Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 2 - The Crimson Legion (19 page)

“It's a sun fence,” Caelum offered.

“Whatever it is, it isn't pan of Rikus's plan!” she snapped.

“Rikus's plan, if he has one, is no masterwork” the dwarf replied.

Along with K'kriq, they stood atop an outcropping of granite, more or less in the center
of the thin line formed by Jaseela's small company of retainers. Through the ripples of
Caelum's sun fence, they could barely see the Urikites pushing one another forward and
bursting into flames as they neared the scorching barricade.

“Fence burn up prey,” K'kriq observed. “Leave no food for pack.” “We're not eating the
Urikites,” Caelum growled. K'kriq looked down his proboscis and clacked his mandibles at
the dwarf. “Pack largeÑneed much meat,” the thri-kreen said. “K'kriq know what you do.
Hide all for self.”

Caelum looked away, disgusted.

“Take it down!” Jaseela said.

“I won't,” the dwarf objected. “This is the most efficient way to stop the Urikites.”

“And keep my company out of the fight,” the noblewoman objected. “My retainers didn't
march halfway across Athas to watch the finalÑ”

Jaseela's mouth dropped open and she did not complete her thought, for something else had
seized her attention. Approaching from the other side of the sun fence was a figure as
tall as a full giant and as black as a well-bottom.

“What, by Kalak's grave, is that?” she asked.

“From Neeva's descriptions, I'd say it's Umbra,” the dwarf gasped.

The shadow giant took two long strides and was standing at the wall, looking down on the
barrier with two eyes of gleaming blue. After a moment's consideration, he stooped over
and a billowing cloud of black fog issued from his mouth. It settled over the sun fence
like a pall, opening a gap more than a dozen yards wide before it dissipated into the
ground.

Caelum's face went pale. “It cannot be!” The dwarf grabbed Jaseela's arm. “Scatter your
company. Tell them to run!”

The noblewoman jerked her arm free. “I'll do no such thing. We came to fight, and fight we
shall.” She waved her arms at both flanks of the line, yelling, “To the center! Plug the
gap!”

If was difficult to tell whether the officers could heat her all down the line, but even
if they couldn't, her gestures and the situation were sufficient to make her meaning
clear. As the first Urikites began to pour through the gap, Jaseela's retainers rushed to
meet them. The chime of clashing blades and the screams of dying men rang off the walls of
the narrow gorge, with more men from each side pouring into the battle each second.

Though the Tyrian retainers held their ground well enough, Caelum felt sick to his stomach
with dread. “I beg you, my lady, sound the retreat before it is too late. Our enemy is too
powerfulÑ”

“Be still,” said Jaseela. “Just because a walking shadow undoes your magicÑ”

“It is not my magic that he overcame,” Caelum said. “It was the sun's!”

Ignoring him, the noblewoman stepped to the front edge of the outcropping. As the last of
her retainers poured into battle, she shouted encouragement and commands with equal vigor.
Although the Urikites outnumbered her men and were fighting with the desperate urgency of
doomed soldiers, her company was holding the gap.

When Umbra stepped into the breach, however, Jaseela's pride changed to concern. The
shadow giant studied the battle raging at his feet for a moment, then passed his wounded
wrist over the combatants. Long wisps of black vapor trailed from the stump and hung in
the air, “What's he doing?” Jaseela demanded. “Caelum?” The dwarf did not hear her. He
stood in deep concentration, one glowing hand raised to the sun and the other stretched
out over the edge of the outcropping.

As Jaseela watched, the shadow giant spread more of the black vapor from his wound in the
air. The dark mist coalesced into a thin cloud and spread outward, passing over the
noblewoman's head and engulfing all of her army. At the same time, Umbra grew visibly
thinner, until his limbs were no thicker than those of a half-giant. The shadow giant then
began to shrink to a height proportionate with those limbs. The black cloud began to
descend like a fine mist. Almost as one, the Urikites stopped fighting and, screaming in
mortal terror, threw themselves on the ground.

In that moment, Jaseela realized that she had been wrong not to listen to Caelum.
“Retreat!” she called. “Run!”

