Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 1 - The Verdent Passage (21 page)

“What?”

“It isn't a truce,” Tithian said, releasing the noble. “Watch yourself.”

Decisions and Promises

It was dusk in the animal shed. The beams of the descending sun rained down upon the roof
of stretched hide, setting the whole interior ablaze with crimson light. In their pens,
vicious animals paced, scuttled, or slithered back and forth impatiently, roaring,
yowling, and clacking their mandibles in anticipation of the evening meal.

“Be quiet out there!” Rikus stormed, knowing that his command was futile even as he gave
it.

It does no good to make noise,
the gaj informed him.
The feeders won't come faster.

I don't care about the feeders,
the mul replied.
I just want some peace.

Rikus sat on a cushion of rags in one corner of the pen, gingerly poking at the deep
bruises he had received while cudgel-sparring with Yarig earlier. The dwarf had fared
little better. Also covered head-to-toe in purplish marks, he sat in the opposite corner
of the pen, rewrapping the leather thongs that bound the head of his warhammer to its
shaft.

The young templar who had replaced Boaz allowed his charges to keep their weapons at
night. He realized that fighters who took care of their own equipment would have more
confidence in it. He also knew that, if the four gladiators wanted to escape, their
weapons would be of little use against the magic-wielding templars whom Tithian had
stationed around
the compound after Sadira's escape.

Rikus winced as he probed his side and felt the cartilage shift between two ribs. “Were
you trying to kill me today, Yarig?” the mul joked.

“Why would I kill a friend?” the dwarf demanded, his square jaw set in its customary
seriousness. “That makes no sense.”

“You have no business complaining about how Yarig fights,” Neeva interjected. She sat in
the center of
the pen, using a piece of curved antler to chip a new blade for Rikus's short sword.

When the mul did not answer, the woman continued, “Serving wenches brawl harder than
you've
been fighting lately.” She pressed the point of the antler against the obsidian edge she
was shaping. A tiny chip popped loose and tumbled onto a pile of similar shards. “If you
don't get your mind off that scullery girl, we'll both suffer more than a few bruises in
the games.”

“We'll win our contest,” Rikus growled. “Don't you worry about that, Neeva.”

The mul offered no further argument. There was no denying that he had been preoccupied
with thoughts of Sadira over the past few days. He felt responsible for the half-elf's
fate, yet unable to aid her. The conflicting emotions filled him with guilt and interfered
with his concentration.

Gradually Rikus realized that the din in the animal shed had reached a fever pitch. The
increasing tumult usually meant the feeders had arrived, but it still seemed too early. A
moment later, the mul heard murmuring voices approach. The other three gladiators
continued to work, but be rose and stepped toward the iron gate just as six men wearing
black cassocks stepped into view. Rikus recognized only one of them, a sharp-featured man
with a long tail of auburn hair: Lord Tithian.

No food, Rikus! complained the gaj.

The feeders will come later, Rikus answered. Be patient. Leave me to speak with these
people.

The gaj withdrew its presence and remained quiet.

“I don't suppose you've come to return us to our cells?” Rikus asked.

“You can't be serious. The least I can do for Boaz is let his punishment stand,” Tithian
replied. “Actually, I've come to speak with you. My new trainer tells me your performance
has been pitiful since Sadira's escape.”

“I'm still sore from fighting your gaj,” Rikus said, trying to avoid the topic of the
slave girl. The less the high templar knew about his feelings for her, the better. “I'll
be fine in a day or two.”

Neeva gave the mul a chiding glance, but did not rebuke his statement.

“In that case, you probably wouldn't be interested in hearing what happened to the wench,”
Tithian said sarcastically.

“Of course I would!” Rikus growled. Sensing that he had shown his opponent an opening, he
added, “I owe her a debt of honor.”

“Honor is an overvalued commodity,” Tithian said coldly.

“It's all a slave has, my lord,” Yarig said, not moving from his corner. “Knowing what
happened to Sadira might help Rikus's fighting.”

“Well spoken for a dwarf,” Tithian replied, stepping forward to peer toward Yarig.

It occurred to Rikus that he could reach through the cage and snap the high templar's
neck. The thought was such a pleasant one that the mul allowed himself to savor the
imagined feel of his owner's spine cracking in his hands, but he made no move to attack.
Rikus still wanted to win his freedom in the ziggurat games.

The mul's predatory expression was not lost on Tithian, who stepped back. “My guards would
kill you in an instant.”

“They might,” Rikus allowed, smiling slyly. “And they might not. What happened to Sadira?”

The high templar chuckled. “First, you must tell me what the Veiled Alliance wants with
you.”

Rikus ran a hand over his hairless scalp. “I didn't know that they wanted anything with
me,” the mul replied. An image of Sadira came unbidden to his mind. Was the sorceress tied
to the Veiled Alliance somehow? “Those Who Wear the Veil are not the sort to fix the
games,” the mul added quickly.

Tithian looked to one of his subordinates, an emaciated young man with bulging brown eyes.
“Is he telling the truth?”

The young man nodded. “He also knew she was a sorceress.”

Realizing he had been tricked, Rikus shot his arm through the cage.

“Mindbender!” the mul hissed, closing his fingers on the astonished fellow's cassock.
Swiftly he pulled the youth to the gate and slammed his face into the bars. As the other
templars moved forward to help, Rikus clasped his free hand on the mindbender's larynx.
“I'll rip out his throat.”

The young templar began trembling. “Stay back,” he begged, barely choking out the words.

Yarig and Neeva moved to Rikus's side. Anezka hid in the shadows, probably hoping to avoid
the punishment that was sure to follow Rikus's brash act.

The other templars looked to Titian, who calmly removed a small jar from his pocket. It
contained a purple caterpillar. “Don't kill him, Rikus.”

The mul stared at the worm, but did not release the frightened templar. “Keep your part of
the bargain.”

Tithian feigned a look of disappointment. “Have I ever broken a promise to you?” When
Rikus did not counter him, the high templar continued. “I'm not sure how, but a friend of
mine bought her. There's no need to fear on her account. Agis of Asticles cares for his
slaves the way most men care for their children.”

Rikus smiled, then patted the templar on the cheek and shoved him away. “Lucky boy.”

Tithian put his jar in a pocket, then stepped away from the pen. “By the way, the mul's
little outburst will mean a week of half-rations for you all.”

Anezka threw Neeva's chipping antler at Rikus's head. He knocked it aside, narrowly
avoiding losing an eye. The mul was getting tired of being attacked by the mute hauling,
but he could understand her anger.

As soon as the templars were gone, the gaj said,
Your femaleÑSadiraÑis not safe, Rikus.

The mul smashed his callused fist against the stone wall. He barely noticed as blood began
to stream from his knuckles. “Tithian was lying?” he asked aloud.

Tithian did not lie, but he spoke only some of his thoughts, the gaj answered. Agis has
your female, but Tithian has a watcher in Agis's burrow. He is looking for her
veiled friends.

“The Alliance?”

“What are you talking about, Rikus?” Neeva demanded.

He explained what the gaj had told him.

“Sadira in the Veiled Alliance?” Yarig scoffed. “It's impossible.”

“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 games.
It's my focus.”

“Focus?” Neeva asked.

“D
warves 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're 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 m 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.

Yang stepped toward the gate to help. Before he grasped the iron bars, he peered at the
gaj and ordered, “Back to the other side!”