Troy Denning - The Cerulean Storm

“Let’s hope so.”

Sadira glanced at the sky ahead. The black spout still rose from the top of the cliff, and she could see by the lengthening gap in the red clouds that it had begun to move. The sorceress returned her gaze to the ground, picking her way across the jagged stones as quickly as she could.

After a few steps, Sadira said, “There’s something I need to say, Rikus.”

The mul raised an eyebrow but kept his attention fixed on the broken ground. “What is it?”

“I owe you an apology,” Sadira said. “When I found out Agis was gone, I felt guilty for letting him die without the heir he wanted. I’ve been using you as a scapegoat for those feelings, telling myself that the only reason I didn’t carry his baby was because it would make you jealous.”

Rikus continued forward. “Was that the reason?”

Sadira hesitated before answering. She had made her apology, as she had promised Neeva, and did not know if it was necessary to discuss her feelings any further.

“Then I’m the one who owes you an apology,” said Rikus. “If I stopped you from giving Agis something so important-”

“That wasn’t why I refused,” Sadira interrupted. “I didn’t want a baby because I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” the mul scoffed. “How can the woman who braved the Pristine Tower, who faced down the Dragon, be frightened of something as common as childbirth?”

“Common or not, childbirth’s no little thing,” Sadira scolded. “But you’re right. The pain isn’t what worried me-it was the trust. By having a child, I’d be giving myself to Agis forever and trusting him to do the same.”

“And that would have meant leaving me.”

“That’s what I told myself,” she said. “But the truth is, after Faenaeyon abandoned my mother, I’ve never really trusted love.”

“Agis was no elf. He’d never have left you or his child.”

“I’m not saying he would have. He was much too loyal,” Sadira said. “But people change, and so do their feelings. The love might have vanished, then we would’ve been stuck with each other.”

“And it might not have. You can’t predict what happens in life, but that’s no reason to retreat from it.” The mul paused for a moment, then came closer and took her arm. “But children aren’t a concern for us. Even if you wanted one, I couldn’t give you a baby. Let’s just go on like before.”

Sadira shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said. “For me-or for you.”

Rikus frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t until after Agis died that I realized I needed him.”

“And you don’t need me?” Rikus asked, looking hurt. Sadira smiled weakly. “That’s not what I mean,” she said. “But there are others who need you. And you need them, too.”

“If you’re talking about Neeva-”

“Not just about Neeva,” Sadira said.

“This is useless,” Rikus said. He released her arm. “If you think we can decide for Neeva-”

“I’m not deciding for Neeva,” Sadira interrupted. “But I know what she-and Rkard-will need.”

Rikus looked away, uncomfortable. “What they need is for us to catch Tithian and get back to them,” he said, starting to trot. “If you’re up to running again, we’d better move on.”

Sadira fell in behind the mul. By concentrating on where his feet landed, she found it easier to secure her own footing, and they crossed the plain at a steady pace. As they approached the cliff, it became clear that the precipice was not natural but a wall constructed of granite blocks as large as houses, with seams so tight a dagger blade could not have slipped between the stones. Crackling forks of lightning shot down from the ash storm overhead to lick at the rampart’s loftiest heights, and the summit itself was lost in the boiling red clouds.

“I can’t believe Tithian would fly over this wall,” Sadira said. “Lens or no Lens, if one of those bolts hit him, he’d be scorched to cinders.”

“I don’t think he went over.”

The mul pointed down the way, where the black circle of a tunnel opened into the bottom of the wall. They veered toward the entrance. They soon saw that it was perfectly round, with smooth edges and a glasslike finish. It had been driven through the heart of a granite block and was so long that the light at the other end was only about as large as a thumb. Sadira followed Rikus into the passage.

When they emerged on the other side, the sorceress saw that they had entered the corner of what had once been a forested preserve, though it no longer bore much semblance to a park. A fiery blast had ripped through the area, toppling the trees and leaving them limbless and smoking. Scattered among their blackened boles were hundreds of charred skeletons, along with the cracked obsidian points of incinerated spears.

“Whoever they were, they weren’t much of a challenge for Tithian and the Lens,” Rikus observed.

“It doesn’t look like they even slowed him down.” Sadira pointed into the distance, where the energy spout from the Dark Lens continued to rip through the storm overhead. The black pillar seemed only slightly less distant than it had when they started across the plain. “We’d better hurry.”

They picked their way across the devastated park, emerging on a processional boulevard that ran straight toward the heart of the city. To the sorceress, it appeared incredibly long, passing through an endless series of arches and vaults that had no apparent purpose except ostentatious decoration. Hundreds and hundreds of monuments to stern-faced warriors and shrewd-looking bureaucrats lined the great avenue. Given the softness of the light descending from the golden moons, the edifices cast surprisingly harsh shadows across the street. Behind the statues rose the high towers and looming emporiums of a great and ancient city, though its sharp and blocky architecture seemed designed to belittle rather than impress its observers.

The citizens of the city, or at least those Sadira could see, were rioting. Terrified nobles wearing suits of painted bone armor ran haphazardly through tile streets, swinging obsidian swords and axes at mobs of slaves dressed in nothing but hemp breechcloths and carrying pieces of wood for weapons. Here and there, small groups of warriors were trying to mount counterattacks against their rebelling subjects, but the oppressors were too badly outnumbered, and Sadira knew it would only be a matter of time before the slaves put them all to the blade.

Rikus and Sadira started down the bustling avenue, the mul using the shaft of his axe to part the crowd while the sorceress kept her eye on the black energy spout. Although Tithian, and presumably the sorcerer-kings, were too far ahead to see, she did not worry they would be difficult to find. The rift in the clouds was directly over the great boulevard, and it pointed like an arrow straight ahead.

“Something about this doesn’t make sense,” said Sadira. She was sticking close to the mul’s back. “It should take longer than this for the city to come unraveled. How can the slaves already know that the Dragon is dead? And even if they do, how did they overthrow their masters so quickly?”

The mul shrugged. “The sorcerer-kings seemed upset about Tithian bringing the Lens into the city. Maybe it has something to do with that,” he said. “But who cares, as long as slaves are winning their freedom?”

Sadira shook her head. “The rebellion’s just a symptom. If the revolt bothered the sorcerer-kings, there wouldn’t be a slave left alive on this avenue.”

As the pair advanced down the boulevard, they were occasionally accosted by riot-frenzied slaves or panicked nobles. When they were attacked by slaves, Rikus simply disarmed the aggressors and sent them on their way. When nobles assaulted them, Sadira and the mul did not hesitate to kill, happy to assist in the city’s liberation.