“Skull Wearer has long hated Andropinis,” Yvoluk said. “You must protect our sorcerer-king and save Balic!”
Below, the beast giants reached the docks, ripped the silt skimmers free of their moorings and smashed the hulls. Pressing their shoulders against the pilings, two reptile-headed giants shattered a sturdy dock, tearing it down. The attackers swarmed forward in a frenzy, wrecking all of the boats.
Most of the silt sailors had evacuated as the enemy army approached, but a last few men ran toward the gates, desperate to get inside. The Balic guards refused to open the reinforced barriers, despite the ever-increasing pleas. Beast giants grabbed the frantic sailors and battered them into ooze against the wall.
Skull Wearer shouted another challenge for Dictator Andropinis. More giants pressed forward like the waves of a long-forgotten tide. It seemed impossible that anyone could protect the city against such an invasion; Koram could see that he and his comrades would all die in the first line of defense. He glanced at the dwarves, the thri-kreen tracker, even the miserable goliath; they all realized the hopelessness of their position, as well.
Yvoluk raised his hands, filled with enthusiasm. “This will be your greatest battle-for the glory of Andropinis and Balic.” The praetor stepped to the edge of the wall, gesturing toward the giant hordes below. “If you survive this day, you will have your freedom. I promise.” He seemed to expect cheers.
Koram reached out and gave the man a hard shove, toppling him off the wall into the press of giants. Yvoluk flailed as he fell, too astonished even to scream.
Koram had acted without thinking, sure he was dead either way. “I am through fighting for your benefit.”
Seeing his action, the other gladiators immediately came to the same conclusion. The goliath rose up and battered soldiers on either side of him, toppling them off the wall. The thri-kreen laughed in surprise and delight, clacking his mandibles as he turned on the astonished guards, and the two dwarves began to fight.
In response to the unexpected turmoil above, the beast giants pounded on their shields, then hammered on the gates with stony fists like battering rams. A volley of spears arced upward, shafts as thick as small trees, and struck into the crowded guards and spectators.
The gladiators continued to fight atop the wall, throwing the Balic soldiers into chaos. Skull Wearer summoned the magic he had drawn from the ghosts of his victims, unleashing a dark thunderstorm of power against the harbor city.
Before long, Dictator Andropinis arrived with his escort, shouting out his own spells as he drew power to defend Balic. The air itself began to crackle and tremble as the surrounding trees and plants wilted, the ground turning as black as charcoal, its vital energy sucked away.
In the confusion, Koram turned his back on the front lines, waved his ivory-and-bronze sword to chase panicked soldiers and citizens out of his way. Some of his gladiator comrades fought anyone and everyone with great glee, giving their last great battle performance; others scampered away, seeking a place to hide.
Koram felt not a flicker of guilt for abandoning his city. He thought of the three anakore lying dead in the arena-his latest victims. He thought of his own family, killed through treachery. He had killed enough. He would not shed his blood to protect the sorcerer-king or his duplicitous citizens, nor would he stay and revel in the city’s destruction.
He was done.
Koram made his way to the far exit gates that were not yet blocked. Before long, the city’s back gates and side entrances would be clogged with citizens racing into the hills as they realized the true desperation of their plight.
He would set out into the wilderness and find his own path of survival. Considering what he had been through, he knew he would fare better alone under the dark sun of Athas than amidst the treachery of Balic.
Living aboard the petrified skeleton of Horizon Finder, Jisanne had the city ruins to herself. No caravans or silt schooners came this far south. Arkhold received no visitors except for the rare and foolish adventurer in search of forgotten treasures. Knowing how people were likely to treat a magic user, Jisanne hid whenever she saw a stranger; more often than not, the perils of the abandoned city drove them off before she had to worry.
Jisanne was on her own, just as she wanted to be.
Yet the desiccated place provided little for her survival. She caught rodents and lizards to eat; she set up scattered cisterns to hoard the reluctant droplets of water that rained down twice a year. But it wasn’t enough, and she had to venture out on regular supply expeditions.
As the red sun lumbered over the grainy horizon, Jisanne stood on the ruins of the stone quay, facing the expanse of the Silt Sea. Her voice hoarse from thirst, she shouted a summoning spell for a floating mantle, one of the mysterious but gentle beasts of the deep wastes.
Her hands trembled and her head throbbed as she called upon the power. It would have been so much easier, so much faster, to steal the life energy of the surrounding flora and fauna, but Jisanne refused such shortcuts. She knew in her heart that the excessive and indiscriminate use of that sort of magic had wrung Athas dry. By using the navigation crystal, she had been able to visit the lush past, and she knew what the defilers had done to a healthy world.
Magic users were widely hated across Athas. All her life, Jisanne had tried to preserve the life of the world, never harming anyone, and yet, when her abilities were discovered, the people of Balic had punished her. As a hermit, far from any people, Jisanne was much safer. But the pain of her loss did not go away.
Answering her summons, the floating mantle appeared in a blurry brown corona of dust. The jellyfishlike creature drifted on the thermals, trailing thin tentacles to the silt. It hovered at the end of the stone quay, then lowered its enormous body to the ground so she could mount.
“Thank you for coming.” Jisanne had no idea if the creature could understand her. Securing her sacks, pots, and supply pack, she climbed onto the leathery dome, grasping the ridges and nodules. Air flaps vented gas as the floating mantle exhaled, then rose into the air and propelled itself along, carrying her away from Arkhold and across the impassable expanse.
She ventured to the more fertile, and more dangerous, highlands of the Dragon’s Palate as rarely as possible. The Palate was close to Balic, and she never intended to go back home again. That was where happiness had been burned out of her-not by any defiling magic, but by human hatred.
Years ago, Jisanne lived in Balic with her older sister Selanne, who had a husband and two fine daughters. Unmarried, Jisanne helped wherever she could, often secretly drawing upon the power of the living to ease their existence. But she wasn’t cautious enough. Jisanne was a preserver, not a defiler. Her magic was powered by the life force of Athas itself, but she never went so far with her spells that she hurt anyone or anything. Even though she knew full well the difference between what she did and the destructive magic of those with no regard for life, most common people didn’t understand, didn’t try, or didn’t care.
Jisanne had ignored the rumors about her, the whispers when she and Selanne walked through the forum market, the way other people shunned their house. Oblivious, she had gone out one day to pick olives in a grove near a crumbling noble estate. Returning home at sunset with a full basket, she had found her sister’s family murdered, the house burned. A mob had scrawled hateful words in the ashes-they had mistaken Selanne as a defiler.