Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 5 - The Cerulean Storm (16 page)

The young mul stepped past Sadira and clambered to the top of the boulder. The giant was
standing over Magnus, just raising the stone to slay the unconscious windsinger.

“Hey, ugly!” he yelled.

The breeze carried Rkard's voice across the valley as though the boy were a giant himself,
bouncing it off the rocky scarps on the other side. The titan pulled the heavy stone back
to his chest and looked toward the echo first.

“Who's that?” he called, searching the barren slopes at the base of the Ringing Mountains.

“Over here on the butte, you dumb hairy giant!” Rkard yelled.

As he spoke, the young mul pressed his fingers to his sun-mark. Again, he felt a warm
tingle descending through his arm. Had it been daylight, he would have pointed his hand
toward the crimson sun instead of touching it to his forehead. The feeling in his arm
would have been excruciatingly hot rather than merely warm, but he was far from glad to
avoid that pain. His spell would have been much stronger during the day, perhaps strong
enough to do more than merely distract the giant.

After searching the slope of the butte for a few moments, the giant's dark eyes finally
settled on Rkard's small form.
“I'm
not as dumb as you,” he said, squinting at the boy. “I know better than to make fun of-”

Rkard pointed his hand at the giant's face and spoke a mystic syllable.

A crimson ball formed around the giant's head. The titan screamed and dropped his stone,
almost crushing his own foot. He raised his hands to his face and began stumbling about,
screeching as though his flesh were melting.

Rkard knew that the giant's reaction was more fear than pain. While the crimson sphere
might look fiery, and even feel hot for a brief moment, it was far from a searing ball of
flame. The spell consisted entirely of red light, shaped into a bright orb with flickering
tails that looked like fire. His father had taught it to him so he could honor the sun on
days when blowing sand obscured the real thing, and because it served as a good distress
signal.

Anticipating the giant's reaction when he realized the true nature of the spell, Rkard
jumped off his boulder and threw Sadira's limp body over his shoulders. Though the
sorceress was much larger than he was, he had no trouble carrying her up the steep slope.
As a young mul, he was already as strong as most humans. Besides, she did not weigh much
more than the huge water pails his mother made him fetch from the village well every day.

By the time the young mul was halfway up the butte, the giant's screams had ceased. Rkard
paused to look back and saw his spell rising over the valley, casting an eerie orange glow
onto the rocky ground. Once it was high enough, the sphere would stop and hang motionless
in the sky, just like a miniature sun.

Now that his head was no longer engulfed in the bright light, the giant had begun to
stumble toward the butte. He was rubbing his eyes with one hand and holding the other out
before him. The titan had left Magnus where he had fallen, motionless but out of danger
for now.

“Papa's going to be angry when he sees this,” Rkard said, continuing his climb.

The boy did not even consider trying to deceive his father, for he had grown up with the
certain knowledge that the sun would always bring the truth to light.

As Rkard reached the summit of the bluff, he heard stones clattering below as the giant
clambered up the base. The young mul slipped behind the crest of the butte and onto a
narrow ledge that overlooked the road to Tyr's iron mine.

“Come back, you little varl!” thundered the giant. “Don't hide-it'll only make me madder!”

Rkard pushed Sadira into the deep crevice that he had selected earlier as a good hiding
place, then quickly stacked boulders over the entrance to conceal it. By the time he
finished, the giant was so close that his heavy steps were shaking rocks off the ridge
overhead. Knowing that the angry titan could easily tear the top of the butte apart, the
boy decided to. lure his pursuer away from Sadira. He rushed along the ledge until it
ended, then scrambled up a rift and onto the top of the butte.

Rkard found himself standing at the giant's feet. Wishing that he were strong enough to
cast more than one spell a day, he swallowed and drew his weapon. The glow of his
sun-spell sent glimmers of red light twinkling along the edge of his sword's obsidian
blade.

“What are you going to do with that thorn?” demanded the giant. “Stick me in the toe when
I step on you?”

Rkard stepped forward, raising his weapon. He focused all his attention on keeping his
blade from shaking and craned his neck upward to meet the giant's gaze. His mother had
always told him that a show of confidence would do more than ten blows to defeat a
powerful enemy, and if ever there had been a time he hoped she was right, it was now.

