of morning sun had just appeared over the craggy shoulder of a distant mountain.
“We hail the return of the crimson sun,” said Caelum.
The trio raised their arms over their heads. They turned their palms toward the rising sun, except that Caelum held the hand with the strange mouth tightly closed. Although both her husband and son stared straight into its glowing crescent, Neeva fixed her own gaze on the scarlet rays creeping across the salt-crusted lakebed. Unlike the two sun-clerics, she did not have fire-eyes. Had she dared to stare directly into the glorious radiance, she would have been blinded.
“We welcome the beacon that lights the world, the mighty fire that burns away the cold night, the punishing orb that drives the savage beasts into hiding,” Rkard said.
“This dawn, we have a special request,” Neeva added. “We ask that you shine brightly and do not let the dust haze obscure your light, so that we may see clearly and choose well from the difficult paths before us today.”
Rkard looked up at her. “What paths, Mother?” he asked. “Jo’orsh and Sa’ram have said what I will do.”
“Not now, Rkard,” Caelum said, his voice gentle. “Attend to your devotions.”
The young mul remembered himself and returned his gaze to the eastern horizon. Together, the trio stood in silence, the sun’s rays spreading a heartening warmth over their skin, fortifying their spirits for the difficult day ahead. The sun-marks on the brows of Caelum and Rkard grew ardent red, gleaming with a deep scarlet luster as they absorbed the sun’s radiance. Neeva found herself squeezing her son’s hand so tightly that her fingers ached, as afraid of what the future held for him as she was relieved that he had survived last night’s battle with the giants.
At last, the bottom edge of the crimson sun rose completely above the shoulder of the mountain. Shimmering red flames briefly flickered from the sun-marks on the foreheads of Rkard and Caelum, then the flares died away. The disks returned to their normal red hues.
“We live by the power of the crimson sun,” Caelum intoned.
“The hottest of fires, the brightest of lights, the mightiest of the four elements,” Rkard finished.
As the trio retrieved their clothes, Neeva’s son asked, “What paths must we choose today, Mother?”
“That remains to be seen,” Neeva answered, tying her breechcloth. “The Scourge has been broken, and Sadira has yet to awaken. Perhaps this is not the time to fulfill your destiny.”
“But we must!” Rkard insisted. “Sa’ram and Jo’orsh have said-”
“You’ve told me what they said!” Neeva snapped. “I don’t need to hear it again.”
The boy flinched, startled by his mother’s sharp tone. He bit his lip and rubbed the back of his wrist beneath his eye, then turned to tie his breechcloth in silence.
Caelum raised his brow. “Rkard didn’t cause our troubles,” he said, laying a hand on their son’s shoulder. “In fact, I’d say he did well. It’s not every six-year-old who can chase off a giant.”
“Of course not,” Neeva answered. She dropped to her knees and gathered the boy into her arms. “I know better than anyone how special he is. That’s why I won’t risk his life if our attack has no chance to succeed. We need both the Scourge and Sadira.”
“Jo’orsh and Sa’ram will protect me,” Rkard answered, returning her embrace. “Just like they did from the giant.”
“I wish I could hear that from them,” Neeva replied.
“Why?” her son asked. “Don’t you believe me?”
“Of course I believe you,” Neeva answered. She glanced up at Caelum then looked in her son’s red eyes. “But once we attack, we’ll have to keep fighting. We won’t be able to stop and try again later.”
“I know,” answered Rkard. “The Dragon will try to kill me, just like I’m going to try to kill him. So?”
Neeva smiled at her son’s bravery. “So we can’t make a mistake and assault too early. If we don’t have everything we need, he’ll succeed, and you won’t,” she said. “Let’s check on our friends and hope the sun favors us all today.”
She tied her halter around her chest, then led the way over the butte’s crest and started down the shadowy hillside. In the valley below, the surviving companies of the Kledan militia were ready to march, while the Tyrian legion, which had arrived late last night, was just beginning to stir.
Neeva went to a small encampment at the bottom of the butte. Early morning shadows still cloaked the site, but the sun’s rays were slowly creeping across the valley floor. Soon the camp would be bright with the orb’s radiance.
Sadira lay next to a small fire of acrid-smelling catclaw boughs, still unconscious and as pale as moonlight. Magnus sat next to her, singing a soft song of healing. The windsinger appeared only slightly healthier than the sorceress, for his knobby hide was crusted with dried blood and marred by large black bruises.
Rikus stood between two boulders at the edge of camp. He held Wyan in one hand and his sword in the other. The blade was still broken, ending in a jagged stub about two feet from the hilt. But the gray stain had faded from its silvery steel, which now gleamed as brightly as it had before the wraith had tried to animate it.
“You’re just in time.” The mul motioned for Neeva and her family to join him. “I was about to try the Scourge. Wyan says it may not be ruined after all.”
“That would be welcome news,” Neeva said.
“What I said was that by healing the blade, Caelum may have saved it,” the head corrected, slowly twisting around to face Neeva. “I didn’t tell the oaf to bang it on a rock.”
“I don’t see what we have to lose,” Rikus said. He placed Wyan on top of a boulder. “It doesn’t boost my hearing anymore, so the magic’s probably gone. But there’s only one way to be sure: see if it still has the magic to cut rock.”