“We’re not going to save any lives if we die before we have a chance to attack the king,” Rikus replied. “On the other hand, we could be certain of saving thousands of lives by spending the afternoon warning those who didn’t go to the games.”
“Rikus, this is about more than saving lives,” Agis said. “It’s about liberty-”
“We have our liberty,” the mul responded. “That’s what matters to me.”
“This isn’t about liberty either,” Sadira interrupted. “It’s about evil. If someone had stopped the sorcerer-kings a thousand years ago, Athas wouldn’t be the terrible place it is today. If we don’t stop Kalak now, who knows what the world will be like tomorrow?”
“I understand that,” Rikus answered, “but you and Neeva-and even Agis, I suppose-are more important to me than all of Tyr. I’ll help you fight Kalak, but I don’t want any part of getting any of you killed.”
“Perhaps it won’t come to that,” Agis said. “That’s the other reason I want to be near Tithian when we attack. If anyone can save us after Kalak dies, it will be him.”
“That’s a nice thought, but I don’t see why he would,” Neeva said, shaking her head. “After Kalak dies, Tithian will want to hide his part in the assassination. It’ll be in his interest to make sure that everyone who knows about his involvement is killed.”
“Which is why I’ll be nearby,” Agis countered. “The threat of an immediate and painful death will persuade Tithian to help us escape-that much I can promise.”
“It’s better than anything I’ve thought of,” Rikus admitted.
“Good,” Sadira said. “Now that we’re all happy, let’s go.” She started toward the stadium before anyone could debate the issue further.
“I didn’t say I was happy,” Rikus grumbled, laying the spear over his shoulder and starting after her.
Agis stepped to his side. “I’ll help you and Neeva get into the stadium,” he offered. “As … slaves you might have some difficulty …”
“I think they know us here,” the mul said with a smile of pride.
The mul motioned to Neeva, then walked across the street to the nearest gate. As the pair of famous gladiators entered the dark passageway, the guards moved aside and tipped their polearms in salute.
Rikus and Neeva stepped into the arena. The crowd’s thunder shook even the granite foundations of Tyr’s mighty colosseum. The two gladiators paused in the arched entryway to let their eyes adjust to the bright light. The mob roared even louder. Moments later, the matched pair walked toward the center of the fighting arena, leaving behind them the stale stench of wine and sweat that hung close to the stands.
As usual, both gladiators were lightly armored and armed, for they believed in fighting with mobility as well as strength. They were dressed in the emerald-green battle array that Neeva had selected before they came to the stadium. Rikus wore nothing but a breechcloth, leather cuirass, bone skullcap, and spiked cops upon both his knees and elbows. For a weapon, he carried the Heartwood Spear.
Neeva was armed with the steel-bladed trikal Agis had given her. In addition to her breechcloth and chest halter, she wore an ivory-horned helm and a pair of shoulder pauldrons from which hung a winglike cape. Long gauntlets covered her forearms, and a pair of greaves with spiked knee cops protected her shins.
When the pair reached the center of the immense sand field, they stopped and acknowledged their ovation by raising their weapons to the crowd. The stadium was as full as Rikus had ever seen it. In the grandstands, people sat in every available space, completely blocking the aisles and stairs. The balconies overhead were more crowded. Spectators even sat at the edge of the overhang, clinging to the rope railing to keep from being pushed off their precarious perches.
It seemed to Rikus that every person in the stands was yelling or screaming or slapping their palms against the stone seats. He could hear his name being shouted in a thousand places all at once. The mul wondered if any of those showering him with adulation now would try to help him or Neeva when he threw the spear into Kalak’s heart.
After acknowledging the crowd’s applause, the gladiators bowed to the ziggurat looming over the western end of the arena. Next they faced the High Templars’ Gallery, a small seating box protruding from the grandstand balcony. Its back and sides were screened to hide the occupants from the people in the stands, and a yellow canopy hung over it to provide shade. Though the resulting shadows prevented Rikus from seeing into the gallery itself, he hoped that one of the figures watching from the darkness was Agis.
“Tell me, on whom should I place my wager, Rikus or Kalak?” Tithian asked, leaning toward Agis to make himself heard above the din of the stadium.
“Rikus, of course,” Agis answered. He looked toward the King’s Balcony, where Kalak’s wrinkled face could be seen just above the railing. “If you bet on Kalak, you lose-no matter what.”
The high templar raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Agis nodded, then leaned closer to Tithian’s ear. Speaking just loud enough to make himself heard, the noble reported what they had learned from Nok. There was a small risk that Kalak was magically eavesdropping on their conversation, of course, but Agis suspected the king would have other things on his mind at the moment.
Tithian’s face paled, and he slumped back into his well-padded chair. “I suppose I should find this too incredible to believe.”
“Do you?” asked the noble.
The high templar shook his head.
“Then you’re with us?” Agis asked, leaning close to Tithian’s ear.
As a matter of routine, the senator had been searched before being allowed into the gallery and was unarmed. Nevertheless, his command of the Way was always with him. If he did not receive a satisfactory answer from his old friend, Agis was prepared to kill the high templar.
“I never said I would help, only that I wouldn’t stand in your way,” Tithian answered. “I’ve kept my word, as is obvious from the fact that you’re here and my gladiators are down there.” He pointed toward the center of the arena, where Rikus and Neeva still waited his answer to their salute.
“There are no bystanders in this,” Agis said. “You’re either with us or against us.”
Tithian met his friend’s menacing gaze evenly. “I’ll want something in return.”
“What?”
The templar shrugged. “It depends on what you want me to do.”
“What we need should be a simple matter for someone of your authority,” Agis said. “Just get us out of here after Rikus throws the spear.”
Tithian closed his eyes and let an ironic sigh escape his lips. “Agis, I’m not in charge of the security force,” he said. “Kalak assigned that responsibility to Larkyn.”
In the center of the field, Rikus was beginning to fear that he had been right not to trust Tithian. At any moment, he expected a detachment of half giants to rush into the arena, or a pair of magical lightning bolts to streak out of the gallery and destroy both him and Neeva.
He waited. Nothing happened, save that the din in the stands rose to a fevered frenzy. The two gladiators stood motionless in the stifling afternoon heat, the stale odor of the morning’s blood and death lingering in the sands.
At last Tithian stepped to the edge of the porch, where Rikus and Neeva eould see him. He acknowledged their salute by waving a black scarf. “It’s about time,” Rikus growled, spinning on his heel to face the eastern end of the arena.
“Don’t complain,” Neeva countered, also turning. “It looks like Agis was right about Tithian.”
This time, the two gladiators faced the Golden Tower, where the King’s Balcony overlooked the end of the fighting field. A single pair of half-giant guards stood on each side of the balcony, flanking a huge throne of jade. The throne sat at the front edge of the small box. The pate of Kalak’s bald head, his golden diadem, and his dark eyes were barely visible above the balcony’s front wall.