TEN
DECISIONS AND PROMISES
It was dusk in the animal shed. The beams of the descending sun rained down upon the roof of stretched hide, setting the whole interior ablaze with crimson light. In their pens, vicious animals paced, scuttled, or slithered back and forth impatiently, roaring, and yowling and clacking their mandibles in anticipation of the evening meal.
“Be quiet out there!” Rikus stormed, knowing that his command was futile even as he gave it.
It does no good to make noise, the gaj informed him. The feeders won’t come faster.
I don’t care about the feeders, the mul replied. I just want some peace.
Rikus sat on a cushion of rags in one corner of the pen, gingerly poking at the deep bruises he had received while cudgel-sparring with Yarig earlier. The dwarf had fared little better. Also covered head-to-toe in purplish marks, he sat in the opposite corner of the pen, rewrapping the leather thongs that bound the head of his warhammer to its shaft.
The young templar who had replaced Boaz allowed his charges to keep their weapons at night. He realized that fighters who took care of their own equipment would have more confidence in it. He also knew that, if the four gladiators wanted to escape, their weapons would be of little use against the magic-wielding templars whom Tithian had stationed around the compound after Sadira’s escape.
Rikus winced as he probed his side and felt the cartilage shift between two ribs. “Were you trying to kill me today, Yarig?” the mul joked.
“Why would I kill a friend?” the dwarf demanded, his square jaw set in its customary seriousness. “That makes no sense.”
“You have no business complaining about how Yarig fights,” Neeva interjected. She sat in the center of the pen, using a piece of curved antler to chip a new blade for Rikus’s short sword.
When the mul did not answer, the woman continued, “Serving wenches brawl harder than you’ve been fighting lately.” She pressed the point of the antler against the obsidian edge she was shaping. A tiny chip popped loose and tumbled onto a pile of similar shards. “If you don’t get your mind off that scullery girl, we’ll both suffer more than a few bruises in the games.”
“We’ll win our contest,” Rikus growled. “Don’t you worry about that, Neeva.”
The mul offered no further argument. There was no denying that be had been preoccupied with thoughts of Sadira over the past few days. He felt responsible for the half-elf’s fate, yet unable to aid her. The conflicting emotions filled him with guilt and interfered with his concentration.
Gradually Rikus realized that the din in the animal shed had reached a fever pitch. The increasing tumult usually meant the feeders had arrived, but it still seemed too early. A moment later, the mul heard murmuring voices approach. The other three gladiators continued to work, but he rose and stepped toward the iron gate just as six men wearing black cassocks stepped into view. Rikus recognized only one of them, a sharp-featured man with a long tail of auburn hair: Lord Tithian.
No food, Rikus! complained the gaj.
The feeders will come later, Rikus answered. Be patient. Leave me to speak with these people.
The gaj withdrew its presence and remained quiet.
“I don’t suppose you’ve come to return us to our cells?” Rikus asked.
“You can’t be serious. The least I can do for Boaz is let his punishment stand,” Tithian replied. “Actually, I’ve come to speak with you. My new trainer tells me your performance has been pitiful since Sadira’s escape.”
“I’m still sore from fighting your gaj,” Rikus said, trying to avoid the topic of the slave girl. The less the high templar knew about his feelings for her, the better. “I’ll be fine in a day or two.”
Neeva gave the mul a chiding glance, but did not rebuke his statement.
“In that case, you probably wouldn’t be interested in hearing what happened to the wench,” Tithian said sarcastically.
“Of course I would!” Rikus growled. Sensing that he had shown his opponent an opening, he added, “I owe her a debt of honor.”
“Honor is an overvalued commodity,” Tithian said coldly.
“It’s all a slave has, my lord,” Yarig said, not moving from his corner. “Knowing what happened to Sadira might help Rikus’s fighting.”
“Well spoken for a dwarf,” Tithian replied, stepping forward to peer toward Yarig.
It occurred to Rikus that he could reach through the cage and snap the high templar’s neck. The thought was such a pleasant one that the mul allowed himself to savor the imagined feel of his owner’s spine cracking in his hands, but he made no move to attack. Rikus still wanted to win his freedom in the ziggurat games.
The mul’s predatory expression was not lost on Tithian, who stepped back. “My guards would kill you in an instant.”
“They might,” Rikus allowed, smiling slyly. “And they might not. What happened to Sadira?”
The high templar chuckled. “First, you must tell me what the Veiled Alliance wants with you.”
Rikus ran a hand over his hairless scalp. “I didn’t know that they wanted anything with me,” the mul replied. An image of Sadira came unbidden to his mind. Was the sorceress tied to the Veiled Alliance somehow? “Those Who Wear the Veil are not the sort to fix the games,” the mul added quickly.
Tithian looked to one of his subordinates, an emaciated young man with bulging brown eyes. “Is he telling the truth?”
The young man nodded. “He also knew she was a sorceress.”
Realizing he had been tricked, Rikus shot his arm through the cage.
“Mindbender!” the mul hissed, closing his fingers on the astonished fellow’s cassock. Swiftly he pulled the youth to the gate and slammed his face into the bars. As the other templars moved forward to help, Rikus clasped his free hand on the mindbender’s larynx. “I’ll rip out his throat.”
The young templar began trembling. “Stay back,” he begged, barely choking out the words.
Yarig and Neeva moved to Rikus’s side. Anezka hid in the shadows, probably hoping to avoid the punishment that was sure to follow Rikus’s brash act.
The other templars looked to Tithian, who calmly removed a small jar from his pocket. It contained a purple caterpillar. “Don’t kill him, Rikus.”
The mul stared at the worm, but did not release the frightened templar. “Keep your part of the bargain.”
Tithian feigned a look of disappointment. “Have I ever broken a promise, to you?” When Rikus did not counter him, the high templar continued. “I’m not sure how, but a friend of mine bought her. There’s no need to fear on her account. Agis of Asticles cares for his slaves the way most men care for their children.”
Rikus smiled, then patted the templar on the cheek and shoved him away. “Lucky boy.”
Tithian put his jar in a pocket, then stepped away from the pen. “By the way, the mul’s little outburst will mean a week of half-rations for you all.”
Anezka threw Neeva’s chipping antler at Rikus’s head. He knocked it aside, narrowly avoiding losing en eye. The mul was getting tired of being attacked by the mute halfling, but he could understand her anger.
As soon as the templars were gone, the gaj said, Your female-Sadira-is not safe, Rikus.
The mul smashed his callused fist against the stone wall. He barely noticed as blood began to stream from his knuckles. “Tithian was lying?” he asked aloud.
Tithian did not lie, but he spoke only some of his thoughts, the gaj answered. Agis has your female, but Tithian has a watcher in Agis’s burrow. He is looking for her veiled friends.
“The Alliance?”
“What are you talking about, Rikus?” Neeva demanded.
He explained what the gaj had told him.
“Sadira in the Veiled Alliance?” Yarig scoffed. “It’s impossible.”