“Leave me alone-and Magnus, too,” Rkard said, imagining that it was Rikus and not himself
speaking. Without taking his eyes off the giant, he pointed his sword toward the edge of
the cliff. “Go away, or I'll cut off your foot and push you over the cliff.”

The giant's big belly shook with laughter-until he looked toward the edge of the cliff,
where Rkard was pointing. Then the titan's huge mouth fell open and his eyes widened in
surprise.

“You?” the brute gasped.

“Yes, me,” Rkard replied. He stepped forward and poked the giant's yellow-nailed toe with
his sword.

“Now, listen,” the boy ordered. “What you want isn't in Tyr-and even if it was, you
couldn't have it.” Rkard pointed his sword down the hill, then added, “Now go home and
tell all the other grants what I said.”

The giant looked toward the cliff edge again, then licked his lips as if uncertain of what
to do.
“I
can't go back without the Oracle,” he said, his tone more pleading than insistent. “We
need its magic to make us smart again! Patch is the smartest one of us left, and he's
getting dumber all the time!”

Rkard considered this. Even at his young age, he understood that without a smart leader,
any community would collapse into disorder. “Maybe you can have the Dark Lens back after
we're through with it,” the boy suggested.

Some of the tension drained from the giant's huge face, and he looked directly at Rkard
again. “How long will you keep our Oracle?”

The boy paused before answering. In his short life, the only journey he had ever made was
from Kled to Tyr, and he could not imagine how much farther away the village of Samarah
must be. “We'll be gone a long time-a hundred years,” he answered. Having lived all his
life among dwarves, who commonly lived three times that long, the guess did not seem
unreasonable to the young mul. “Maybe even longer.”

The giant shook his head stubbornly. “No! We'll be dumber than kanks by then!”

Rkard raised his sword, expecting the brute to stomp him, and tried to look confident. The
attack never came. Instead, a deep voice behind him said, 'Then you will learn to live
like kanks!"

Rkard spun around and found two giant-sized heads peering over the top of the cliff-though
it may have been an exaggeration to call them heads. One had a hideous, misshapen skull
with a sloped brow and gnarled cheekbones, while the other one's neck ended in a knobby
stump just above the shoulders. Regardless of whether they had skulls or not, pairs of
orange embers burned where their eyes should have been, and coarse masses of tangled beard
dangled from where their chins had once hung.

Though Rkard could not see the bodies hidden beneath the cliff edge, he knew they were
little more than huge skeletal lumps, warped into shapes scarcely recognizable as manlike.
The legs were gnarled masses with knotted balls for feet, and the thighs, knees, and
calves were all curled together.

“Jo'orsh! Sa'ram!” Rkard gasped. They were the last dwarven knights, who had become
banshees after they disavowed their life focus and died without killing Borys. The young
mul had not seen the pair since they had returned his namesake's belt and crown to him,
then told him that he would slay the Dragon. “You've come back!”

“We never left,” said the one with the lumpy skull, Jo'orsh.

The other banshee focused his floating eyes on the giant.
We have let you giants use the Dark Lens for too long.
Rkard heard the words inside his head, as if a mind-bender were speaking them. You
have all grown weak and foolish. It is time you learned to live without it.

The giant gasped, and a rancid-smelling wind washed over Rkard. “We can't!” the brute
cried.

“You can and you must,” retorted Jo'orsh.

Do as the boy commanded, added Sa'ram. Return to Mytilene and tell the others to think of
the Dark Lens no more. We have taken it back, and you must learn to live without it-or
perish.

Rkard looked back up at the giant. The brute had a stunned and dismal expression on his
face, as if he had just been cast out of his home village.

“And know for every giant your tribe sends to seek the lens, it shall suffer a century of
barbarism,” said Jo'orsh. “Now go!”

The banshee's voice broke over the giant like a thunderclap, sending him stumbling down
the hill backward. He took five huge steps before he turned around and scurried into the
valley, giving Magnus a wide berth.

Once the giant was gone, Rkard's arms and legs started to tremble. He tried to sheathe his
sword, discovered he couldn't hold it steady enough, and gave up.

