Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 5 - The Cerulean Storm (18 page)

“And our destination,” Sadira said. “The wraiths knew enough about our plans to say that
they had summoned his spirit from Samarah. I'm afraid Borys may already have killed
Tithian and recovered the Dark Lens.”

“The Dragon may know where we're going, but he doesn't have the Dark Lens,” said Rikus.
“If he did, he wouldn't bother sending assassins after us. He'd just attack us himself and
get it over with.”

“But if he knows our destination, how could he not have the lens?” asked Caelum.

“Our message said to meet in Samarah, but it didn't say that the lens was there now,” said
Neeva.“ Maybe Tithian is waiting someplace else.”

“He's certainly cunning enough,” said Rikus. “We don't have any choice except to go and
see. If we wait here, the Dragon will only try to stop us again.”

Neeva nodded. “The battle has started. If we're to win, we need the Dark Lens-even if
Tithian is the one who sent for us.” The warrior faced her militia and pointed toward the
razed farm behind Rasda's Wall. “Go fill your waterskins,” she ordered. “We've a long
march to Samarah.”

The cargo kank scratched at the white-crusted ground with all six claws, protesting
Sadira's command to halt. She did not begrudge the beast its impatience. The poor creature
had not had water in more than five days, since the legion had started across the glaring
salt flats of the Ivory Plain. Now, with the pollen of blade blossom, yellow fan, and
other oasis flowers loading its bristly antennae, the insect could probably taste the
water it had been denied for so long. The sorceress counted herself lucky that it obeyed
at all.

Sadira had stopped two hundred paces from a ring-shaped knoll covered with slender saedra
trees. The long-needled conifers grew with upraised boughs that resembled the arms of a
sun-worshiping dwarf. Purple-flowered vines with long yellow thorns grew twined around the
boles, and beards of moss dangled from the branches.

On the hilltop ahead, two ranks of enemy warriors had formed a battle line among the
trees. Most wore green tabards over yellow hemp kilts. In their hands they held square
wooden shields and long throwing spears. Obsidian-spiked flails hung at their belts.
Unarmed officers wearing light blue turbans stood along the line, interspersed at regular
intervals.

“There must be two thousand of them,” Rikus observed, coming up behind her. Like Sadira,
he led a cargo kank, and he carried young Rkard on his shoulders. “This worries me.”

Sadira nodded, and the mul walked to within two paces of her before stopping. This was as
close as they had come during the last ten days, for the sorceress could not quite bring
herself to forgive Rikus. When she had told him about Agis's death, the mul's first
response had not been sorrow or even sympathy. He had wanted to know how they would manage
without the noble. Sadira could not even bring herself to imagine life without Agis, and
she had let her husband die without the thing he most desired, an heir to carry on the
Asticles name. How could Rikus expect her to think about their future at a time like that?

Caelum stepped forward, placing himself between Rikus and Sadira. “That's no raiding
tribe,” the dwarf said. He reached up and took his son off Rikus's shoulders. “It looks
more like a legion.”

“That's exactly what it is,” said Magnus. “A Raamin legion. When I was with the Sun
Runners, we had to flee the city's soldiers many times.”

“But we're a good fifteen-day march south of Raam, with Gulg and Nibenay in between,”
protested Suit Ltak. After the fight against the giants, Neeva had distributed the
survivors of the Granite Company among the rest of Kled's militia and asked Suit to stay
near her for special assignments. “What are Raamins doing here?”

“Borys sent them,” Rikus concluded. “I'll bet he's made the sorcerer-kings spread their
armies all over the desert looking for us.”

“Whoever sent them, they're between us and water,” said Neeva, also joining the group.
“We'll have to hope our warriors are strong enough to drive them out.”

Sadira looked back to inspect the legion. The three Kledan companies led the column,
standing five abreast in thirty disciplined rows. The dwarves had removed their heavy
armor and strapped it across their backs to keep from being baked alive in the midday sun.
Even this concession to the scorching heat had not saved them entirely, for they had
flushed faces and glazed eyes.

