Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 2 - The Crimson Legion (5 page)

Agis's jaw dropped. “I can't believe you're saying this,” the noble gasped. “How can you
expect to win the battle now?”

“Because I have to,” Rikus snapped. “Even if I could convince the gladiators to run, the
Urikites would only chase us down. By fighting, at least we'll buy you the time you need
to reach the city.”

“We will win,” declared Gaanon. The half-giant was sunburned, with a flattened nose and a
gap-toothed mouth. Like many half-giants, he was a consummate mimic who tried to adopt the
habits and appearance of those he admired. At present, he had shaved all the hair from his
body and, like Rikus, wore only a hemp breechcloth. “To lose is to die,” Gaanon said,
repeating a favorite gladiatorial saying.

“I'll stay, too,” Neeva said.

“So will I and
my
retainers,” added Jaseela.

The mul looked to Styan. To his surprise, the templar gave a reluctant nod. “The king's
orders were explicit,” said the old man. “We're to stay with the legion.”

“What did
you
do to anger our wonderful king?” Jaseela asked, raising the brow over her undamaged eye.

“Your jokes are not amusing,” sneered Styan.

Next, Rikus turned to K'kriq and explained the situation in Urikite, suggesting that the
mantis-warrior accompany Agis and Sadira back to Tyr.

“No!” the thri-kreen cried. “Stay with hunting pack. Drive wagon for you, smash black
wall.”

“You can pilot the argosy?” Rikus asked.

“Phatim make K'kriq steer when he sleep,” the thri-kreen explained. “Start, stop, turn.”

“Then you stay,” he said, warmly slapping the thri-kreen's hard carapace. The mul checked
on the advancing wall of darkness and saw that it had reached the bottom of the hill, only
two hundred yards away. He ordered Gaanon and the gladiators to throw the Urikite water on
the burning argosy, then turned to Agis and Sadira. “You two had better go
now.”

“Fight well,” Agis said, holding his hands palm up in a formal gesture of farewell. “I
will be hoping that Hamanu's soldiers do not.”

“It won't matter,” Rikus answered, returning the noble's gesture by clasping both upturned
hands. “They'll fall.”

“We can only hope,” Sadira said. She stepped to the mul's other side and squeezed his arm.
“Do what you must, love, but be careful.” She glanced at Neeva, then added, “I want both
you and Neeva back alive.”

“We'll be fine,” Rikus replied. He took her head between his hands and gave her a
lingering kiss. “You and Agis are the ones who should be careful. After all, we're only
outnumbered. You two are facing Tithian.”

With that, Agis and Sadira trotted away from the battle. Rikus turned to Styan and
Jaseela, assigning the templar to take his company to the left flank of the wall of
darkness and Jaseela to take hers to the right.

When he issued no further instructions, Styan asked, “And what do you wish us to do there?”

“Fight,” Rikus answered, scowling. “What do you think?”

“Your battle plan doesn't seem very complete,” ventured Jaseela. “Are we to push the
flanks in on themselves, slip past to attack from the rear, hold our positions, or what?”

“How can I tell you that? I don't know what will happen anymore than you do,” Rikus
answered, motioning for them to return to their companies. “You'll know what to do.”

After Jaseela and Styan left, Rikus ordered the gladiators to fall in behind the argosy,
then turned toward the wagon himself. The muffled hissing and sputtering of dying fires
sounded from inside the wagon, and huge billows of white steam poured from every opening.
Gaanon's helpers were hefting the huge water casks into the cargo door. Inside, the vapor
was so thick that Rikus could barely make out the half-giant's form as he grabbed a keg
and disappeared deeper into the wagon.

From what Rikus could see, the back of the wagon had been burned down to its frame of
mekillot bones. Forward of the cargo door, the argosy was still more or less intact, with
gray fumes rising from the upper levels and steam from the lower. Clearly, the wagon would
never carry supplies again, but it might serve to bull through a line of UrikitesÑ
assuming that was what the Tyrians found on the other side of the dark wall.

“Smash those casks and take up your weapons,” Rikus yelled, sweeping his arm at the large
number of water barrels that had not yet been hoisted into the wagon. “The argosy will
hold together long enough for what we need.”

As the warriors obeyed, he led Neeva and K'kriq into the steaming wagon. They stumbled
forward, coughing and choking, finding their way toward the pilot's deck by green halos of
light shining from the glass balls on the walls. Although Gaanon had already put out most
of the flames in this part of the wagon, the walls and floors were still flecked with the
orange embers of smoldering fires. The heat in the corridors was thick and oppressive,
scalding Rikus's bare skin and searing his nose and lips with each cautious breath.

Paying the heat no attention, K'kriq led the way up to the pilot's deck. As they climbed
the ladder, Rikus heard the hiss of evaporating liquid and saw Gaanon throwing water from
a large barrel as though it were a mere bucket. The half-giant's efforts were to little
avail, for the fire had already burned through the back wall in numerous places, with
yellow flames shooting between the planks in many more. Fortunately, the air on the deck
was now clear, for any smoke drifting into the room was sucked back through the holes in
the rear wall.

“That's enough, Gaanon,” Rikus called. “Get your club.”

The half-giant breathed a sigh of relief and smashed the water barrel, still half-filled,
against the burning wall. Gaanon disappeared in the resulting cloud of steam, but his
heavy footsteps let the mul know that the huge gladiator was moving toward the ladder.

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 tintinnabulation 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. 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 beads 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 mekillots had reached the curtain of darkness.
The tips of their noses had
no sooner disappeared
into 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
mekillots 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 speartips 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!”

The thri-kreen's mekillots snapped and stomped into the soldiers massed near the argosy,
ripping a wide swath of destruction through the middle of the throng. Aided by the enemy's
confusion and fear, the Tyrian gladiators tore into their foes like a cyclone into a faro
field. Within moments, the coppery smell of blood filled Rikus's nose and the shrieks of
dying Urikites rang in his ears.