The templar stared at the knife in horror, but made no move to do as the king ordered.
“Feed the dagger,” echoed Sacha and Wyan, their bloated gray eyes sparkling with anticipation.
As Tithian watched the scene, his fear for his own life mounted. So did his interest in the sorcerer-king’s seemingly insane actions. Obsidian was so common that it was used to make weapons and inexpensive jewelry. He was surprised to see Kalak and the heads treating the stone as if it had magical properties.
At last Stravos directed the blade toward his own heart, but he froze there. His lips began to quiver and tears welled in his eyes. “My king, show pity on a poor subject.”
“I thought as much,” sneered Kalak, fixing his black eyes on the dagger.
Stravos suddenly gripped the hilt more tightly. The muscles on his arms tensed as he struggled against the king’s mind. “No, please!” The blade moved closer and closer to his chest, though the templar fought to hold it back.
A crooked grin crossed the king’s lips. The hilt slipped from between Stravos’s hands, and the blade plunged deep into his stomach. The gray-haired templar grasped at the dagger, then pitched forward and rolled onto his side. He lay groaning on the marble floor, lacking the strength to pull the blade from his gut.
“You should have done it yourself,” Kalak chuckled. “You could have chosen to die a lot faster.”
Tithian watched a stream of blood spill out of the wound and spread over the marble floor.
The king looked at Tithian next. “I didn’t summon my high templar,” he said. “What is he doing here?”
“Robbing,” said Sacha.
“Spying,” said Wyan.
Though he had not been given permission to speak, Tithian decided to explain before the two heads convinced Kalak to execute him. Trying to keep his fear from showing, the high-templar met the king’s gaze. “Mighty One, we were searching for the Veiled Alliance’s last amulet when we discovered the secret passage between the ziggurat and your palace. We only opened the door to be sure-”
Kalak raised an eyebrow. “Does he really believe that Those Who Wear the Veil hid an amulet in my treasure vault, Wyan?”
“I had to be certain,” Tithian answered before the undead creatures could speak.
“He’s disrespectful,” said Sacha.
“Kill him, too,” added Wyan.
Kalak shook his wispy-haired head. “Not Tithian,” he said. “I have need of him.”
Tithian breathed a sigh of relief.
“Tithian of Mericles?” demanded Sacha. “This snakefaced runt can’t be a descendant of mine!”
Tithian’s jaw fell slack, and he stared at the bloated head in astonishment. “Who are you?”
With an amused chuckle, Kalak lifted his disembodied companions by their topknots. He brought Sacha over to the high templar and held the head out to him. Tithian accepted it with both hands, and was surprised to discover the head seemed as warm as any living body.
“I present Sacha the Beastly, progenitor of the noble Mericles line,” the king said to Tithian. “Sacha and Wyan were the two chieftains who accompanied me when I conquered Tyr.”
“You mean the chieftains who conquered it for you,” Sacha spat.
Kalak ignored the comment and stooped over Stravos’s groaning form. He pulled the dagger from the templar’s wound. The man cried out as blood began to gush from his shredded stomach.
Tithian stared at the head in his hands. He felt nothing but disgust toward his ancient ancestor and could not bring himself to accept that the thing’s blood ran in his veins.
Kalak moved to Stravos’s side and placed Wyan in front of the templar’s wound. The sallow head extended its ash-colored tongue and began lapping up blood.
Kalak handed the dagger to Tithian and motioned toward Gathalimay’s inert form. “Feed your ancestor,” he said. “Then we’ll discuss some things I want you to do for me.”
Tithian tucked Sacha under one arm and went to the half-elf s body. “Where would you like me to cut him?” he asked the head.
“The throat,” Sacha said anxiously. “Prop his feet up. The blood will flow more freely.”
Tithian placed the bloated head near the dead templar’s throat and did as his ancestor instructed. He left the dagger lying on Gathalimay’s barrel-shaped chest.
Kalak gripped Tithian’s arm and led him to the base of the pyramid, squeezing the high templar’s elbow painfully. “You saw the shaft leading down from my arena into my tunnel?”
Tithian nodded. “Yes, my king.” His arm began to throb beneath Kalak’s grip.
“Good. During the games commemorating the completion of the ziggurat, you must place this obsidian pyramid over the shaft you passed, but only when the last match of the day begins. Make it look like part of the contest.”
Tithian studied the enormous structure with an eye toward moving it. Teleporting the pyramid would require more magic than the king had granted him, but he thought he could shrink it just long enough to move it. “What about the throne and the balls?” he asked. “Should I place them in the arena as well, Mighty One?”
“No!” Kalak hissed. His long fingernails broke the surface of Tithian’s skin and drew blood. “Don’t touch anything else. The globes and the throne stay here with me!”
“As you command,” Tithian replied evenly. “Forgive me for asking. Is there anything else?”
Kalak nodded. “When the last game begins, I want you to lock all the gates to my stadium.”
“Until when?”
“Don’t worry about opening them,” the king said. “You’ll need to make special preparations so they can’t be burned down.”
“How long will we keep the gates closed?” Tithian asked. “It won’t be an easy matter to provide food and water for forty thousand people.”
“You won’t have to feed them,” Kalak said. “Just keep them inside.”
Tithian frowned, puzzled by the unusual order. “Perhaps it would help if you could tell me-”
“You don’t need to know anything else, High Templar,” Kalak snapped. He glared at Tithian from beneath his aged brow. “All you need to know is that I want the gates closed and the spectators kept inside.”
“Yes, Mighty One,” Tithian replied, looking at the floor. Clearly, Kalak had more in mind for the games than celebrating the ziggurat’s completion. He suspected that whatever it was, it would not be pleasant.
“We’ll need a security force to keep the spectators in their seats after my games end,” Kalak continued. “I’ve placed Larkyn in charge of that. You are to coordinate with him regarding how the gates are sealed, but don’t question anything else he wants done. Is that clear?”
“As you wish,” Tithian replied. He was not happy to learn that this particular task had been given to someone outside his sphere of influence. The high templar wondered how many other similar, regrettable assignments the king had made.
Kalak flicked a wrist at the trapdoor, and it clanged open again. “From what I heard of the conversation with your spy, it appears you’re having trouble discovering the plan being hatched by the feeble sorcerers in the Veiled Alliance.”
Tithian took a deep breath, then said, “They won’t disrupt the games. You have my word, Mighty One.”
“I don’t want your promise,” Kalak replied sharply. “I want them dead.”
“Yes, my king,” Tithian said as calmly as he could. His heart was pounding so hard that it muted his words in his own ears.
Kalak studied his servant for a moment. “These sorcerers are as wary as jackals,” he said. “Perhaps it is time to offer some bait to lure them into the open.”
“Into the open, Mighty One?”
The king nodded. “Use that simpleton senator, Agis of Asticles. You’re his friend, are you not?” Kalak said. “Think of something the Alliance wants and offer it through him.”
“He has no connections with the Veiled Alliance!” Tithian protested.
“Do not lie to me, Tithian. Agis has more of a connection to Those Who Wear the Veil than anyone within your grasp. Besides, the good senator participated in an open revolt against my servants,” Kalak replied, narrowing his eyes to dark slits. “Use him or kill him!”