“What about Neeva?” the mul demanded. “Is she badly hurt?”
“Forget about Neeva!” Tamar screamed.
Again she lashed out, this time with her fist. Rikus tried to block, but the wraith was too quick. He glimpsed her hand coming toward him only an instant before he felt the blow. A terrific thump echoed through the mul’s skull and his head whipped around so hard that it sent a bolt of pain through his neck. Rikus tried to counter by tackling the wraith. She changed to a translucent wisp of light and his arms passed harmlessly through her form.
Tamar rematerialized in front of the mul, this time armed with the double-edge scythe and wearing the full suit of plate armor in which she had been pictured on her sarcophagus. She kicked Rikus under his chin, rocking him over onto his back.
“Without the sword, you have no defense,” she snarled, raising her scythe to strike. “You’re lost.”
As the wraith swung the curved blade toward his throat, Rikus visualized a huge block of stone lying in its path. He felt a queasy sensation in his stomach, then the scythe clanged against the granite slab that had appeared over him.
Tamar raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that will save you from a mindbender?”
The wraith threw herself at Rikus. In midair, she changed from an armored knight into a strange, man-sized horror that resembled nothing the mul had ever seen. Its underside was protected by a black carapace, save for a snapping, red-rimmed maw that stank of carrion and offal. This mouth was surrounded by six tentacles, each ending in a gnarled hand with three sharp claws. The thing had no head that the mul could see, merely a dozen eyes located at various places along the lip of the black shell guarding its body.
Desperate to escape, Rikus imagined himself turning to air. A surge of energy rose from deep within his body, and he suddenly felt very weak and tired. The beast landed over him, its tentacles holding its mouth mere inches from its body. It lowered itself until Rikus began to choke on its stinking breath, then it opened its maw for the bite of death.
Rikus felt an eerie tingle as he changed to air, then the monster’s jaws snapped shut. They passed right through the mul’s intangible body and clacked closed without causing him any pain or injury.
The figure over him became Tamar again, her ruby-red eyes glowing from behind her helm’s visor. Rikus felt completely exhausted, and despite the terrible danger, it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.
“If you fight like this, you die,” Tamar hissed, a gray fog billowing from behind her mask. “Now sleep.”
“What about Neeva?” Rikus demanded. His words whispered like the wind, and even he could barely understand them.
“Forget about Neeva,” the wraith growled, spewing gray mist into his eyes.
Rikus sank into oblivion. Thoughts of Neeva, the Scourge of Rkard, even Tamar, fled before the waves of exhaustion that overtook the mul.
Later, someone called his name, and Rikus felt the warm glow of the morning sun on his face. The air was rich with the honey-scent of the chiffon tree, and a cool breeze danced across his leathery skin.
“Rikus, stop waiting. Get up.”
It was K’kriq’s voice.
The mul opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the olive-tinged sky of early morning. He sat up and immediately looked about. He found nothing but his belt and sword, a dozen full waterskins, and a pile of diamond-shaped scales that K’kriq had discarded after eating the lirrs.
“Where’s Neeva?” the mul demanded, rising. “Is she hurt?”
“Neeva with Caelum,” the thri-kreen reported, clicking his mandibles impatiently. “Caelum with pack. Both healthy to hunt.”
“And where is my pack?” Rikus asked, his eyes searching the oasis for signs of his legion. Save for himself, K’kriq, and a few winged lizards, the pond was deserted.
“Styan take pack yesterday,” K’kriq explained. “Say to tell you message: ‘legion cannot wait. Maetan call reinforcements to village.’ Styan say you catch legion today. Fight soon.”
“Styan!” Rikus yelled, snatching his belt and sword off the red moss. He hardly noticed that, save for the festering sore over his heart, all of his injuries and wounds had been healed. “Who is he to say when my legion marches?”
K’kriq slung the waterskins over his four arms. “Styan become pack leader when you die at the citadel,” he explained.
“I didn’t die,” Rikus snapped, starting northward. “The first thing I’ll do when I catch up to the legion is show Styan-and everyone else-that I’m still very much alive!”
ELEVEN
MAKLA
“Stop where you are!” ordered the sentry.
The dwarf stood behind a low rock wall, moving his long spear back and forth between Rikus and K’kriq. Beside the stocky guard, a half-elf gladiator groaned as she heaved a small boulder atop the barrier. She gave the mul and the thri-kreen a casual glance, then turned to pick up another heavy stone.
“You know who I am,” Rikus snarled, scowling at the scene before him.
In both directions, gladiators were laboring to encircle the camp with a wall of stones. Caelum’s dwarves were spaced every twenty or thirty feet, their eyes dutifully peering into the lengthening shadows of dusk. In the center of camp, the templars stood in a tight circle, their attention turned inward toward the glowing light of a roaring campfire.
After waiting another moment for the dwarven sentry to move his spear away, the mul angrily slapped the shaft aside and leaped over the rock wall. He grabbed the dwarf by the throat and lifted him off the ground. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“I have my orders,” the dwarf gasped, reaching for the hand-axe on his belt. “No one is permitted to enter camp without Styan’s permission.”
Before the sentry could free his axe, Rikus passed the dwarf to K’kriq, saying, “If he calls out or draws that axe, kill him.”
The thri-kreen accepted the sentry with three arms, clacking his mandibles in anticipation. The dwarf moved his hand away from his weapon, but did not give up on trying to stop Rikus from entering camp. “You’re to wait here until Styan prepares a proper reception,” he said.
Rikus ignored the dwarf and went to the half-elf gladiator laboring to build this section of the wall. Taking a heavy boulder from her hands, he asked, “What’s happening, Drewet?”
The half-elf frowned in confusion. “We’re building a wall,” she said.
“What for?” Rikus asked. “And why are gladiators the only ones working on it?”
Drewet shrugged. “Because those are the orders Styan gave.”
“Styan!” Rikus bellowed. He turned and threw the boulder he had taken from Drewet, knocking a great hole in the section of wall that she had been laboring to build. All of the gladiators nearby stopped working and looked toward the disturbance. “Why would anyone do what he says?” Rikus demanded.
The half-elf raised her peaked eyebrows. “Because he’s your second-in-command, of course.”
“Second-in-command!” Rikus thundered. “Is that what he told you?”
“He told us that after you disappeared into the citadel,” she said, her brown eyes now flashing with anger. “With Neeva and Caelum staying behind to wait for you, it seemed natural.”
“Natural? You thought I would put a templar in charge of my legion?” Rikus yelled. “So he could treat you like a bunch of slaves?”
Without waiting for a response, he faced the gladiators nearby. “The days when we build walls for templars are gone!” he roared. “Pass the word and come with me-Styan has some apologies to make!”
Leaving K’kriq to hold the dwarven sentry at the edge of camp, Rikus took Drewet and marched toward the templars. As word of Styan’s deception was passed, a long series of angry shouts sounded around the perimeter of camp. By the time the mul neared Styan’s company, an angry mob of gladiators was following him, and the templars had turned to face outward. When Rikus approached, they drew their short swords.