The Crimson Legion Page 2

  A tremendous clatter sounded from the center of the enemy line as the first wave of Tyrians reached it. A few half-giants bellowed in pain and collapsed to the hot sand, but most used their small bucklers to deflect the gladiators’ assaults. In unison, the Urikites hefted their black-bladed axes, and Tyr’s first wave of attackers disappeared in a spray of blood.

  Rikus felt a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach, but the hiss of heavy feet shuffling through deep sand drew his attention back to his own foes. The two half-giants he had lured away from the line were almost upon him and Neeva.

  “Break right!” Rikus called, naming a trick he and Neeva had often employed when they fought together in Tyr’s arena.

  Instantly, Neeva slid several steps to her right, then sprinted forward to place herself on the flank of the half-giant approaching her. Rikus followed, moving toward the same half-giant and whirling a cahulak at his side. The Urikites attacked, trying to keep Rikus and Neeva from double-teaming either of them.

  The mul threw a cahulak toward the half-giant attacking Neeva, intentionally overshooting. The weapon sailed over the shaft of the battle-axe and swung back toward Rikus as it reached the end of its rope. The mul caught the cahulak and ducked, entangling the half-giant’s axe.

  With flawless timing, Neeva leveled her steel axe at the other half-giant, who had been moving to attack the mul from behind. Rikus heard the sound of shattering stone. Black shards of obsidian rained down on the raw skin of his back, and the Urikite’s headless axe handle banged harmlessly into his shoulder. Neeva leaped over Rikus’s back, drawing her axe back for another stroke, and a loud scream announced that her blade had found its target.

  As Neeva’s half-giant collapsed into a bellowing heap, Rikus got to his feet and jerked the other’s axe from his hands. The Urikite’s mouth fell open, and he tried to retreat. Rikus followed, burying the tip of a cahulak deep into the tall soldier’s thigh. In retaliation, the half-giant swung a huge fist. Rikus ducked, at the same time pulling his enemy off his feet. The Urikite had barely dropped to the scalding sand before the mul smashed his other cahulak into the half-giant’s head.

  When Rikus tried to remove his weapon from the half-giant’s skull, he found that it was stuck in place. A quick glance around told him that he was in no immediate danger, so he began to twist the blade back and forth to free it.

  As the mul worked, a warm glow of satisfaction spread over him. The feeling was not due to any joy he felt over the Urikite’s death, but to the skill with which he and his fighting partner had worked together. Rikus and Neeva had not fought together since their days as a matched pair in Tyr’s gladiatorial arena, and the mul missed the intimacy of those battles. When they were fighting, they moved and thought as one person, sharing thoughts and emotions deeper than even their passions while making love.

  Neeva stepped to the mul’s side and wiped her gory axe blade on the half-giant’s red tunic. By the proud smile on her lips, Rikus could tell that her thoughts were the same as his. “We haven’t lost our touch,” she said. “That’s nice to know.”

  “You couldn’t think we would?” Rikus asked, finally freeing his weapon from his opponent’s head. “No matter what, we’ll always have our touch.”

  A triumphant roar sounded from the center of the Urikite line. Rikus looked toward the commotion and saw that the second wave of his warriors had fared as well as he and Neeva. The enemy formation was in complete disarray, with Tyrians swarming the half-giants from all sides. The greatest part of the legion, however, was pouring through the shattered line and rushing toward the center of valley.

  There, the driks and their siege engines had already moved ahead, but the argosy was just now pulling even with the point of attack. The moving fortress stood three stories tall, and at each corner rose a small tower manned by guards with crossbows. A plethora of arrow loops dotted its sides, and its great doors were shut fast. The massive wagon was drawn by a team of four mekillots, giant reptiles with mound-shaped bodies and rocky shells. To Rikus, the beasts looked more like mobile buttes of solid stone than living creatures.

  Motioning for Neeva to follow, Rikus rushed toward the knot of Tyrian warriors chasing the argosy. After circumventing the last of the battle with the half-giants, they joined the mass of jubilant gladiators and worked their way to the front of the crowd.

  There, they found Agis trying to keep the mob under control, his forehead creased with irritation. As Rikus approached, the nobleman clenched his teeth and looked away as if trying to master his temper.

