Troy Denning - The Verdant Passage

“Bring your prisoners to the gallery,” Tithian said, speaking to the man who had assumed command of the mob.

The templar looked uneasy. “We’re assigned directly to the High Templar of the King’s Safety,” he said. “Larkyn has instructed us to accept orders only from him.”

Tithian glanced at the chair where Larkyn’s body sat slumped. Though the man’s eyes were closed and he was not moving, that was the only visible of evidence of his death. If anyone in the stands could see into the shadows engulfing the gallery, Agis hoped it would appear to them that the high templar was merely sleeping in the chair.

“I’m afraid the attack on our king has left Larkyn indisposed,” Tithian said, looking back to the fighting field. “Bring the prisoners to him, and he’ll attend to them from his chair.”

The templar looked uncomfortable, but nodded his assent. He prodded the two prisoners toward the edge of the arena.

Tithian retreated into the shadows of the canopy. “Now what?” the high templar asked, staring at the king’s balcony. “Kalak is a thousand years old. I doubt that he’ll do us the favor of dying from his wound.”

Agis could only shrug. He was beginning to think Rikus had been right in hesitating to attack without a better plan.

A messenger poked his head into the gallery. “High One, a noblewoman insists upon seeing you.”

“What does she want?” Tithian demanded. He looked past the guard and frowned at the partition that screened the gallery from the balcony grandstands behind it. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Sadira of Asticles,” he answered. “She-”

“Send her up,” Tithian interrupted. He faced Agis and snickered. “Sadira of Asticles? ”

Agis felt the heart rise to his cheeks. “Not … formally, my friend,” he said, wondering at the implications of the sorceress’s choice of title.

A moment later, Sadira stepped onto the porch, her chest heaving. Her silk cape was tattered and ripped, and the silver circlet was missing from her head. Agis went to her side and took her arm. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“The mob is getting ugly,” she answered breathlessly. She stopped just beneath the canopy and braced herself on Ktandeo’s cane.

Agis glanced out the front of the gallery. Across the fighting field, the crowd swarmed toward the gates. Fighting had broken out in dozens of places, most of the brawls involving spectators trying to force their way into the locked exit tunnels. Outside the High Templars’ Gallery hundreds of voices were demanding that the gates be opened and that Rikus and Neeva be freed.

Ignoring the tumult erupting in the stands, Tithian stepped to Agis’s side. With a sarcastic smile, he took Sadira’s hand and said, “ Lady Asticles , I can’t tell you how it pleases me to see you again.”

He started to kiss her hand, but Sadira jerked it away.

“I assume you’re with us,” she snapped. “Agis would have killed you by now if you supported Kalak.”

Tithian cast an exaggerated look of hurt in Agis’s direction, but did not seem surprised or angry. He faced Sadira again and said, “At this point, girl, I’m not against you.”

“Open the exits,” Sadira demanded. She pointed toward the grandstands across the arena, where Larkyn’s half-giants were trying to clear the gateways by smashing spectators with their heavy bone clubs.

“The gates can’t be raised,” Tithian answered. “Kalak had the chains cut.”

Before Sadira could respond, Rikus and Neeva came up the stairs. They were followed by two of Larkyn’s templars. Both held short swords pressed against the gladiators’ backs. Though Neeva’s steps were slow and measured, she seemed to have recovered much of the strength lost in her battle with the gaj.

Agis leaned close to Sadira and whispered, “Keep your dagger ready and follow my lead.”

Though she looked confused, the sorceress slipped a hand beneath her cape and nodded.

Tithian led the two gladiators and their guards to the front of the porch. Agis and Sadira followed, taking care to stay behind Larkyn’s men.

The leader peered over Rikus’s shoulder at the slouched body of his commander. “High One?”

Tithian said, “He’s dead.”

Keeping their daggers concealed beneath their robes just in case anyone outside the shady gallery could see what was happening, Agis and Sadira stepped up behind the two templars. They pressed the tips of their weapons to the men’s backs.

Tithian said, “You two have a simple choice to make: stay quiet and live, or sound the alarm and die.”

“The king will-”

“Probably kill us all,” Tithian interrupted. “That has nothing to do with your choice. Drop your weapons or die.” When both men let their swords clatter to the floor, the high templar added, “A wise decision. Lest you change your minds, remember that I have just given Rikus and Neeva their freedom. If you so much as move, they’ll kill you in the blink of an eye. Given the chaos in the stands, I doubt anyone will notice.”

Tithian waved the two templars to the front of the gallery, where they would be easy to watch. Once the templars had done as ordered, Neeva asked, “Agis, what’s all this about Larkyn? I thought Tithian was in charge of the games.”

Agis described the complication he had run into when he asked Tithian to secure their escape, and explained how they had improvised a solution by luring Larkyn into the gallery and murdering him.

When the noble finished, Tithian said, “At the moment, Larkyn is hardly the issue. What are you going to do about Kalak? I doubt your little pinprick will stop him from proceeding with his plan.”

“We’ll have to track him down and finish him off,” Rikus said coldly.

Neeva regarded the mul with a look of surprise. “Is this the same man who said he wanted no part in getting his friends killed?”

“I finish what I start. You know that,” Rikus replied. “Besides, if we don’t destroy Kalak now, he won’t rest until he kills us. Let’s go.”

“The Golden Tower is a big place,” Tithian said. “Perhaps it would help if you knew where to find the king the before you enter it.”

“Of course it would,” Agis said. “Are you saying you can help us?”

The high templar nodded. “I’ll want something in return.”

“Isn’t living enough?” Sadira snapped. “Help us or die, it’s that simple.”

Tithian gave her a condescending smirk. “Nothing is ever that simple.”

“It is this time,” Rikus said, moving toward the high templar. “No purple caterpillar is going to stop me from killing you now.”

Agis stepped between the mul and Tithian. “Let’s hear him out.”

Rikus shook his head and started to circle around the noble, but Neeva pressed her hand against the mul’s chest. “What is it you want, Tithian?” she asked, still watching Larkyn’s men from the corner of her eye.

Smiling, the high templar said, “I’m not asking for much, but it occurs to me that after you kill Kalak, Tyr will need a new king.”

“Never!” cried Sadira.

Rikus and Neeva added their protests in the form of disgusted snorts, then Agis asked, “Why would we change one tyrant for another?”

“Because without a king, Tyr will fall into chaos,” the high templar replied, nonplussed by the objections.

“Someone will have to run the city. Otherwise, it will fall into ruins as surely as if Kalak becomes a dragon. Who better to assume that position than the templar? We’ve been running the city for a thousand years-”

“And we all know what you’ve made of it!” Agis objected.

“Then help me make it better,” Tithian urged. He almost sounded sincere.