Troy Denning - The Crimson Legion

Stop it, Tamar! Rikus ordered, struggling in vain to make his muscles obey his own will and not the wraith’s. You’ll doom us all!

You’re sending him and his dwarves after the book , she said. I won’t allow it .

Inside Rikus’s mind, Tamar reached out. In accord with her movements, the mul found his arm rising toward Caelum.

Neeva stepped between the mul and the dwarf. “Rikus! Are you trying to draw attention to us?”

Tamar thrust her arm out and Rikus felt himself shove Neeva away. The satchel slipped from her shoulders and crashed to the ground, echoing off the high stone walls surrounding the entanceway. Frowning in confusion, Caelum backed away from Rikus and thrust one hand toward the sun, collecting the energy for a spell. “Have you gone mad?”

On all sides of them, astonished warriors turned toward the commotion. Seeing that Neeva had dropped her sack, they did likewise and began digging their weapons out of their satchels.

By the light of Ral! Rikus growled. Because Tamar still controlled his body he could not look around to see how the Urikites were responding. Nevertheless, he could hear the gate guards calling for the archers to reinforce them.

Rikus willed an image of himself into his mind, directly in front of Tamar’s double. He launched himself at the wraith with such fury that she stumbled away, vainly raising her arms to block the barrage of fists.

Stop! Tamar ordered. The dwarf is ready to kill you .

Let him , Rikus answered. He kicked the wraith in the ribs, then knocked her to the ground with a vicious overhand punch. You’re losing the battle for me-that’s all that matters .

Rikus’s double suddenly faded to mist before his eyes. The mul braced himself, expecting the wraith to return in the form of some hideous monster and rip him apart. lnstead, Tamar’s voice echoed in the black depths of his mind. The battle is far from lost , she said. I will wait for a more convenient time .

Once again, the mul found himself in control of his own body, standing in the middle of Urik’s slave boulevard while war cries sounded all around him. Caelum remained in front of him, red eyes burning with anger. The dwarf held one glowing hand toward the sun, and only Neeva’s firm grasp kept the other pointed at the ground instead of the mul.

“It’s over,” Rikus said. “You’re safe for now, Caelum.”

He dropped the satchel from his back and plunged his hand into it. A shard of obsidian opened a long cut on his hand, but he paid no attention and found the Scourge’s hilt.

“Not yet,” Caelum insisted. “Not until you apologize to-”

“I need no apology,” Neeva snapped, pulling a pair of short swords from her own sack. “We have a fight to attend to.”

After Rikus pulled the Scourge from the scabbard, he spun around to face the templar and the half-giants guarding the granite wedge. Already the echoes of clashing weapons and screaming men filled the street as Rikus’s gladiators attacked the gate guards, cutting them down.

At the granite wedge, the templar cried, “Plug the slave gate!” He was already fleeing toward the nearest exit from the boulevard.

The half-giants brought their axes down on the massive rope. The blades bit deep into the cord, and it snapped with a vibrant twang. There was a loud rumble as the block shot down the ramp, the logs beneath it clacking in rapid succession.

Caelum pointed his free hand at the base of the block, and a defeaning boom resounded off the boulevard walls. A bolt of flame shot from the dwarf’s fingertips and, arcing over the heads of the warriors in front of him, engulfed the logs beneath the huge stone. In an instant, the blaze reduced the rollers to ashes. The wedge dropped to the stone ramp and ground to a halt with a loud rumble.

The Tyrian gladiators roared a tremendous cheer, many of them calling Caelum’s name, and rushed forward to finish off the gate guards. Their moment of victory was shortlived, however. A moment after the wedge ground to a halt, bowstrings hummed from atop the wall. A volley of black shafts streaked down into the street, and a dozen voices cried out in anguish as gladiators began to fall.

Rikus waved his sword at a mass of warriors near him. “You gladiators, come with me!” he cried, starting toward the nearest side gate.

The mul had taken only a couple of steps before he realized no one was following him. He stopped and faced them, “Follow me!”

A few gladiators reluctantly moved to obey, but many others pretended they had not heard and advanced down the street to fight the battle on their own terms. Such a wave of anger came over Rikus that the blood rushed to his head and he could feel the veins in his temples throbbing. He started to move toward those who had disobeyed him, but Neeva quickly intercepted him.

“Later,” she said. “The middle of a battle is no time to deal out punishment.” She gestured toward the wound on his chest. “Besides, you can’t blame them for being reluctant. Half the legion thinks you’re a necromancer, and the other half thinks you’ve lost your mind.”

The bowstrings atop the wall snapped again. This time, it seemed to Rikus that many more voices cried out as black shafts rained down on the crowd.

“If they don’t do as they’re told, what they think won’t matter,” the mul growled, once again turning toward the side gate. “See if you can get some of them to follow us.”

On the other side of the square portal, he found a pair of astonished guards armed with obsidian-bladed glaives. After dodging a badly timed slash and a clumsy thrust, Rikus killed them both with a single slash of his magical blade. He stepped over their bodies and went a few yards down the street.

He found himself in an austere neighborhood of neatly kept chamberhouses. Built of fired brick, each stood three stories tall, with a single rectangular door that directly abutted the cobblestone street. Every structure and every alley appeared identical, save for a wide variety of squiggly lines painted on the chamberhouses. The place seemed eerily quiet and deserted.

“Where are we?” asked Neeva.

Rikus glanced over his shoulder to see the female gladiator coming after him. Behind her were close to fifty warriors.

“Templar quarter, I think,” Rikus answered, pointing to a set of crooked lines on a doorjamb. “That looks like writing to me, and only the nobles and templars are allowed to read.”

“This isn’t a noble borough, that’s certain,” Neeva agreed. “No lord would stand for having his house look like everyone else’s.

“Shouldn’t we go the other way, then?” asked Caelum. The dwarf was moving up from the rear of the line. “Maetan said the book was in the townhouse. Surely, that isn’t in the templar quarter.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t come with us,” Rikus said, scowling at the dwarf. “I might-uh-lose my temper again.”

“I’ll take my chances,” the dwarf answered, stepping into line behind Neeva. “If Neeva is here, then this is were I belong.”

“Have it your way,” Rikus said, shrugging.

He turned down the nearest alley and started toward the wall, confident that, in the templar quarter, there would be at least one set of stairs leading to the top of the wall. The narrow lane ran between neat rows of square windows and was crossed every fifty feet or so by a larger avenue. The tidy structure lining the streets were painted identically: the two lower stories in yellow and the upper in blood red. Rikus could not imagine how the inhabitants avoided getting lost in this grid of identical buildings.

The district appeared deserted, with no sign of a templar, slave, or any other citizen. Nevertheless, Rikus knew there were plenty of Urikites about, for he could hear their footsteps echoing down the lanes and occasionally caught the hiss of a whispered conversation.