  At Agis’s side stood Sadira, her long amber hair bound in a loose tail, draped over a shoulder to reveal one elegantly pointed ear. In her hands, the winsome half-elf held a wooden cane with a pommel of black obsidian.

  An uncomfortable chill ran down Rikus’s spine at the sight of her weapon. It was one of two magic artifacts that had been loaned to him and his three companions for the purpose of killing Kalak, the thousand-year-old sorcerer-king who had ruled Tyr before Tithian. Rikus had sent his artifact, the Heartwood Spear, back to its owner shortly after they succeeded in assassinating Kalak. Sadira, however, had ignored the advice of her friends and elected to keep the cane. The mul secretly feared they would all pay dearly for the half-elf’s decision.

  “The battle’s going well enough so far,” Sadira observed. She glanced at Agis and lifted a peaked eyebrow at the noble’s uncustomary display of anger, then asked Rikus. “Now what?

  “Let’s smash the argosy,” Rikus answered, fixing his gaze on the huge wagon.

  “And what of the rest of our legion?” Agis demanded, finally breaking his silence. “Even you can’t think it will take two-thousand soldiers to destroy a single argosy.”

  Rikus glanced around. The half-giants had been completely overrun, and the rest of the Tyrian legion was moving forward to continue the attack. “We’re in a fight,” he answered simply. “Our gladiators know what to do.”

  “We’re not all gladiators,” Sadira reminded him. “What about the templars and Jaseela’s retainers?”

  “It would be better if they stayed out of the way,” Rikus answered, grinning. “We don’t want them to get hurt.”

  “You’re being too sure of yourself, Rikus,” Neeva said. “This is a battle, not a grand melee. Agis might be right about making a plan.”

  “I have a plan,” Rikus answered. He started toward the argosy, bringing the conversation to an end.

  It took the companions only a few moments to catch the slow-moving wagon. Several hundred warriors followed them, but the largest part of the Tyrian mob acted on its own initiative to rush after the driks and the siege machines. Agis and Sadira seemed surprised at how neatly the mob had divided itself, but Rikus was not. When it came to fighting, he trusted the instincts of his gladiators more than he trusted complicated plans and orders.

  Rikus circled around to the rear of the argosy, hoping to decrease its firepower by approaching from the narrowest wall. Despite his caution, the mul could see that gaining entrance to the wagon would be no easy thing. The side was lined with at least three dozen arrow loops, the black tips of crossbow bolts protruding from each slit. From the corner towers, the guards were shouting a constant stream of warnings down into the wagon.

  The mul saw the tips of several fingers poke out of the lowest slit on the wagon, then heard a woman’s voice call upon King Hamanu for the magic to cast a spell.

  Over his shoulder, Rikus cried, “Get down!”

  The mul grabbed Sadira and threw her to the ground, dropping on top of her as a tremendous crash boomed out of the argosy. A fan-shaped sheet of crackling red light flashed across the sand. Behind Rikus erupted a tumult of screams, which abated as suddenly as they started. The mul looked over his shoulder to see the headless bodies of dozens of gladiators crumple to the ground.

  Neeva reached out from Rikus’s side and slapped the back of his bald bead. “Fighting partners are supposed to protect each other, not their mistresses,” she said. Thoug
h her tone was light, her green eyes showed how hurt she was that it had been Sadira and not her the mul had defended.

  “I knew you’d be able to take care of yourself,” Rikus explained.

  The muffled clacks of dozens of crossbows sounded from inside the wagon. A wave of black streaks flashed from the loops, then dozens of gladiators screamed in pain.

  Rikus regarded the argosy with renewed respect. He was beginning to see why the fortress wagons were a favored mode of caravan travel. Any tribe of raiders could catch one, but stopping it might well prove to be impossible.

  After the bolts had passed, Neeva gestured at Sadira’s hand, which was the only part of the winsome half-elf showing from beneath the mul’s massive body. “You’d better get off before she suffocates.”

  As soon as Rikus rose to his knees, Sadira turned her pale eyes on him and frowned. “How do you expect me to cast spells from underneath you?”

  Before Rikus could apologize, Sadira pointed the cane at the argosy. “Nok!” she cried. A purple light glimmered within the weapon’s pommel.

