The elf lashed her whip around the baazrag’s legs. The furry beast-woman fell at Gaanon’s feet. He quickly beheaded it with another swift stroke of his axe.
“Let’s see if we can work our way toward Kalak,” Rikus said, leading them toward the general melee.
The seeming chaos of free-for-all combat was actually comprised of many smaller fights between a handful of combatants. Rikus carefully picked his way past these little battles toward the center of the field.
A few yards from the pyramid, two gith moved forward to intercept the mul and his partner. Keeping their bulging eyes fixed on Rikus and Neeva, the hunched lizard-men moved forward in a stooped gait that could not quite be described as scuttling or loping. Each of the scrawny creatures wore a plumed helmet atop its bony, arrow-shaped head. Mekillot-shell plates protected the vulnerable spines on their backs.
“Let’s make quick work of these two,” Rikus said, bringing his spear to a defensive position. He did not add a warning to watch for psionic tricks, for he and Neeva had fought gith before. She knew their innate abilities as well as he did.
“Don’t waste time talking!” she said, stepping to his side. “Just kill them.”
The smallest gith led the charge, rushing Rikus with a series of awkward hops. The mul brought the creature to a quick halt by threatening it with his spearpoint. The gaunt lizard-man reluctantly raised its spike mace to trade blows. The maneuver, Rikus knew, would soon result in its undoing.
The other gith stopped a few yards from Neeva and studied her trikal with a bulging, lidless eye. An instant later, Neeva’s weapon slithered to life in her hands.
“The damn thing animated my trikal!”
Without taking his eye off his own foe, Rikus shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said loudly, addressing Neeva’s attacker. “It only makes her mad.”
A stout templar with a lined, leathery face stormed into the gallery. The man stopped directly in front of Agis’s chair, blocking the noble’s view of the fight between his friends and the two gith.
“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded the newcomer. He ignored Agis completely and fixed his attention on Tithian.
“The meaning of what, Larkyn?” Tithian asked.
“You closed the gates too soon!” Larkyn said. “Half my templars are locked outside, and the crowd is already growing restless.”
“Is that so?” Tithian asked nonchalantly. He gave Agis a knowing glance.
Larkyn looked at the senator and frowned, but showed no sign of recognizing him. This did not surprise the noble, for high templars avoided the Senate as diligently as senators avoided the High Bureaus. Though their names were certainly known to each other, Agis doubted that they had ever been within a hundred feet of one another before today.
When the noble made no move to rise, Larkyn cleared his throat forcefully.
A sly grin flashed across Tithian’s thin lips, then he cuffed Agis with the back of his hand. “How dare you sit while a high templar stands!”
Agis jumped to his feet with all the chagrin of a subordinate who had forgotten his place. “Please forgive me, High One,” he groveled, bowing to Larkyn. “I was absorbed by the contest.”
Larkyn dismissed him with a wave of his hand, then sat in the chair the noble had just vacated. Agis stepped to the back of the booth and glanced down the stairway. At the bottom stood a knot of two dozen lower-ranking templars. Though it was impossible to tell Tithian’s men from Larkyn’s, Agis could see that one group was blocking the other’s access to the gallery.
Admiring the astuteness with which Tithian had maneuvered Larkyn into the chair, Agis stepped close behind it so no one could see what be was doing. He reached under his robe and withdrew the stiletto Tithian had given him before Larkyn arrived-the high templar, of course, being free from any sort of weapons search. While the noble would have preferred to use the Way, leaving Larkyn alive but incapacitated, his old friend had insisted upon a dagger in the back.
As Agis thrust the blade through the soft chair, a white light flashed from the gateway into which Sadira had fled. It was not particularly bright, neither was it long-lived, nor did it create a peal of thunder. Nevertheless, it was quite visible, and many curious spectators found their attentions split between the combat in the arena and the mysterious pyrotechnics in the stands.
“Did you see that?” Rikus asked, looking away from the flash he had just seen in the stands. At his feet lay the two gith, dispatched easily and without so much as a scratch to himself or Neeva. On the balcony above, Kalak perched at the edge of his throne, watching the fight with no indication that he was concerned by the flare of light. The mul decided it must have been a templar dispatching an unruly spectator.
“Rikus, pay attention!” Neeva said. “The tareks!”
The mul spun around. The powerful male tarek was so close that his musky odor filled Rikus’s nose. The female had already engaged Neeva. The two women were exchanging lightning-fast blows, filling the areas with staccato pops as they blocked and parried.
Chilo swung his heartpick at Rikus, striking for the mul’s arm. For his part, Rikus used his spear to block. A sharp crack sounded, then the pick whistled past Rikus’s side. The tarek opened his muzzle and bared his white fangs, then slashed at the mul’s stomach with the handfork. Rikus pulled back. As the sharp blades scraped across his light cuirass, he leveled a side-thrust kick at Chilo’s massive chest. As it landed, the tarek flared his cavernous nostrils. Otherwise, he did not flinch. Rikus pushed away, trying to put a little space between himself and Chilo’s hulking form.
Felorn slipped between the mul and his partner. To prevent himself from being separated from Neeva, Rikus started to move backward. The dark eyes beneath Chilo’s bony brow flashed. Rikus knew he was doing what his opponent expected. He caught himself in midstep and returned his foot to the ground. Chilo charged, swinging both weapons with fully extended arms.
Rikus raised the tip of his spear. “Expecting to intimidate me was your last mistake,” he said, stepping forward.
Chilo’s weapons sliced through the air behind Rikus. The mul thrust his spear at his enemy’s heart. The point slipped easily into the tarek’s densely muscled chest. Chilo’s mouth dropped open, his eyes glassed over, and his charge stopped-but he did not fall or even drop his weapons. He merely stepped away from the mul and pulled his body off the spear.
“I hate tareks worse than Asticles wine!” Rikus growled.
He did not doubt he had struck Chilo a fatal blow. Unfortunately, tareks often continued to fight after death.
Rikus took advantage of Chilo’s momentary shock and threw a glance over his shoulder. Felorn still stood between him and Neeva. The mul stepped backward, slipping the butt-point of his weapon between the female’s ribs. Howling in pain, she futilely tried to pull herself off the spear.
As Rikus looked back to Chilo, Felorn dropped her weapons. She thrashed about so wildly that the mul could barely hold on to the Heartwood Spear.
Chilo staggered forward and swung his heartpick at the mul. Rikus reached inside the pick’s arc and blocked the attack at the tarek’s wrist. The serrated blade flashed over his shoulder. The mul found himself staring into Chilo’s lifeless gaze. Without looking away, he kicked at Felorn backward, like a horse, and knocked her free of his spear. Chilo dropped his heartpick. Grabbing Rikus by the shoulder, the dead tarek raised his handfork.
One of the things that made Neeva and Rikus a great fighting team was their ability to recognize when they needed help. Now was one of those times. “Neeva!” Rikus shouted calmly.
The handfork started down. Neeva’s trikal flashed past Rikus’s head. He heard a sharp whack, then the hand holding the fork tumbled to the ground. The stump of Chilo’s bloody wrist struck the mul’s face, opening a long gash on his cheek.