You can do that?
Tamar cooed, It will take my fellows but a few moments to reach us.
Leave them! Rikus commanded, trying to imagine the disaster that would follow if Tamar’s fellow wraiths appeared and threatened his gladiators. This is my legion. I can control it.
That remains to be seen, Tamar said.
When the wraith offered no further comment, Rikus released Styan and pushed him away. “Talk.”
The templar smoothed his cassock, then glanced over his shoulder at the men behind him. “These gladiators have no wish to stay here and starve,” he said, his voice gaining confidence. “They’re going to fight past the Urikites.”
“And you’re going to lead them?” Rikus asked, a contemptuous sneer on his lips.
“They’ve asked me to organize them, yes,” he answered.
“No,” Rikus said, simply. “You can tell them no.”
Styan grimaced, then looked at the ground. “They won’t accept that answer.”
“Do you take me for an imbecile?” Rikus yelled, stepping for ward and laying the edge of his blade against the man’s throat. To Rikus, this incident confirmed the templar to be Maetan’s spy. “Don’t think I’m blind to your purpose, traitor!”
Styan began to tremble. “What do you mean?” he gasped.
“How do you pass your messages to Maetan?” the mul demanded. “The Way?”
A comprehending light dawned in the templar’s eyes. “You think I betrayed us!” he gasped.
“And you’ve proven it,” Rikus growled.
Styan shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not me. Maetan’s servant came to me, but I tried to destroy her-I would not betray us!” he gasped.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Rikus demanded, raising his sword.
Before the mul could strike, the tarek stepped forward, a double-bladed axe in his hands. “If you kill him, you’ll have to kill me, as well.”
“And me,” said a broad-shouldered man hefting a huge spiked club.
“Me too,” added another gladiator, then another and another.
Hardly able to believe his eyes, Rikus shoved the templar to the ground and planted a foot on his throat. “Two nights ago, this man had you stacking rocks while his templars laughed and joked around the campfire,” Rikus said. “Now you’re defending him?”
“He was the only one who would agree to their plan,” said Neeva, appearing from around the edge of the mob. As she waded through the bones, she waved her axe at several figures following her: Jaseela, Caelum, Gaanon, and K’kriq. “None of us would listen to their foolishness.”
Rikus furrowed his brow and looked at the templar. “This wasn’t his idea?”
“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was,” growled the tarek. “We’re free men, and we’re leaving.”
“We’ll die in battle before we starve like cowards,” added another.
“I am in command!” Rikus snapped. “You will-”
The musty smell of mildew and rot filled the mul’s nostrils, and he stopped speaking in midsentence. An instant later, he noticed the gray silhouttes of eleven wraiths swimming through the bones beneath his feet. Their eyes were glowing in a variety of familiar, gemlike colors: citrine yellow, sapphire blue, topaz brown, and more.
Tamar, no!
Your warriors must learn to fear you, she responded.
As the gray shadows passed beneath the gladiators’ feet, the Tyrians cried out in astonishment and alarm. The tarek cast an accusing glare at Rikus.
“What magic is this?” he demanded.
Before the mul could answer, the sun-bleached skeletons of long dead figures began to rise in the middle of the throng. Clinging to these bones like long-forgotten coverings of flesh were the gray forms of the wraiths.
In front of the tarek rose a skeleton with glowing, citrine-yellow eyes. As the abomination reached for his throat, the gladiator screamed and used his axe to lop both hands off at the forearms. The wraith adjusted its attack and thrust the jagged ends of the skeleton’s arms into its foe’s meaty throat.
The tarek was not the only gladiator to fall. Dozens of Tyrians lashed out at the shambling skeletons, bashing skulls, hacking off arms, shattering whole racks of ribs. Nothing helped. The wraiths ignored the damage and struck back with the jagged ends of their fleshlike limbs. Within moments, fifteen warriors lay in the bones, groaning in agony or simply watching their life blood drain away.
Neeva and those with her rushed into the fray. Rikus quickly lost sight of the others, but he saw Neeva splinter a skeleton from head to pelvis with a downward stroke of her mighty axe. Her effort was to little avail. The wraith simply abandoned the shattered skeleton in favor of another one, then rose stiffly from the piled bones to counterattack.
“Go back!” Rikus called, stepping past Styan. “If you want to live, return to camp!”
The mul did not need to repeat himself. As he went forward, the gladiators retreated with horrified expressions, some begging him to stay away and others cursing his name. Rikus ignored them and stumbled toward Neeva as fast as he could. Before he reached her, a skeleton rose at her side and thrust a broken shard of hand into her ribs. She screamed and spun around to hit the thing with the flat of her axe blade, but Rikus reached it first and used the Scourge to slice its legs from beneath it.
“Rikus, what did you do?” Neeva cried, running her gaze over the dead and dying gladiators strewn over the bones. “What are these monsters?”
Two more skeletons rose at her side.
“Go!” Rikus yelled, shoving her toward camp.
In the same instant, Caelum stepped out of the crowd, one hand raised toward the sun and the other pointed at Neeva. “Away!” he cried.
A crimson light flared from his palm, illuminating everything before it in a wash of blinding scarlet. The two wraiths flanking Neeva hissed and shrieked in agony, then dived back into the bones and shot away.
Inside Rikus’s breast, Tamar’s ruby began to sear the inflamed flesh of his wound. The mul felt as though his chest had been pierced by a bar of newly forged iron. Screaming, Rikus turned away to shield the wound from the dwarf’s spell. The pain eased, but did not go away entirely.
Run! Run! Hide us from the sunflame! For once, Tamar was pleading, not ordering.
No!
The mul faced Caelum and threw his robe open to expose the ruby to the full force of the dwarf’s spell. The scorching in his chest grew excruciating, and he heard himself howl in agony.
Stop! begged Tamar.
Leave my body! Rikus demanded. Leave or I’ll destroy you!
Though he feared he would burst into flames at any moment, Rikus moved forward. The pain grew more horrible with each step, he could hardly believe that the bestial shrieks filling his ears came from his own mouth. The mul closed his mind to the sound and the pain.
The sunflame hurts, but does not destroy, the wraith said, her voice rasping with pain. You’ll destroy yourself, but I will remain.
The smell of burning flesh came to the mul’s nose as a wisp of greasy black smoke rose from his wound. Tamar’s ruby gleamed bright orange, a glowing ember flickering deep inside his breast.
Who will lead your legion from this valley? the wraith pressed, every word betraying her agony. Who will destroy Maetan, who will return the ancient book to the dwarves?
The mul’s skin began to char and blacken around the ruby, but Tamar still showed no signs of leaving.
Your warriors fear that you have become one of us. If you let yourself die, who will tell them otherwise? Tamar demanded. Who will tell Neeva?
Rikus looked up and saw Caelum’s angry red eyes locked on his. The cleric stood with his hand thrust toward the mul’s face, and in the dwarf’s palm flashed a miniature crimson sun.