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“You can have it back,” Neeva said, regarding the dwarf with an expression as amused as it was leery. She disentangled her hands, adding, “You’d do the same for me.”

“For you, I would do that and much more,” Caelum replied, still not rising. “You must accept my gift. I could not live if I did not repay you-”

“Maybe there’s a way for you to do that,” Rikus said, taking the dwarf by the arm and pulling him to his feet. “The mindbender who attacked me used his art to disappear. Can you find him for me?”

Tearing his red eyes away from Neeva, the dwarf shook his head regretfully. “I can offer some protection from the Way, but my powers are those of sun. They are of little help in seeking out a mindbender who wishes to remain hidden-though I wish matters were otherwise. For what he did to our village, the Urikite must be punished.”

“He will be,” Rikus promised. “He’ll pay for what he did to Kled, and for much, much more.”

FOUR

TOWER OF BURYN

Rikus’s eyes were fixed on the hand of Caelum, which was glowing fiery red and smoking from the fingertips. It shone so brightly that it was translucent, save for the dark network of thick bones buried beneath the flesh.

“Hold him tightly,” the dwarf said. “For its magic, the sun demands payment in pain.”

Rikus pulled Gaanon into his lap, slipping his hands beneath his friend’s massive arms and locking his thighs around the half-giant’s thick waist. “You’re sure this will work?” asked the mul.

Caelum glanced at the disk of flame hanging in the olive-tinged sky. “Each morning, do you also doubt that the sun will burn itself free of the Sea of Silt?”

“No, but this is-”

“May I proceed?” Caelum interrupted, using his free hand to point at his glowing palm, “This is quite as painful for me as it will be for your friend.”

At the other end of Gaanon’s long body, Neeva gripped an ankle under each of her muscular arms. “I’m ready.”

Rikus nodded to Caelum, and the dwarf plunged two smoking fingers into the half-giant’s ulcerating wound. Tongues of light shot outward from the wound like the strands of a spiderweb. Gaanon’s leg grew as translucent as Caelum’s hand, his veins showing through his skin like thick cord.

The gladiator’s eyes popped open. A thunderous bellow roared from his lips and echoed off the huts of Kled. He instinctively tried to sit up, and it took all of Rikus’s abundant strength to hold him down. At the half-giant’s ankles, Neeva repeatedly bounced on the flagstones as she struggled to keep his legs relatively motionless.

Gaanon pulled against Rikus’s arms, trying to reach down and knock the dwarf away from his wound. The mul held him, but only barely. Keeping a wary eye on the screaming half-giant, Caelum continued to hold his fingers in the wound. Slowly, the color faded from his hand and the flesh once again grew opaque. When all the fire had left his fingers, the dwarf withdrew them and stuffed a wad of cloth into the freshly scorched puncture.

The half-giant’s leg continued to glow, and Rikus fancied that he could even see tiny flames flickering along the sinews and veins. Gaanon stopped screaming and laid his head back in Rikus’s arms. A moment later, he closed his eyes and fell to breathing in the heavy rhythms of deep slumber.

“It’s safe to release him now,” Caelum said. He secured the plug in the half-giant’s thigh by wrapping a bandage around the leg, then glanced at Neeva. “You’re very strong. Because you held him so well, my work was much easier than it could have been.”

Neeva wrinkled her brow and did not reply, unsure of how to accept the compliment.

“What now?” Rikus asked, laying the half-giant’s head on the ground. “Do we pour water down his throat?”

“Too soon,” said Lyanius, shaking a crooked finger in Rikus’s direction. The old dwarf, who wore a bloody bandage around his head, was the one who had spoken out to warn Rikus against surrendering. Lyanius was also Caelum’s father and the village uhrnomus, a term that seemed to mean “grandfather” sometimes, but also, in a context of grave respect, “founder.”

Lyanius took Rikus by the arm and guided the mul to his feet. “You will wait for a day before he awakens.”

“A day?” Rikus gasped. “That’s too much time.”

K’kriq, who had been assigned leadership of the scouts, had already sent a runner to report that the survivors of the morning’s combat were moving toward a large group of stragglers from the first battle. There was no sign that Maetan was with the Urikite army, but now that the legion had filled its waterskins, Rikus wanted to resume their pursuit as soon as possible.

“The sun will do its work in its own time,” Caelum said. “I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do to hurry your friend’s recovery.”

“Cast another spell on him,” the mul demanded. “Even if it takes you a few hours to look it up in your spellbook and memorize it again-”

“I am no sorcerer,” the dwarf snapped, the corners of his mouth turned indignantly downward. “I am a cleric of the sun.”

“What’s the difference?” asked Neeva, placing herself between Rikus and the dwarf.

Caelum’s expression softened when he spoke to her. “Sorcerers steal their magic from plants,” he explained. “Mine is a gift of the sun. Using it takes nothing from any living thing.”

“So why doesn’t everybody use sun magic?” asked Jaseela, stepping to Neeva’s side and peering at the blazing ball in the sky. “There’s plenty of it, and everyone would benefit from magic that doesn’t ruin the soil.”

“Clerical magic is not something one takes, it is a gift bestowed on those who commune with the elements,” lectured Lyanius. The old dwarf waved his liver-spotted hand at the village. “Out of all these people who dwell beneath the sun, only Caelum has been favored with the fire-eyes.”

“So your son can’t do us any good,” Rikus said, biting his lip in frustration.

“You mean more good than he already has,” Neeva corrected, covering for the mul’s inadvertent rudeness.

Caelum shook his head and looked at the ground. “I’m sorry. Of course, if you wish to leave the half-giant with the others …”

The dwarves had offered to take care of Tyr’s wounded, but the mul was not anxious to leave a powerful fighter like Gaanon behind.

“We could use a rest,” Jaseela said, pointing her chin toward the plaza. “The past few days may not have seemed a hardship to you, but it’s been a true test of endurance for those of us who aren’t muls.”

Rikus looked over the rest of his legion. Most of his warriors were gathered around the cistern, wearily filling their waterskins or hiding beneath their cloaks in a vain effort to shield themselves from the sun.

The mul nodded. “You’re right, Jaseela. Pass the word.”

“Good,” said Lyanius. “My people will pack supplies for your legion.” The ancient dwarf motioned for Rikus to follow. “You will come with me.”

“To where?” Rikus asked. “What for?”

Lyanius gave him a sour-faced scowl that made it clear the uhrnomus did not enjoy being questioned. After Rikus had averted his gaze, the old leader summoned a dwarven girl with a round face and twinkling eyes, then gave her a long series of instructions in the guttural language of his village. Rikus took the opportunity to call Styan over. The templar had been keeping his distance ever since the mul had summoned him and his men down from the arch.

“The dwarves are giving us supplies,” Rikus said, laying his heavy arm across the templar’s shoulders. “You and your men will carry them. If any of you opens a sack without my permission, I’ll have all your heads.”

“But-”

“If you don’t like it, return to Tyr,” Rikus snapped.

“You know I can’t,” Styan said, narrowing his ash-colored eyes. “I am to stay with the legion and report.”