  Rikus cringed, hoping that what happened next would not frighten his own superstitious gladiators as much as it injured the Urikites. Normal magic drew spell energy from the life force of plants, but Sadira’s cane extracted its power from a different source.

  Sadira called, “Dawnfire!”

  Rikus experienced an eerie tingle in his stomach, then started to grow queasy. Behind him, gladiators gasped and cried out in alarm as they, too, felt the cane drawing its energy from their life spirits.

  The sick feeling stopped an instant later, and a ball of scarlet flame streaked to the argosy. The roiling sphere spread out like a fog, engulfing the rear quarter of the wagon in ruby-red fire. The Urikites in the towers plunged from their stations, screaming in agony, and in half a dozen places the back wall burned away like parchment.

  Despite the sorceress’s devastating attack, the mekillots continued to pull the argosy forward, oblivious to what was happening behind them.

  “Into the wagon!” Rikus cried, resuming his charge—and hoping that his gladiators were not too distracted by Sadira’s magic to follow.

  Hundreds of battle cries informed him they were not, and soon he was leading a mass of screaming men and women after the smoking argosy. A few muffled clacks sounded from inside the wagon, but Sadira’s attack had taken its toll. Less than half-a-dozen black bolts shot from the arrow loops, and only one found its mark.

  Rikus charged over the scalded body of a woman dressed in the yellow cassock of Hamanu’s templars, then caught up to the argosy. Without breaking stride, he whirled a cahulak and tossed it into one of the smoking holes overhead. After tugging the rope to set the blades, the mul swung up and onto the lowest deck of the wagon’s rear firing platform.

  The horrid stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils. Fighting the urge to gag, Rikus looked around and saw that the deck had been reduced to a shambles. Scorched bodies and smashed weapons lay scattered everywhere. Flames licked at the rear wall in a dozen places, searing even the mul’s bronzed skin and filling his lungs with caustic fumes. Through the smoke, Rikus could see a doorway leading deeper into the argosy. To either side of this doorway, a ladder ascended through a manway in the ceiling.

  Facing the rear of the wagon again, Rikus kneeled and gave Neeva a helping hand up. As she climbed onto the deck, she peered past his legs and said, “Two behind you.” Her voice was as calm as if she had been spotting birds leaving their roosts at dawn.

  The mul spun on his heels, swinging a cahulak at the full length of its rope. Through the haze, he saw two soot-covered Urikites pointing their crossbows at him. Rikus dodged to one side, and the soldiers triggered their weapons. A pair of bolts sizzled past his head, thumping into the wood at the back of the wagon. At the same time, the cahulak took the first guard in the knee, its blade sinking deep into the joint. The mul tugged the rope, pulling the man off his feet.

  The second soldier reached for the obsidian short sword hanging at his side. Rikus sprang at this one, planting his foot squarely on the lion embroidered on the Urikite’s red tunic. The man dropped to the floor clutching his chest.

  As Rikus finished off the two soldiers he had disabled, Neeva reached down to help Agis into the wagon. Once the nobleman was inside, he helped Sadira up, and behind her came a steady stream of gladiators. Soon the platform was crowded with Tyrian warriors, all coughing and gasping from the thick smoke. The mul directed a few up the ladders to eliminate any survivors on the higher decks, then motioned for his friends and the others to follow him through the back doorway.

  After descending half a dozen steps, they found themselves in a corridor where the smoke was not so thick. On the walls hung a series of nets. Each held a glass ball that swung in time to the rhythmical sway of the wagon, casting a flickering green light over the floor.

  The hall ran a dozen yards to both the right and left, then turned toward the front of the wagon. The mul motioned for the first squad of gladiators to follow him and his companions into the narrow hall. “Tell those behind you to go the other way,” he ordered.

  They started down the corridor at a cautious jog. Upon rounding the first corner, Rikus came face-to-face with ten Urikites carrying leather fire-blankets. The mul cut down the first three before they could reach for their weapons, but not before they screamed an alarm. The rest fell into a deep slumber as one of Sadira’s spells dropped a blue cloud of magical powder over their heads.

  “Easier than I thought,” Rikus observed. “Maybe we’ll take this argosy back to Tyr as a battle prize.”

