Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 2 - The Crimson Legion (23 page)

At last, the pain subsided. The wraith's body flowed into the ruby in a wispy stream of
shadow. Rikus looked down and saw that Tamar had lodged the stone in his left breast, with
one facet exposed and peering out from beneath his skin like a blood-red eye.

I'll be with you wherever you go,
she said, her silky voice echoing to him on his own heartbeats.
I'll see what you see, I'll hear what you hear, and I'll know what you're thinking. If
you betray us, you'll wish I had let Catrion kill you here.

To emphasize the threat, a searing streak of pain shot through the mul's body. Rikus
gasped, then nodded slowly.

Very good,
she said.
You may survive to serve our purpose.

Rikus retrieved his weapon, then stood. “Can I leave?”

Catrion's eyes flashed brilliant yellow, then she said, “Follow me.”

With that, she walked to the bas-relief depicting her slaughter of the cavern-dwelling
dwarves. She stood before it for a moment, then the figures slowly came to life and backed
away from the center of the panel. When they had vacated an area about as large as a man,
a door-shaped area of stone darkened to jet black. Catrion stepped into the black area and
disappeared.

Follow her,
advised Tamar.
The portal will not remain open for long.

Rikus reached out to touch the blackened wall and found that there was nothing there. He
stepped into the portal and emerged instantly in the small foyer where he had fought
Umbra. Next to him stood one of the statues from the exterior balconies of the citadel. It
was the same tall, gaunt man that who had been attacking the dwarves in one of the
bas-relief panels inside the tomb, and his arms were held out before him as if to carry
something.

“That wasn't here when I came down,” Rikus observed.

Nikolas used it to carry you down here,
Tamar explained.
Outside our tomb, it is difficult for us to touch material things directly. Instead, we
use our power to animate the statues.

Rikus nodded, then went to where he had thrown himself on Umbra's flame. The shadow
giant's body was nowhere in sight, but the stones where he had fallen were stained black
and they felt cold to the touch. The mul smiled.

“I killed him, didn't I?” he asked.

“Who?” asked Catrion.

Rikus pointed at the stones. “Umbra. The beast I was fighting when I got hurt.”

“We saw no beast,” Catrion answered simply. She gestured at the stairs. “That way out.”

Shrugging, Rikus climbed the stairs. If Umbra had not actually died there, then he had
certainly suffered a grievous wound. Right now, the mul was satisfied with that.

After ascending the stairway into the circular chamber into which he had fallen earlier,
Rikus found the hallway that led to the first loge. By the damson light flooding the
corridor, he could tell that the hour outside was approaching dusk.

“I've been in here all afternoon!” the mul exclaimed, slipping between the high marble
walls and walking briskly toward the outside. Never had he wanted to leave a place behind
him as badly as this citadel.

When Rikus stepped onto the windy loge, he could not help gasping. The battlefield beneath
the citadel was bathed in the purple shadows of dusk, but there remained enough light for
him to see that it was desertedÑsave for hundreds of Urikite skeletons and the flock of
kes'trekels that had stripped them bare.

“Neeva!” Rikus yelled, gripping the hilt of his sword so that its magic could aid him in
listening for a reply.

He heard nothing but kes'trekels using their powerful beaks to crack bones, and their
sharp claws to scratch for marrow.

Lirr Hunt

A beastly, deep-throated roar broke the night's cold silence. The bellow rolled across the
stony barrens for several seconds, wavering from one bass note to another in an eerie song
that sent a shiver down Rikus's spine. When the uncanny noise finally died away, it was
answered by a similar wail far to the other side of the mul.

The cries hardly roused Rikus from his numb lethargy, and he did not even look up. Over
the last few nights, the forlorn howls had become as much a part of the landscape as the
stones that littered the parched ground upon which he walked.

The gladiator yawned and stumbled onward, every step a test of his determination. His good
leg burned with such fatigue that he could hardly swing it forward. When he put the limb
back down, the loose rocks turned beneath his foot. Inevitably, he had to catch himself on
his makeshift walking staff, the headless shaft of a Urikite spear. Once his footing was
secure, he dragged his injured leg, too numb and swollen to bend, over the rocks, then
planted it beside the first. After bracing his crutch against his sore shoulder, he took a
moment to lift the heavy lids of his eyes, then started the process all over again.

