Troy Denning: The Crimson Legion

Rikus followed K’kriq to the pilot’s chair. After pausing long enough to stomp on Phatim’s half-charred body, the thri-kreen stood motionless and stared out over the mountainous shells of the mekillots. Fifty yards beyond the great reptiles was the Urikites’ curtain of blackness.

After the thri-kreen had concentrated for a moment, all four mekillots raised their shell-covered heads and started to lumber forward. The argosy lurched once, then settled into its familiar, swaying rhythm. The distance between the wagon and the Urikite wall closed quickly.

When the black curtain showed no sign of adjusting to the advancing argosy, Rikus asked, “What’s wrong with them? They can’t just let us punch through their formation.”

“Maybe they can’t see us through the black wall,” suggested Neeva. “For all we know, there might not be anyone on the other side.”

A brilliant flash of silver erupted from the wall, and Rikus decided she was wrong.

“Magic!” the mul cried.

K’kriq spun around, using two of his hands to grab each gladiator and pull them into the shelter of his carapace. In the same instant, the sound of shattering glass crashed over the deck, drowning out even the thunder of the magical bolt that had demolished the window. Shards scraped along one of the mul’s shoulders that had been left exposed, opening several long but shallow lacerations in his tough hide. Neeva escaped without injury.

When the attack passed, Rikus stepped away from K’kriq. The mantis-warrior stood ankle deep in broken glass, but there was not even a scratch on his tough carapace.

A pair of smoking red balls shot from the dark wall ahead. Instead of streaking toward the pilot’s deck, however, the flaming spheres sizzled straight at the lead mekillots. All four reptiles stopped in their tracks, retracting their heads as the crimson spheres hit. Great rivers of flame washed over their shells, then the earth rumbled and the argosy lurched to a stop as the great beasts dropped to the ground.

The mekillots lay motionless as wisps of fire danced over their shells, but the mighty beasts did not seem to be either panicked or in pain. A moment later, after the flames had faded to smoke, they returned to their feet and jerked the argosy into motion again. This time, they trundled forward more rapidly, in the mekillots’ equivalent of a charge. Without looking away from the animals, K’kriq pointed a single arm toward the back of the deck.

“Go,” he said. “Bad place for soft-skins.”

“What about you?” Rikus asked, taking Neeva and moving toward the back of the deck.

In answer, the thri-kreen dropped to the floor and pulled his limbs beneath his carapace, leaving only his compound eyes visible.

Neeva started down the ladder without another word. Behind her, Rikus took the time to glance out the front of the deck. The lead mekillot had reached the curtain of darkness. The tips of their noses had no sooner disappeared into the black barrier than the mul heard the sizzle and sputter of more fireballs.

Screaming, he threw himself into the pit, knocking Neeva off the ladder as he dropped past her. The gladiators crashed headlong into Gaanon’s massive form, and all three tumbled to the floor in a heap. A loud whoosh sounded over their heads. Long tongues of crimson flame shot down the wall, licking at their legs and their backs, stopping just shy of the floor itself.

When Rikus spun over, he saw nothing but a blazing inferno overhead. There were flames of every color: red, yellow, white, blue, and, he thought, even black. He could not see the wall or ceiling, only raging fire.

Despite the holocaust, the argosy continued to trundle forward.

Rikus and his companions collected their weapons and rose. Not seeing how the thri-kreen could have survived such a firestorm, the mul touched his hand to his forehead, then held it toward where he imagined K’kriq’s charred remains would be lying. “You fought like the Dragon,” he said, giving the mantis-warrior the gladiator’s greatest farewell salute.

With that, the mul led the way back toward the cargo door. They reached it just as the argosy itself was passing from the Tyrian side of the dark wall to that of the Urikites. From this side, the barrier was not opaque. Rather, it had the translucent quality of a sheet of thinly cut obsidian, and the Tyrian gladiators were visible on the other side as dim, charging shapes.

Rikus saw immediately that his use of the fortress-wagon had upset his opponent’s carefully laid battle plans. The Urikite regulars had been spread out in long ranks behind the black wall, and most of them were now wildly rushing toward the wagon. Already, hundreds were gathered near the argosy to await the Tyrian gladiators. With some of their spears pointed toward the wagon and some toward the gladiators following it, the soldiers were in a disorganized mess that Rikus knew his gladiators would quickly decimate.

Rikus could see that the Urikites were a little more organized at the far side of the valley. A fair-sized company was marching toward Jaseela’s flank. He could only assume that, on the other side of the wagon, a similar company of Urikites was rushing toward Styan’s templars.

A series of brilliant flashes flared from near the front of the wagon, followed immediately by several deafening cracks. The smell of burning wood and charred bone filled Rikus’s nostrils, then the argosy ground to quick halt. When he peered around the edge of the door, the mul saw a small group of yellow-robed templars standing near the front of the wagon. Their smoking fingers were pointed at the thick shaft that connected the mekillot to the wagon.

At the rear of the argosy, the first of the gladiators emerged from the darkness, screaming their battle cries and charging into the disorganized Urikites.

“Let’s fight!” the mul yelled, raising his cahulaks.

Rikus leaped from the smoky wagon into the bright crimson light. He had no sooner landed than a pair of Urikite soldiers jabbed their spear tips at him, simultaneously raising their shields to protect their faces. Rikus swung a cahulak, cutting their weapons off at the heads.

Before the mul could move forward to finish them, Gaanon’s joyful warcry boomed over his shoulder. The half-giant slipped past the mul and leveled his mighty war-club at the spearless Urikites, smashing their bucklers as if they were glass. The blow knocked the pair back into the crowd and sent a half-dozen men sprawling. Neeva followed Gaanon’s attack, smashing bones and rending flesh on both the fore- and back-swings of her axe.

It was all Rikus could do to keep his companions from wading into the midst of the Urikite mob. “Wait!” he called, hitting their shoulders with the shafts of his cahulaks. “Leave them to the others. Come with me.”

Rikus moved toward the front of the wagon, where Hamanu’s yellow-robed templars continued to attack the mekillots with bolts of energy and balls of fire. Though no longer attached to the argosy, the reptiles remained in their harnesses and were turning back toward the Urikite lines.

To the mul’s amazement, the shape of a thri-kreen was hunched down on the centershaft between the rear mekillots. His carapace was black with soot, and one of his four arms seemed to be hanging limply at his side, but the mantis-warrior apparently remained in command of the reptiles.

The templars were so intent on stopping K’kriq that they did not even notice Rikus and his two companions coming up behind them. The mul killed four with a quick series of strikes. In the few seconds it took him, Neeva and Gaanon finished the other five.

When the magical barrage fell silent, K’kriq peered up from between his mekillots. He raised a clawed hand in Rikus’s direction, calling, “The hunt is good!”