  Agis shook his head, saying, “Your victory declaration is hasty. The battle just grew more challenging.”

  The mul faced forward to see a hulking thri-kreen stomping toward him. The huge insect-man stood so tall that his short antennae brushed the ceiling, and as he moved forward his yellow carapace knocked the glowing balls from both walls. He held weapons in three of his four arms—a whip, an obsidian short sword, and a gythka, a short pole-arm with blades of crystal rock at both ends.

  “Sadira?” Neeva asked hopefully.

  “I can’t do anything without killing us, too,” the sorceress answered.

  “Give me some room,” Rikus said.

  “I’ll aid you with the Way,” Agis said, motioning the rest of the group back around the corner.

  “I’d appreciate that.” Rikus gave the noble a nervous grin, then added, “Not that I need help.”

  Despite his brave words, the mul shared his companions’ concern. As menacing as the thri-kreen’s four arms and weapons were, the beast’s mouth posed the real danger. In his days as gladiator, he had fought many mantis-warriors, and he knew that if he allowed the thing to so much as nip him with a mandible, the beast’s saliva would paralyze him.

  The thri-kreen waded through the blue cloud of Sadira’s sleep spell without suffering the slightest hint of drowsiness. The mul set his cahulaks to whirling in an interweaving pattern, then calmly awaited his foe’s approach.

  With little hesitation, the mantis-warrior jabbed the tip of his gythka at Rikus, also lashing out with his whip. With one cahulak, the mul knocked the gythka aside and allowed the thri-kreen’s whip to wrap itself around his other cahulak. Rikus stepped forward, moving into striking range for his weapons. The thri-kreen leveled a short sword at Rikus’s throat, and the mul ducked in time to keep the beast from lopping his head off. Before Rikus could recover, the thri-kreen’s clacking mandibles descended toward his neck.

  Rikus dropped to his back and kicked upward with his heel, catching the mantis-warrior square in the thorax. The blow would have smashed a man’s chest, but it hardly even rocked the thri-kreen. After a momentary pause, the chattering mandibles continued their descent, dripping saliva over the mul’s face. Heart pounding in fear, Rikus swung both cahulaks at his foe’s bulging eyes.

  The mul’s reach fell short and the bone blades smashed into the thing’s snout, barely scratching the
beast’s chitinous armor. Nevertheless, the attack gave the thri-kreen pause, and he retracted his head, moving his vulnerable eyes out of Rikus’s range. The mul hammered his cahulaks at the carapace on his foe’s chest, driving the huge insect off him.

  “Don’t kill him, Rikus!” Agis called.

  “Why not?” Rikus demanded, standing.

  “He’s not entirely hostile,” the noble responded. “If I can help him, he’ll help us.”

  Rikus regarded the thri-kreen cautiously, waiting for Agis to make good on his promise. The mantis-warrior seemed confused for a moment, then glared over the mul’s shoulder and rushed forward with his attention fixed on Agis. Realizing that the noble’s mental contact had done little more than distract the creature, Rikus took advantage of the moment to dart forward and slip to the thri-kreen’s side, where the mantis-warrior would have trouble reaching him with both weapons and mouth.

  Seeing Rikus slip into this dangerous position, the mantis-warrior stopped his charge and used two arms to smash the mul into the wall. The blows drove the breath from Rikus’s lungs, filling his torso with a dull, crushing ache. The thri-kreen dropped his whip and lashed out with the claws of a three-fingered hand. The mul barely saved his eye by turning his head away, but the thri-kreen opened a jagged gash down his cheek.

  Rikus struck at the beast’s head, releasing the cahulak so he would have the range to reach his target. This time, it was the thri-kreen’s turn to duck, and the weapon passed over the back of the thing’s neck. As it reached the end of its rope, the cahulak circled around and reappeared on the close side of the mantis-warrior’s head. The mul caught the shaft and tugged with all his might, pulling himself onto the thing’s back. He started to call for help, but never got the chance.

  The thri-kreen stood upright and smashed him into the ceiling. The mul’s cry ended with a stifled groan. Rikus tried to cry out again, then gave up and settled for merely retaining his hold. The mantis-warrior smashed the mul’s aching back again and again into the ceiling.