So it had gone for the last four days as he tried to catch up to his legion. During that
time, he had stopped only once, to fill his waterskin at an oasis. He had taken his meals
along the way, catching snakes or locusts as he walked, then devouring them raw. Rikus had
not even slept, for his legion had left such an obvious trail of churned sand and
over-turned stones that he could follow it by the light of Athas's two moons.

Such exertion would have killed anyone else. In muls, however, the hardy constitution of
the dwarven father enhanced the natural resilience of the human mother. When the need
arose, such as now, they could drive themselves for days without sleep or rest. Still, as
his eyelids drooped and a yawn rose to his jaws, it occurred to Rikus's fatigue-numbed
mind that he was dangerously close to collapse.

The sonorous notes of another morbid beast-song rolled across the plain, reminding the mul
that he did not dare fall asleep. Less than a hundred feet ahead, the dark form of a lirr
scrambled up a jumble of boulders and fixed its amber eyes on Rikus. As the mul watched,
the saurian creature stood upright, using its thorny tail to cling to a boulder and
balance its torso over its rear feet. The thing was about the size of a dwarf, with a
tubular body armored by diamond-shaped scales as rough and hard as the stones upon which
it stood.

Rikus altered his course so that it would take him directly toward the beast, calling,
“Come on and fight!”

Though the mul had intended to shout the challenge, nothing more than a long croak escaped
his swollen throat. He had run out of water two mornings ago. Now, well into his second
complete day of hard travel with nothing to drink, his tongue and lips were so distended
that he could not choke even the simplest words past them.

Knowing from experience that the lirr would not let him within sword's reach, Rikus
grabbed a large stone and hurled it at his would-be devourer. The mul's aim was as dismal
as his arm was weary. The rock clattered to the ground well wide and far short of the
beast.

The lirr flared its spiked throat-fan and snarled at Rikus, showing a mouthful of serrated
teeth. The mul threw another rock. This time his aim was better, but the beast swatted the
projectile away with a clawed forefoot. It remained on its rock, angrily slashing at the
air, taunting the weary gladiator with hisses.

When the lirr let Rikus close to ten feet without fleeing, the gladiator began to hope it
would be stupid enough to fight him. Electing
not to
telegraph his attack by drawing the Scourge of Rkard, the mul lashed out with his staff.

The blow struck the lirr in its scale-covered torso. Not flinching, the beast flicked its
long tongue across Rikus's face. The mul's cheeks stung as though he had been slapped.

Rikus tried to yell a curse at the beast, but barely croaked instead. He swung his staff
again. This time the pole sliced through the air without hitting anything, for the lirr
had already jumped off the rock pile and was scampering away on all four legs.

Do not let them harass you, stupid dwarf,
Tamar said, her voice echoing inside the mul's head.
They want you to waste energy.

Be silent,
Rikus ordered, resuming his weary march.
You have nothing to say that interests me in the least.

What interests you does not matter,
the wraith snapped.
Listen to me or die.

Your threats mean nothing,
the mul returned, shaking his head to an effort to keep his eyes open.
If you're going to kill me, do itÑotherwise, stay quiet.

You will do as I say!
Tamar roared.
You will kill the lirrs tonight, before you collapse.

Rikus dragged his numb leg over the sharp edge of a large rock.
I'm not going to collapse,
he responded.
We're too close to my legion.

You have claimed the same thing every night of this trek,
Tamar said.

Rikus used his staff to point at a stone that had been over-turned by the passage of his
warriors. The wind had not yet piled any sand around it, suggesting that it had been
disturbed quite recently.
Tonight is different.

And if you are wrong? What then?

Then I will die, and you will be trapped with my corpseÑat least until a lirr swallows
you,
Rikus said.

When Tamar fell silent, Rikus smiled. Over the last four days, his fear of the wraith had
turned to hatred. Her imperious attitude reminded him more and more of how he had been
treated in his days as a slave, and the mul was determined that she would have to kill him
before he let her enslave him.

