Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 5 - The Cerulean Storm (36 page)

The halfling led the way toward the burning trees at the edge of the park.

* * * * *

Crossing the plain took longer than Sadira expected. She and Rikus ran until her breath
came in painful gulps, filling her lungs with fire and racking her ribs with agony. They
slowed their pace, continuing until fatigue so numbed the sorceress's legs that she could
hardly stumble along.

“We'd better walk for a while,” she said, breathing hard. “If I turn an ankle, we won't
catch Tithian at all.”

The mul slowed his pace and came to her side. “I don't suppose you've any magic left?”

Sadira shook her head. “I've already used the enchantments that could help us.”

During the day, when she was imbued with the sun's power, Sadira could shape her magic
with little more than a thought. But at night, she was like any other sorceress. She could
use only spells whose mystic runes she had impressed on her mind through hours of rigorous
study. Unfortunately, speaking an enchantment's incantation erased its runes from the
mind, so the caster could not use the spell a second time until she studied it again.

“There's no use worrying,” said Rikus. “Before he can free Rajaat, Tithian'll have to find
him-and with the sorcerer-kings after him, that could take some time.”

“Let's hope so.”

Sadira glanced at the sky ahead. The black spout still rose from the top of the cliff, and
she could see by the lengthening gap in the red clouds that it had begun to move. The
sorceress returned her gaze to the ground, picking her way across the jagged stones as
quickly as she could.

After a few steps, Sadira said, “There's something I need to say, Rikus.”

The mul raised an eyebrow, but kept his attention fixed on the broken ground. “What is it?”

“I owe you an apology,” Sadira said. “When I found out Agis was gone, I felt guilty for
letting him die without the heir he wanted. I've been using you as a scape goat for those
feelings, telling myself that the only reason I didn't carry his baby was because it would
make you jealous.”

Rikus continued forward. “Was that the reason?”

Sadira hesitated before answering. She had made her apology, as she had promised Neeva,
and did not know if it was necessary to discuss her feelings any further.

“Then I'm the one who owes you an apology,” said Rikus.
“If
I stopped you from giving Agis something so important-”

“That wasn't why I refused,” Sadira interrupted. “I didn't want a baby because I was
afraid.”

“Afraid?” the mul scoffed. “How can the woman who braved the Pristine Tower, who faced
down the Dragon, be frightened of something as common as childbirth?”

“Common or not, childbirth's no little thing,” Sadira scolded. “But you're right. The pain
isn't what worried me-it was the trust. By having a child, I'd be giving myself to Agis
forever, and trusting him to do the same.”

“And that would have meant leaving me.”

“That's what I told myself,” she said. “But the truth is, after Faenaeyon abandoned my
mother, I've never really trusted love.”

“Agis was no elf. He'd never have left you or his child.”

“I'm not saying he would have. He was much too loyal,” Sadira said. “But people change,
and so do their feelings. The love might have vanished, then we would've been stuck with
each other.”

“And it might not have. You can't predict what happens in life, but that's no reason to
retreat from it.” The mul paused for a moment, then came closer and took her arm. “But
children aren't a concern for us. Even if you wanted one, I couldn't give you a baby.
Let's just go on like before.”

Sadira shook her head. “I'm not sure that's a good idea,” she said. “For me-or for you.”

Rikus frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It wasn't until after Agis died that I realized I needed him.”

“And you don't need me?” Rikus asked, looking hurt.

Sadira smiled weakly. “That's not what I mean,” she said. “But there's someone else who
needs you. And you need them, too.”

“If you're talking about Neeva-”

“Not just about Neeva,” Sadira said.

“This is useless,” Rikus said. He released her arm. “If you think we can decide for Neeva-”

“I'm not deciding for Neeva,” Sadira interrupted. “But I know what she-and Rkard-will
need.”

Rikus looked away, uncomfortable. “What they need is for us to catch Tithian and get back
to them,” he said, starting to trot. “If you're up to running again, we'd better move on.”

