Despite her anger, Tithian noticed that she was keeping one eye fixed on him. Smiling, the king stepped over to where she could see him more easily, clasping his hands behind his back. He turned his gaze on the dagger lying at the edge of the pit, the one with which Kester had attacked Sacha, and opened a pathway to his spiritual nexus. Being careful not to alarm the tarek by moving even slightly, Tithian visualized the knife resting in his hand. A prickle of energy rose from deep within himself, then he felt the cold weight of the weapon’s hilt in his palm.
“Now that you’re here,” Tithian asked, “is our friend going after Fylo?”
The king leaned forward as if to look over the tarek’s shoulder. Instead of peering down at Agis, however, he began counting down the prominent row of vertebrae showing between Kester’s muscular shoulders. This had to be done exactly right, Tithian knew, for he had seen enough gladiatorial contests to realize that tareks often fought for many seconds after death. If his strike did not paralyze as well as kill, Kester could easily take him with her.
“He’s climbing down now,” Kester said, frowning at the king’s proximity.
Tithian’s arm flashed, plunging the dagger deep into Kester’s back. The tip entered exactly where he intended, low and between the shoulder blades, so that the blade severed the spinal cord on its way to the heart. The tarek’s astonished cry died in her throat, and her body went limp without so much as a reflexive twitch.
“We should have left when I wanted to,” Tithian said.
The king shoved Kester’s shoulders into the narrow crack, then jumped on her back to force her farther down. If he could jam her body in the crevice securely enough, Agis would not be able to free it before growing too exhausted to keep the lid’s magic from sealing itself.
Once he felt convinced that it would be impossible to dislodge the body within the necessary time, Tithian leaped off the dark circle. His feet had barely touched solid ground before Agis’s muffled voice sounded from beneath Kester’s body. “Tithian!”
The king turned around. He could see Kester’s back jerking as Agis tried to pull her free.
Yes, Agis? he asked, using the Way so his words would not be muffled by the pit cover. You haven’t changed your mind about my offer of immortality, have you?
Don’t flatter yourself, the noble replied.
You could have tried lying, you know, Tithian said. There’s a chance that I might have wanted to believe you enough to fall for it.
Sacha and Wyan floated over to his side and started to urge him to leave, but the king raised a hand to keep them silent.
Whatever else you are, you’re not stupid, Agis observed. Besides, I’m not the liar around here.
True, but look what your honesty’s earned you, the king said. You’re too noble for your own good. There was a note of genuine remorse in the statement.
When Agis did not respond, Tithian kept a watchful eye on Kester’s body, knowing that his old friend was trying to stall him until the passage could be cleared.
Agis took a moment before answering. I’m not as virtuous as you think, said the noble. If I was, your talk of the Dark Lens would never have diverted me from my original purpose.
The lens is real enough! Tithian objected.
I know-but so is my promise to return you to Tyr, Agis said. By putting that off, I’ve stained my honor and broken my word, in principle if not in deed.
I wouldn’t know about such distinctions, replied the king. Perhaps that’s the reason you’re doomed to fail, while I’m destined to become a sorcerer-king.
I thought that wasn’t possible? Agis inquired, the tone of his question betraying both distress and suspicion.
Come now, do you think I’d betray you for anything less? Tithian asked. He started toward the exit, motioning for Sacha and Wyan to follow along. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, my friend, but I have an Oracle to find.
Don’t think you’ve won, Tithian! This isn’t over!
The king paused and studied Kester’s body for a moment. The tarek’s body was still jerking as Agis tried to clear the exit, but Tithian saw no sign that his friend was close to dislodging the corpse.
The king smiled. Of course it’s not over, he allowed. I still have plans for you.
TWELVE
THE FIRST GIANTS
A jagged boulder sailed over the wall, smashing the chitinous plate between the sparkling, many-faceted eyes of a mantis-headed warrior. The giant bellowed and raised his hands to the wound, stumbling backward until he tumbled off the ramparts and crashed headfirst atop a rock pile. The Saram’s neck snapped with a loud crack, then his enormous body rolled onto a pair of boys who had been passing stones up to their elders.
The death went almost unnoticed amidst the chaos of the battle. All along the wall, Saram tribesmen stood silhouetted against the yellow sky of dawn, hurling stones and insults at the enemies surrounding Castle Feral. The Joorsh were responding with a barrage of their own. From every corner echoed the sound of boulders shattering against the ramparts, a steady cadence of resonant booms that rumbled through the citadel like an exploding volcano.
Along with Sacha and Wyan, Tithian watched the fighting from the relative safety of the citadel floor, where they were moving across a small stretch of open ground in the company of a dozen terrified goats. Although far from giant-sized, the beasts were huge for their species, and the king needed to stoop just a little so that his head would not protrude above their shoulders. Hundreds of such creatures-sheep, goats, even erdlus and kanks-had broken free of their pens with the thunder of the first Joorsh volley. For the last quarter hour, they had been charging around the castle floor in panicked herds, turning the whole granite plane into a maelstrom of hoofed mayhem.
The domestic animals were not the only source of confusion. The Castoffs had spread throughout the castle and were flitting from one beasthead to another, searching for the bodies to which their heads had once been attached. Whenever they paused for more than a moment near a Saram, the warrior turned away and fled, crying for Bawan Nal, who was nowhere in sight, to save them.
A few spirits had apparently located the correct bodies. Their ethereal visages adhered to the Sarams’ beastly faces like masks, causing the victims unbearable pain. In one place, a stone-hurler had forsaken his duties to bang his reptilian head against the wall. Another warrior stood over a cart of spilled boulders, screaming in agony as she plucked the feathers from her ternlike face.
As the bird-headed woman tore at her avian features, a small boulder came soaring high overhead. It did not drop until it was well inside the citadel walls, falling just a short distance ahead of Tithian’s herd. The projectile shattered instantly, filling the air with mordant-smelling rock dust and blasting the herd with pieces of rock. Bleating madly, the goats reversed direction and fled, nearly bowling Tithian over in their terror. When they were gone, the king and his disembodied companions found themselves alone, a hundred yards of open granite between them and the silvery enclosure they had been trying to reach.
Two dozen burly, vicious-looking Saram came rushing from the compound’s gate. All had the heads of fanged and venomous beasts: vipers, spiders, and centipedes of all kinds. One of the giants even had the bony skull of a death’s head bat, while the distinctive fangs of a needle-toothed shrew protruded from the narrow snout of another. In their hands, the warriors carried steel-tipped lances as tall as trees, while their bodies were covered by plates of mekillot-shell armor.