Despite his hatred of the wraith, Rikus was not anxious to
die, especially
before he avenged himself on Maetan and recovered the
Book of the Kemalok Kings.
Therefore, as he continued to struggle over the rocky plain, he considered her advice. If
he was wrong about catching his legion tonight, he would collapse from thirst shortly
after the sun rose. That, he knew, was when the lirrs would move in to attack. The mul had
to admit that there was a certain wisdom in the wraith's suggestion.

After dragging himself onward until he came to the base of a knoll, the mul began to
stagger more than usual. Though the slope was a gentle one, the rocks covering it were
much larger and the effort of lifting his leg even a little higher made his thigh muscles
burn with fatigue. Just as he realized that he was more weary than he had thought, Rikus
shifted the Scourge of Rkard's scabbard forward, then stumbled and nearly fell.

All around the mul, the lirrs cried out in excitement, filling the night with their
gruesome songs. The beasts began to circle their weary prey in tightening rings, flicking
then-long tongues in his direction and flaring their large throat flaps. For the first
time, Rikus was able to count their number: six beasts, not as many as he had feared, but
more than he could slay easily.

The mul tripped again when his foot refused to rise high enough to clear a large, glassy
rock. He plunged to the ground, barely managing to break his fall with his walking stick.
Immediately, the desire to sleep flooded over him and his mouth opened in a terrific yawn.

The lirrs roared in unison, then moved in closer.

Rikus tried to spring back to his feet, but found that it was all his weary muscles could
do to lift him.

If you can barely stand now, how much worse will it be the next time you fall?
asked Tamar.
Lure them into striking range now
Ñ
before you can neither walk nor fight.

Seeing the wisdom of the suggestion, Rikus slipped his good hand down to his sword hilt,
then lay his head on his walking staff.

Instead of rushing in to attack, the lirrs fell silent and dropped to the ground, their
amber eyes watching the mul on all sides. There they remained, absolutely motionless and
so quiet that, even gripping the Scourge of Rkard, Rikus heard only the soft hiss of their
panting.

Close your eyes,
advised Tamar.
I think the lirrs can see that they're open.

I'll fall asleep,
Rikus said. The stones beneath his body, still warm from the day's heat, were soothing the
mul's sore muscles and taunting him with relaxation.

It will not matter,
Tamar said.
With the Scourge in your hand, you will hear them coming.
Anxious to draw the lirrs into battle, Rikus closed his eyes. In his mind, he began
repeating,
Stay awake, stay awake.

With each refrain, his words seemed to grow more and more distant, and soon he could not
hear them at all.

Rikus started awake to the sound of a soft clack, then felt his crutch slipping from
beneath his face. As his cheek dropped onto the sharp edge of a stone, the groggy mul
opened his eyes and saw a lirr backing away from him. It was using its long tongue to drag
his walking staff away.

Rikus hoisted himself to his feet and stumbled after the beast, pulling his sword from its
scabbard. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the gleam of moonlight in a pair of
amber eyes and heard stones clatter off to his side. By the time he turned, the second
lirr had launched itself at him and was flying through the air with the claws of all four
feet fully extended.

The mul raised his sword to defend himself, shaking his head violently in a vain effort to
clear the fog from his mind. It was to little avail. Even under the threat of death, the
reactions of his exhausted body were slow and cumbersome. The lirr struck him full in the
body.

Searing pain burned through the mul's torso as the beast's foreclaws raked across the
unhealed burn wound on his chest. He felt the thing's rear feet scratching at his stomach,
and the gladiator knew that only his Belt of Rank had stopped the monster from
disemboweling him.

Instead of fighting to retain his feet, Rikus allowed the lirr's charge to bowl him over.
As he hit the rocks, he tucked his chin and used his good leg to kick off the ground,
continuing the roll and throwing the beast off himself. It landed on its back two paces
away. Rikus rolled over his sore shoulder, sending a dull ache shooting through his entire
body, then brought the Scourge of Rkard down across its exposed throat.