“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. Though 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.