The Tyrian humans looked even worse. They stood in a double column behind the dwarves, breathing in short, rapid gasps and leaning on each other for support. Those who owned armor had tied it into bundles and had dragged it along behind them, while many others had tried to shade themselves from the sun by stretching scraps of cloth over their heads. A few warriors were shifting from one leg to the other in a futile attempt to keep the hot ground from scorching their feet through the thin leather of their sandals. Most seemed too lethargic for such efforts, simply bracing themselves on their weapons and clenching their teeth against the pain of standing in one place.
Sadira saw a small group of stragglers coming up behind the legion, but beyond them nothing rose above the surface of the salt flat: not a boulder, not a single barren stem of spike-brush, not even the whirling wisps of a wind spout. The plain stretched clear to the horizon, glaring white, utterly level. As the legion had crossed that blistering, blinding expanse, the scouts had not found a single trace of animal dung, had not seen so much as a beetle scuttling across the sparkling ground, had not heard the call of even one gluttonous kes’trekel waiting for them to die. There had been nothing, no sign of any other living creature.
Sadira faced Rikus and Neeva. “Should we fight now or rest for a while?”
The sorceress did not worry that their foes would attack first. No commander would leave a defensive position on a hillside to advance across the open salt flat, especially when he had water and the enemy did not. If they wished, Sadira knew, they could even make camp in the full confidence that the Raamins would wait for them to make the initial assault.
After considering the sorceress’s question, Neeva said, “Resting won’t do us any good. The more time we spend in the sun, the thirstier our warriors will be when the fight starts.”
Rikus nodded his agreement, then turned to face the legion. Before he could say anything, Rkard grabbed his hand. “Rikus, the Scourge!”
The boy pointed at Rikus’s scabbard, a cylinder of bleached bone intricately carved with the mul’s life story. Tyr’s freedmen had presented it to him in gratitude for throwing the first spear against Kalak.
The mul frowned. “What of it?”
Rkard lifted the scabbard. The tip of the cylinder had cracked open, and a short length of the Scourge’s broken point was protruding through the hole.
“That’s strange.” Rikus took the scabbard. “But thanks for noticing, Rkard. Broken or not, I’d hate to lose the tip of my sword.”
The mul pulled his sword out of the scabbard, then gasped in astonishment. The broken blade no longer ended in a jagged barb. Instead, it curved to a sharp point at about two-thirds its original length.
“What’s happened?” Rikus gasped.
“It’s growing back!” Rkard concluded.
Rikus shook his head. “Steel doesn’t grow.”
“Enchanted steel might,” said Sadira. She pointed at the old tip, still protruding from the scabbard. “And that would explain why the broken piece is being pushed out of the scabbard.”
The mul rubbed his cheek and studied his revitalized blade. Finally, he shrugged. “What do I know?” he asked. “I’m just glad to have it returning to normal.”
“As are we all,” said Caelum.
Rikus tipped his scabbard down and let the broken end of the Scourge’s blade slide out. “Since you kept me from losing this, why don’t you take it?” he asked Rkard. “Maybe we can make it into a dagger for you.”
The boy accepted the gift with a gaping mouth. Even if the blade had not been part of the Scourge, it was steel-and in the metal-poor world of Athas, that fact alone made it a weapon of considerable value.
“Rkard, have you forgotten what to say when someone gives you a gift?” asked Neeva.
The boy blushed. “I’ll cherish it as I cherish your friendship,” he said, bowing to Rikus.
To Sadira’s surprise, Rikus remembered the proper response. “Let it be a symbol of our trust.”
Rikus bowed to Rkard then faced the legion. “Tyrians, flank the dwarves, forming a two-rank line!” he yelled. “We must fight before we drink!”
The warriors quickly spread out to both sides of the dwarves. Most of those who had been dragging armor left it lying on the salty ground. In the scorching heat of the Ivory Plain, few humans were strong enough to carry the extra weight into battle without collapsing from heat exhaustion.
As the Tyrians scurried into position, Neeva turned to her warriors. “Form assault wedges!” she called. “I’ll lead the Iron Company. Yalmus Ltak will take the Boulder Company. Caelum, hold the Bronze Company in reserve.”
Unlike the Tyrians, the hardy dwarves did not abandon their armor. Each warrior helped the dwarf to his front unfasten the equipment and put it on. Within a few seconds, the three companies were fully armored in helmets and breastplates. The gleaming steel reflected the sunlight so brightly that Sadira could hardly bear to look at the Kledans.
“That glare will trouble the Raamins.” Sadira used her dark hand to shield her eyes.
“Not as much as our axes,” promised Sult, cinching down his breastplate.
The Iron and Boulder Companies arranged themselves into wedge-shaped formations, with the points aimed at the center of the Raamin lines. The Bronze Company moved twenty paces back and formed a compact square, each man standing straight and motionless in the blistering heat. Sadira was tempted to suggest they use their broad-bladed axes to shade each other, but thought better of it when she remembered that all Kledans venerated the sun.
“What shall I do?” asked Magnus. “I can’t kill all their templars, but I should be able to take out a few.”
“You stay here with Caelum and Sadira,” said Rikus.
“But all those Raamins wearing turbans are templars,” Magnus objected.
“I know,” Rikus replied. “That’s why I want you and Sadira to stay back. You’ll have a better view and can help where you’re needed most.” The mul looked to Sadira, an unspoken question in his eyes.
“I understand what you want,” Sadira replied. She knew he was hoping she would say something kind or encouraging, but she could not bring herself to do it. The anger inside was too powerful, perhaps because it was something she did not quite understand. When the mul did not turn away, she asked, “Shouldn’t you be going?”
Rikus spun on his heel and started toward the oasis. Without saying a word, he lifted the Scourge and waved the legion after him.
Neeva eyed the sorceress for a moment. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on him?” she asked. “Rikus isn’t the one who killed Agis.”
“No, but he’s still glad to have my other husband gone,” Sadira said. “He’s only upset now because I miss Agis more than he thought I would.”
Neeva closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “Is that what you think?”
“You can’t tell me I’m wrong,” Sadira countered.
“I shouldn’t have to.”
Neeva looked away and waved the Iron and Boulder Companies forward. Before leaving, she looked back to Rkard. “Stay with the Bronze Company-and no heroics this time.”
The boy frowned, but nodded. “Yes, Mother.”
Neeva smiled, then stepped into her place at the back corner of the Iron Company.
With Caelum and Rkard, Sadira watched the warriors of Tyr and Kled advance. Seen from the rear, the joint legion reminded Sadira of an ungainly bird. The gleaming triangles of the dwarves represented the body, feathered with silvery breastplates of steel. The human flanks were its wings, ragged, gangly, and barren of plumage. It was a strange creature, born equally of desperation and hope. The sorceress hoped it would prove both savage enough and smart enough to slay its prey.
The formation had traveled about a quarter of the distance to the oasis when a mad cackle rang out from the center of the knoll’s summit. Though the voice was female, it sounded more like the bloodthirsty call of a wyvern.