Her cries did no good; the Tyrian retainers were so confused by the Urikites' behavior and
the black cloud that was settling over them that they were incapable of any cohesive
action. Some of them turned to flee, as she had ordered. Some hacked mercilessly at the
bodies of their prone enemies. Still others pulled their cloaks over their heads as if a
thin layer of cloth would protect them from the dark fog descending on them.

Out of the corner of her good eye, Jaseela saw a bright, crimson light flare at the edge
of the cliff. A searing heat washed over the unscarred side of her face. Thinking to
protect what remained of her beauty, the noblewoman turned away and ducked, wondering what
harrowing magic the dwarf was trying to work now.

“If you want to live, come here!” Caelum yelled. “You too, K'kriq.”

The dwarf took Jaseela's hand and pulled her toward the edge of the outcropping. There,
hovering in midair, was a hissing, crackling sphere of crimson fire. In the center of it
was a man-sized opening, out of which poured a brilliant golden light that hurt the
noblewoman's eyes as much as the red orb seared her skin.

“Inside!” Caelum yelled.

The dwarf pushed her off the outcropping, and before she had any idea of what she was
doing, Jaseela found herself jumping into the blinding ball of light.

The Citadel

A sharp pop sounded a few feet away, near the granite outcropping that dominated the
center of the gorge. A fleck of scarlet light appeared in midair and began to hiss and
crackle. In the blink of an eye, it grew into an orb of crimson flame the size of a fist.

“Get down!” Rikus screamed.

Temporarily abandoning his pursuit of the fleeing Urikites, the mul dropped to his belly.
Neeva landed at his side. All around them, gladiators cursed as they banged their elbows,
knees, and even heads on rocky points and edges. The red ball grew into a roaring globe
that blotted out the sun itself, its mottled surface crossed and recrossed by rivers of
orange flame. A black seam appeared on the sphere's underside and slowly lengthened. At
any moment, Rikus expected the joint to burst and shower his warriors with liquid fire.

Instead, the rift opened slowly, revealing a fiery yellow interior so bright that it hurt
the mul's eyes to look at it. The silhouette of a woman's form appeared in this crack,
then dropped out of the ball and landed on the rocky ground in a crumpled heap. Wisps of
smoke rose from her blackened tabard. Her face had turned as red as the sun and her
scorched hair hung over her shoulders in stiff and brittle locks.

“Jaseela!” Rikus gasped, rising to his feet.

As the mul rushed toward the woman's scorched form, K'kriq dropped out of the sphere. The
thri-kreen landed next to the noblewoman and used his body to shield her from the heat of
the orb. Caelum came next, then the globe closed up and began to shrink. By the time Rikus
reached the three warriors, the ball was gone.

The trio stank of singed hair and burned cloth. The heat had darkened even K'kriq's tough
carapace and raised small white blisters where Jaseela's skin was exposed. Only Caelum had
emerged unharmed, though his lips were swollen and cracked.

As soon as she saw Rikus, Jaseela's tongue appeared from between her lips as she tried to
say something. He kneeled at her side and placed his ear to her lips. Her words were so
faint that, had he not been holding the Scourge of Rkard, the mul would not have heard
them.

“Why didn't you warn me about the shadow?” she gasped.

The mul glanced around the gorge. He and his gladiators had just followed the Urikites
through the gap in the shimmering curtain, so he had not yet had time to inspect the area.
Still, he realized, this was where Jaseela's company should have made its stand. Instead
of a battlefield, he saw a barren expanse of rocks. There was not even a single body to
suggest that the noblewoman's company had fought here.

“What shadow?” Rikus demanded. “Where's your company?”

When Jaseela could not find the strength to answer, Caelum did it for her. “Umbra
destroyed all of them,” said the dwarf. “I tried to warn her.”

Rikus laid the noblewoman's head down, then summoned a pair of gladiators. “Take her to
the oasis. She needs water and shade.” The mul looked to Caelum and K'kriq next. “You two
go with her. You need rest too.”

K'kriq crossed his antennae. “Hunt not over!”

At the same time, Caelum frowned. “What are you going to do?”

“Avenge Jaseela,” Rikus said, waving his warriors after the Urikites. “Finish the hunt.”

“Didn't you hear me?” Caelum objected, following along. “You can't go after the Urikites.
Umbra is with them!”

“And he's hurt,” Rikus said. “If I'm ever going to kill him, it'll be today.”