“Thanks for saving me.” He could not bring himself to face the banshees again, not when he
felt so frightened and foolish. “Are you as angry as my father will be?”

Why should we be angry-or your father, for that matter? Sa'ram asked.

“Because I disobeyed him.” Rkard kept his eyes fixed on the ground. “I nearly got killed.”

“You saved a friend,” countered Jo'orsh. “That was very brave, and your father won't
punish you for it.”

Rkard shook his head. “I took a foolish chance,” he said. “And when I did that, I risked
all of Athas.”

Before you can save Athas, you will have to risk it, said Sa'ram. You mustn't be afraid to
do that-just as you weren't afraid to endanger yourself to save your friend.

Rkard frowned. “But I didn't save Magnus.” He looked up at the banshees. “You did.”

Jo'orsh shook his head. “All we did was stand behind you.”

Yes, added Sa'ram. Just as your friends and your parents will stand behind you when you
attack Borys.

Neeva stood on the ledge between her husband and son, the cold wind raising goose bumps
over their naked bodies. They were gazing across the dry lake bed, where the first sliver
of morning sun had just appeared over the craggy shoulder of a distant mountain.

“We hail the return of the crimson sun,” said Caelum.

The trio raised their arms over their heads. They turned their palms toward the rising
sun, except that Caelum held the hand with the strange mouth tightly closed. Although both
her husband and son stared straight into its glowing crescent, Neeva fixed her own gaze on
the scarlet rays creeping across the salt-crusted lake bed. Unlike the two sun-clerics,
she did not have fire-eyes. Had she dared to stare directly into the glorious radiance,
she would have been blinded.

“We welcome the beacon that lights the world, the mighty fire that burns away the cold
night, the punishing orb that drives the savage beasts into hiding,” Rkard said.

“This dawn, we have a special request,” Neeva added.

“We ask that you shine brightly and do not let the dust haze obscure your light, so that
we may see clearly and choose well from the difficult paths before us today.”

Rkard looked up at her. “What paths, mother?” he asked. “Jo'orsh and Sa'ram have said what
I will do.”

“Not now, Rkard,” Caelum said, his voice gentle. “Attend to your devotions.”

The young mul remembered himself and returned his gaze to the eastern horizon. Together,
the trio stood in silence, the sun's rays spreading a heartening warmth over their skin,
fortifying their spirits for the difficult day ahead. The sun-marks on the brows of Caelum
and Rkard grew ardent red, gleaming with a deep scarlet luster as they absorbed the sun's
radiance. Neeva found herself squeezing her son's hand so tightly that her fingers ached,
as afraid of what the future held for him as she was relieved that he had survived last
night's battle with the giants.

At last, the bottom edge of the crimson sun rose completely above the shoulder of the
mountain. Shimmering red flames briefly flickered from the sun-marks on the foreheads of
Rkard and Caelum, then the flares died away. The disks returned to their normal red hues.

“We live by the power of the crimson sun,” Caelum intoned.

“The hottest of fires, the brightest of lights, the mightiest of the four elements,” Rkard
finished.

As the trio retrieved their clothes, Neeva's son asked, “What paths must we choose today,
Mother?”

“That remains to be seen,” Neeva answered, tying her breechcloth. “The Scourge has been
broken, and Sadira has yet to awaken. Perhaps this is not the time to fulfill your
destiny.”

“But we must!” Rkard insisted. “Sa'ram and Jo'orsh have said-”

“You've told me what they said!” Neeva snapped. “I don't need to hear it again.”

The boy flinched, startled by his mother's sharp tone. He bit his lip and rubbed the back
of his wrist beneath his eye, then turned to tie his breechcloth in silence.

Caelum raised his brow. “Rkard didn't cause our troubles,” he said, laying a hand on their
son's shoulder. “In fact, I'd say he did well. It's not every six-year-old that can chase
off a giant.”

“Of course not,” Neeva answered. She dropped to her knees and gathered the boy into her
arms. “I know better than anyone how special he is. That's why I won't risk his life if
our attack has no chance to succeed. We need both the Scourge and Sadira.”

“Jo'orsh and Sa'ram will protect me,” Rkard answered, returning her embrace. “Just like
they did from the giant.”