“Then where did the girl learn her sorcery?” asked Neeva.
The dwarf scratched his bald head. “It’s impossible,” he growled stubbornly. “We would have known.”
What does Tithian want to do with Sadira’s friends? Rikus asked the gaj.
Kill her, the gaj replied.
Rikus cried out in anger, leaping up to grab the mekillot ribs that served as the ceiling of their pen. The effort tore at his bruised cartilage, but he did not let go. He swung his legs upward and kicked at one of the thick ribs, attempting to break it.
“What are you doing?” Yarig demanded.
“Escaping,” Rikus groaned.
Before the feeders come? asked the incredulous gaj.
The mul kicked at the ceiling again.
“What about the games?” Yarig demanded. “You can’t just forget them!”
“This is more important,” Rikus gasped, cringing at the pain in his ribs.
As he lowered his legs to prepare for another kick, Neeva grasped his waist. “Let me do it,” she said. “You’re too weak to break through a straw roof, much less a mekillot rib.”
“You’ll help me save Sadira?” Rikus asked, astonished.
“Would it change anything if I said no?”
When Rikus did not answer, Neeva jumped up and grabbed the overhead grid “That’s what I thought,” she said, swinging her legs toward the ceiling. She smashed a rib with each foot, opening a hole as wide as the mul’s shoulders.
Yarig watched their efforts with a perplexed and hurt look.
As Neeva dropped back into the fighting pit, Rikus said, “You know, Yarig, you and Anezka could come with us. After we warn Sadira, we’ll join a slave tribe somewhere in the desert. We’ll be free.”
“Free?” the dwarf echoed. His eyes clouded over, and Rikus could see that he was struggling with an internal conflict.
Anezka stepped to her partner’s side and took his hand. Yarig looked at the mute. “Is that what you want, Anezka?”
The halfling nodded eagerly.
Yarig looked at the floor and took a few deep breaths. “You go ahead,” he said. “I can’t go with you. I just can’t.”
Anezka’s wild eyes betrayed her disappointment, but she shook her head and clung to the dwarf’s arm.
“Go on!” Yarig ordered. “There’s no reason for you to stay.”
The halfling stayed at her partner’s side.
Neeva glanced at the pair with the closest thing to a sympathetic expression Rikus had ever seen on her face. “Yarig, just this once, can’t you change your mind? If you don’t go, neither will Anezka.”
“I can’t help it,” Yarig answered. “She’s free to go, but I’ve got to fight in the ziggurat games. It’s my focus.”
“Focus?” Neeva asked.
“Dwarves choose a purpose for their lives,” he said. “I’ve chosen to fight in the ziggurat games. If I abandon that purpose, I’ll become an undead creature after I die.” Yarig gazed into Anezka’s feral eyes. “Go with Rikus and Neeva. You were a halfling, not a dwarf. You were meant to be free.”
Anezka shook her head and clung to Yarig.
Ignoring the pair’s sentimental moment, Neeva said, “We’ll need a plan, Rikus. With templars lurking all over the place, we can’t expect to walk out of here easily.”
After the feeders, I’ll help, the gaj offered, clamoring at the gate of its cell. You must take me.
“No,” Rikus said. “We can’t fight our way out, so we’ll have to use stealth. With you along, we wouldn’t have a chance.”
I’ll hide us, it countered.
Wishing that the gaj could communicate with more than one person at a time, Rikus relayed to Neeva what the beast wanted. She shook her head.
“We’re doing this on our own,” the mul declared.
No! Take me or I’ll tell the feeders where you’re going.
Rikus frowned and relayed the threat to his partner, then they studied each other for several moments. “We have no choice,” Rikus growled.
“We need a better plan,” Neeva complained. “There’s no way under the two moons we’ll sneak that thing over the wall.”
After feeders, I’ll hide everyone, the gaj repeated.
“How?” Rikus asked.
Trust me.
“I don’t trust you,” Rikus insisted.
The gaj did not answer, but an idea occurred to Rikus. “One set of feeders will come into the animal shed, and one set will leave,” the mul said. “We’ll use their wagon to haul the gaj out of the compound.”
Both Neeva and Yarig smiled. “Just because I’m not going with you doesn’t mean I can’t help you escape,” the dwarf said.
Neeva used her hands to make a stirrup for Yarig, boosting him high enough to slip out of the gap in the ceiling. He used the rope and pulleys to open the gate. The four gladiators left their pen, taking with them Neeva’s trikal and Anezka’s cudgel. They did not bother with Rikus’s sword or Yarig’s warhammer, for both were in disrepair.
Outside the pen, the shed was nearly dark, with only a few faint rays of flaxen moonlight shining through the hide roof. The wild clamor of the impatient animals was louder than ever.
“Neeva, you and Anezka sneak over to the entrance and take a look outside,” Rikus said. “See if you can find the templars.”
Neeva nodded, then she and Anezka started down the path toward the entrance.
Remember me, the gaj demanded. Leave, and I’ll tell the feeders where you’re going.
Rikus grabbed the rope in front of the gaj’s gate and began pulling. “We’re not leaving you, but you must do as I say.”
Yes. I promise.
Rikus peered through the iron bars. The gaj crouched on the other side of the gate, two of its antennae flattened against its head. Where Neeva had torn off the third one, a new, small stalk waved tentatively. The gaj had closed its mandibles, and its compound eyes were staring at the floor.
Hoping the creature’s meek demeanor meant it would be as cooperative as it had promised, Rikus pulled on the rope. A wave of pain shot through his injured rib cage, causing him to groan.
Yarig stepped toward the gate to help. Before he grasped the iron bars, he peered at the gaj and ordered, “Back to the other side!”
The creature obediently scuttled across the stone floor. With a deep groan, the dwarf lent his strength to assist with raising the heavy gate.
Without warning, the gaj leaped, shooting across the pen in a rust-colored streak. It struck Yarig straight on, its barbed pincers snapping shut around the dwarf’s neck before he could scream.
Rikus released the rope. The heavy gate crashed down on the beast’s shell, trapping it halfway out of the pen. Its canelike legs scraped madly at the stones of the pathway.
Oblivious to his sore ribs, Rikus leaped toward the gaj’s head. Blood poured from the barb punctures in Yarig’s throat.
“You lied!” Rikus yelled, smashing his fist into one of the gaj’s eyes.
Lying is a useful thing, it replied, unimpressed by the blow.
Rikus struck again, aiming for a spot just behind the three stalks. The beast countered by slapping the gladiator with an antennae, sending a bolt of searing agony down the mul’s side and paralyzing his left arm. He punched with his right hand.
The gaj slapped Rikus across the face. Images of gray, empty nothingness floated through the mul’s mind, and he felt himself stumbling. The beast clubbed him with its mandible, knocking him halfway across the corridor.
Rikus glimpsed the gaj as it wrapped its stalks around Yarig’s head. Painfully gasping for breath, the mul returned to his feet.
He has no thoughts! the gaj exclaimed, disappointed. He’s dead.
With a casual flip of its head, the beast tossed the dwarf’s limp body aside. It turned toward Rikus, then pumped its shell up and down in an attempt to dislodge itself from the gate.
Gathering his strength, the mul rushed for the gaj. As it opened its pincers, Rikus leaped into the air. He sailed over the huge mandibles and planted both feet in the center of the beast’s head. The flying kick dislodged the gaj and knocked it back into its pen. The mul threw himself to the left, landing on his belly as the gate crashed down only inches behind him.