The Tyrian humans looked even worse. They stood in a double column behind the dwarves,
breathing in short, rapid gasps and leaning on each other for support. Those who owned
armor had tied it into bundles and dragged it along behind them, while many others tried
to shade themselves from the sun by stretching scraps of cloth over their heads. A few
warriors were shifting from one leg to the other in a futile attempt to keep the hot
ground from scorching their feet through the thin leather of their sandals. Most seemed
too lethargic for such efforts, simply bracing themselves on their weapons and clenching
their teeth against the pain of standing in one place.

Sadira saw a small group of stragglers coming up behind the legion, but beyond them
nothing rose above the surface of the salt flat: not a boulder, not a single barren stem
of spikebrush, not even the whirling wisps of a wind spout. The plain stretched clear to
the horizon, glaring white, utterly level. As the legion had crossed that blistering,
blinding expanse, the scouts had not found a single trace of animal dung, had not seen so
much as a beetle scuttling across the sparkling ground, had not heard the call of even one
gluttonous kes'trekel waiting for them to die. There had been nothing, no sign of any
other living creature.

Sadira faced Rikus and Neeva. “Should we fight now, or rest for a while?”

The sorceress did not worry that their foes would attack first. No commander would leave a
defensive position on a hillside to advance across the open salt flat, especially when he
had water and the enemy did not. If they wished, Sadira knew, they could even make camp in
the full confidence that the Raamins would wait for them to make the initial assault.

After considering the sorceress's question, Neeva said, “Resting won't do us any good. The
more time we spend in the sun, the thirstier our warriors will be when the fight starts.”

Rikus nodded his agreement, then turned to face the legion. Before he could say anything,
Rkard grabbed his hand. “Rikus, the Scourge!”

The boy pointed at Rikus's scabbard, a cylinder of bleached bone intricately carved with
the mul's life story. Tyr's freedmen had presented it to him in gratitude for throwing the
first spear against Kalak.

The mul frowned. “What of it?”

Rkard lifted the scabbard. The tip of the cylinder had cracked open, and a short length of
the Scourge's broken point was protruding through the hole.

“That's strange.” Rikus took the scabbard. “But thanks for noticing, Rkard. Broken or not,
I'd hate to lose the tip of my sword.”

The mul pulled his sword out of the scabbard, then gasped in astonishment. The broken
blade no longer ended in a jagged barb. Instead, it curved to a sharp point at about
two-thirds its original length.

“What's happened?” Rikus gasped.

“It's growing back!” Rkard concluded.

Rikus shook his head. “Steel doesn't grow.”

“Enchanted steel might,” said Sadira. She pointed at the old tip, still protruding from
the scabbard. “And that would explain why the broken piece is being pushed out of the
scabbard.”

The mul rubbed his cheek and studied his revitalized blade. Finally, he shrugged. “What do
I know?” he asked. “I'm just glad to have it returning to normal.”

“As are we all,” said Caelum.

Rikus tipped his scabbard down and let the broken end of the Scourge's blade slide out.
“Since you kept me from losing this, why don't you take it?” he asked Rkard. “Maybe we can
make it into a dagger for you.”

The boy accepted the gift with a gaping mouth. Even if the blade had not been part of the
Scourge, it was steel-and in the metal-poor world of Athas, that fact alone made it a
weapon of considerable value.

“Rkard, have you forgotten what to say when someone gives you a gift?” asked Neeva.

The boy blushed. “I'll cherish it as I cherish your friendship,” he said, bowing to Rikus.

To Sadira's surprise, Rikus remembered the proper response. “Let it be a symbol of our
trust.”

Rikus bowed to Rkard, then faced the legion. “Tynans, flank the dwarves, forming a two
rank line!” he yelled. “We must fight before we drink!”

The warriors quickly spread out to both sides of the dwarves. Most of those who had been
dragging armor left it lying on the salty ground. In the scorching heat of the Ivory
Plain, few humans were strong enough to carry the extra weight into battle without
collapsing from heat exhaustion.

As the Tyrians scurried into position, Neeva turned to her warriors. “Form assault
wedges!” she called. “I'll lead the Iron Company.
Yalmus
Ltak will take the Boulder Company. Caelum, hold the Bronze Company in reserve.”

Unlike the Tyrians, the hardy dwarves did not abandon their armor. Each warrior helped the
dwarf to his front unfasten the equipment and put it on. Within a few seconds, the three
companies were fully armored in helmets and breastplates. The gleaming steel reflected the
sunlight so brightly that Sadira could hardly bear to look at the Kledans.