“But he breached the sun's fence!” Caelum exclaimed. When Rikus paid him no mind, he
added, “If more of our warriors die, it will be on your head!”

“You're wasting your words,” Neeva said. “Go on to the oasis and find out how the templars
and the other dwarves are faring.”

Caelum fell silent and stared at Rikus in exasperation. At last the dwarf turned his red
eyes on Neeva. “If you're with him in this foolishness, then so am I.”

*****

A short distance from the gorge, Maetan of Urik stood before an ancient citadel, awaiting
the return of his defeated legion. The fortress's builders had chiseled the structure from
living rock, shaping it like a great, top-heavy argosy that sprang from the hill's
limestone flanks. Four stone wheels, each twice the height of a half-giant, were carved
into its foundation and decorated with concentric rings of stone flowers.

Above these unturning wheels, a square platform supported a massive edifice of tall
columns and balconies with gaping, dark doors behind them. Lifelike statues of male and
female humans, all armed with fanciful weapons like double-edged scythes or four-bladed
battle-axes, stood scattered over these balconies.

At the top of the citadel was a deck with a single balcony that overlooked the front of
the temple. On the prow of this loge stood the huge statue of a handsome man with a great
mane of hair and a tightly curled beard. Unlike the figures below, he carried no weapons,
and a pair of large leathery wings sprouted from his back.

“Is this edifice so interesting?” asked Umbra, gliding across the rocky canyon floor to
join his master.

Maetan looked away from the citadel. Behind the shadow giant, the first wave of his
defeated legion was just rounding the sharp bend that hid the rest of the gorge from view.

Looking back to Umbra, Maetan observed, “You failed.” The mindbender made no comment on
the dark vapor oozing from the shadow giant's wounds. He had been watching the battle
through his servant's eyes and knew how he had come by them.

“What did you expect?” Umbra asked. “Your men are cowards.”

“When they are led by a fool,” the mindbender retorted.

“You call the Tyrian mul a fool, yet his warriors would rather die than retreat,” observed
Umbra.

Maetan bit back a caustic reply, for he knew how little time he had to waste arguing with
Umbra. The Tyrians were following his legion up the canyon, and it would be only a minute
or so before they were standing where he was now. Instead, the mindbender pointed at the
ancient citadel, then said, “Perhaps my soldiers will prove braver inside a fortress.”

The corners of Umbra's blue mouth turned down. “They will be trapped,” he said. “At the
most, they will last seven days before running out of food and water.”

“That will be long enough. I need only ten days to return to my family's estate,” Maetan
said.

“And what will you do there? Explain to your family how you sullied its precious honor?”
asked Umbra.

“No,” Maetan answered. “I will redeem it.” He reached down and picked up the shoulder
satchel that he had prepared for himself, then slipped his hand inside and patted the
cover of the
Book of the Kemalok Kings.
“Stay with the cowards until they die,” he said. “Perhaps your presence will convince the
dwarves that what they seek is inside the citadel.”

The mindbender took a deep, steady breath, calling upon the Way to aid with his escape. He
pointed a finger at the top of the cliff and imagined that all the space between himself
and that location did not exist. A surge of energy rose from deep within himself, flowing
outward to make what he wished temporarily so. When he opened his eyes again, where there
had been only flakes of orange sandstone a moment earlier, Maetan saw a silvery tuft of
ground holly growing from the crevice of a broken slab of limestone. It was, he knew, the
terrain at the top of the gorge.

Maetan started to step onto the clifftop, then decided to give Umbra a last instruction.
He stopped halfway there, with one foot on the sandstone in the bottom of the gorge and
the other planted squarely on the limestone atop the cliff.

To Umbra, it looked as though the mindbender had divided his body in half. One part stood
before him in the gorge, and the other stood far overhead, barely visible at the top of
the cliff.

“One more thing,” Maetan said. “Kill the mul.”

Umbra raised the throbbing stump of his missing hand. “Nothing would please me more.”

The mindbender nodded, then stepped all the way onto the clifftop and left the gorge
altogether. Umbra took a moment to look up and watch his master climb away from the cliff
edge, then turned his attention to the task of rallying Maetan's cowardly soldiers.
Already, the first Tyrians had appeared at the bend and were busily hacking down the
slowest Urikites from behind.