That glare will trouble the Raamins." Sadira used her dark hand to shield her eyes.

“Not as much as our axes,” promised Suit, cinching down his breastplate.

The Iron and Boulder Companies arranged themselves into wedge-shaped formations, with the
points aimed at the center of the Raamin lines. The Bronze Company moved twenty paces back
and formed a compact square, each man standing straight and motionless in the blistering
heat. Sadira was tempted to suggest they use their broad-bladed axes to shade each other,
but thought better of it when she remembered that all Wedans venerated the sun.

“What shall I do?” asked Magnus. “I can't kill all their templars, but I should be able
to-take out a few.”

“You stay here, with Caelum and Sadira,” said Rikus.

“But all those Raamins wearing turbans are templars,” Magnus objected.

“I know,” Rikus replied. “That's why I want you and Sadira to stay back. You'll have a
better view and can help where you're needed most.” The mul looked to Sadira, an unspoken
question in his eyes.

“I understand what you want,” Sadira replied. She knew he was hoping she would say
something kind or encouraging, but she could not bring herself to do it. The anger inside
was too powerful, perhaps because it was something she did not quite understand. When the
mul did not turn away, she said, “Shouldn't you be going?”

Rikus spun on his heel and started toward the oasis. Without saying a word, he lifted the
Scourge and waved the legion after him.

Neeva eyed the sorceress for a moment. “Don't you think you're being a little hard on
him?” she asked. “Rikus isn't the one who killed Agis.”

“No, but he's still glad to have my other husband gone,” Sadira said. “He's only upset now
because I miss Agis more than he thought I would.”

Neeva closed her eyes and slowly shook her head.
“Is
that what you think?”

“You can't tell me I'm wrong,” Sadira countered.

“I shouldn't have to.”

Neeva looked away and waved the Iron and Boulder Companies forward. Before leaving, she
looked back to Rkard. “Stay with the Bronze Company-and no heroics this time.”

The boy frowned, but nodded. “Yes, mother.”

Neeva smiled, then stepped into her place at the back corner of the Iron Company.

With Caelum and Rkard, Sadira watched the warriors of Tyr and Kled advance. Seen from the
rear, the joint legion reminded Sadira of an ungainly bird. The gleaming triangles of the
dwarves represented the body, feathered with silvery breastplates of steel. The human
flanks were its wings, ragged, gangly, and barren of plumage. It was a strange creature,
born equally of desperation and hope. The sorceress hoped it would prove both savage
enough and smart enough to slay its prey.

The formation had traveled about a quarter of the distance to the oasis when a mad cackle
rang out from the center of the knoll's summit. Though the voice was female, it sounded
more like the bloodthirsty call of a wyvern.

“Who was that?” asked Sadira.

Magnus shrugged. “Even the Sun Runners have not run afoul of every official in Raam,” he
said. “It could be a high templar-or even the sorcerer-queen herself.”

Caelum pushed his son toward the Bronze Company. “Take the kanks and hide yourself behind
the formation,” he ordered. “And remember what your mother said about heroics.”

Rkard took Sadira's switch and tapped the antennae of the two cargo kanks. They clacked
their mandibles in frustration, but slowly turned to follow the boy toward the Bronze
Company.

“Hiding won't save you, child.” The words rolled across the salt flat as clear and
distinct as the lyrics to one of Magnus's ballads, though the voice was aloof and cold in
a way that the windsinger's could never be.

Rkard started to turn around, but Caelum yelled, “Don't listen to her, Son. Go on!”

As the young mul slipped behind the ranks of the Bronze Company, Sadira searched the oasis
hill for the speaker. At the same time, she raised her hand to her mouth and caught a wisp
of her shadowy breath, then faced the
yalmus
of the Bronze Company.

“I know you and your warriors prefer sunlight,” she called. “But stay beneath this shield.
It'll protect you from Raamin magic.”

With that, she uttered her incantion and blew the black shadow toward the reserves. The
wisp floated over to the Bronze Company, stretching into a long, dark cord as it moved. It
dropped to the ground in front of the
yalmus
and snaked its way around the formation. When it had formed a complete square enclosing
Rkard and the dwarves, a gray pall crept over the entire company.