Sadira fell in behind the mul. By concentrating on where his feet landed, she found it
easier to secure her own footing, and they crossed the plain at a steady pace. As they
approached the cliff, it became clear that the precipice was not natural, but a wall
constructed of granite blocks as large as houses, with seams so tight a dagger blade could
not have slipped between the stones. Crackling forks of lightning shot down from the ash
storm overhead to lick at the rampart's loftiest heights, and the summit itself was lost
in the boiling red clouds.

“I can't believe Tithian would fly over this wall,” Sadira said. “Lens or no lens, if one
of those bolts hit him, he'd be scorched to cinders.”

“I don't think he went over.”

The mul pointed down the way, where the black circle of a tunnel opened into the bottom of
the wall. They veered toward the circle. They soon saw that it was perfectly round, with
smooth edges and a glasslike finish. It had been driven through the heart of a granite
block, and was so long that the light at the other end was only about as large as a thumb.
Sadira followed Rikus into the passage.

When they emerged on the other side, the sorceress saw that they had entered the corner of
what had once been a forested preserve, though it no longer bore much semblance to a park.
A fiery blast had ripped through the area, toppling the trees and leaving them limbless
and smoking. Scattered among their blackened boles were hundreds of charred skeletons,
along with the cracked obsidian points of incinerated spears.

“Whoever they were, they weren't much of a challenge for Tithian and the lens,” Rikus
observed.

“It doesn't look like they even slowed him down.” Sadira pointed into the distance, where
the energy spout from the Dark Lens continued to rip through the storm overhead. The black
pillar seemed only slightly less distant than it had when they started across the plain.
“We'd better hurry.”

They picked their way across the devastated park, emerging on a processional boulevard
that ran straight toward the heart of the city. To the sorceress, it appeared incredibly
long, passing through an endless series of arches and vaults with no apparent purpose
except ostentatious decoration. Hundreds and hundreds of monuments to stern-faced warriors
and shrewd-looking bureaucrats lined the great avenue. Given the softness of the light
descending from the golden moons, the edifices cast surprisingly harsh shadows across the
street. Behind the statues rose the high towers and looming emporiums of a great and
ancient city, though its sharp and blocky architecture seemed designed to belittle rather
than impress its observers.

The citizens of the city, or at least those Sadira could see, were rioting. Terrified
nobles wearing suits of painted bone armor ran haphazardly through the streets, swinging
obsidian swords and axes at mobs of slaves dressed in nothing but hemp breechcloths and
carrying pieces of wood for weapons. Here and there, small groups of warriors were trying
to mount counterattacks against their rebelling subjects, but the oppressors were too
badly outnumbered, and Sadira knew it would only be a matter of time before the slaves put
them all to the blade.

Rikus and Sadira started down the bustling avenue, the mul using the shaft of his axe to
part the crowd while the sorceress kept her eye on the black energy spout. Although
Tithian, and presumably the sorcerer-kings, were too far ahead to see, she did not worry
they would be difficult to find. The rift in the clouds was directly over the great
boulevard, and it pointed like an arrow straight ahead.

“Something about this doesn't make sense,” said Sadira. She was sticking close to the
mul's back. “It should take longer than this for the city to come unraveled. How can the
slaves already know that the Dragon is dead? And even if they do, how did they overthrow
their masters so quickly?”

The mul shrugged. “The sorcerer-kings seemed upset about Tithian bringing the lens into
the city. Maybe it has something to do with that,” he said. “But who cares, as long as
slaves are winning their freedom?”

Sadira shook her head. “The rebellion's just a symptom. If the revolt bothered the
sorcerer-kings, there wouldn't be a slave left alive on this avenue.”

As the pair advanced down the boulevard, they were occasionally accosted by riot-frenzied
slaves or panicked nobles. When they were attacked by slaves, Rikus simply disarmed the
aggressors and sent them on their way. When nobles assaulted them, Sadira and the mul did
not hesitate to kill, happy to assist in the city's liberation.

Soon, they came upon three strange beings leading a dozen slaves after a portly templar.
The creatures resembled the ancient halflings of the Blue Age, save that they were part
shadow and part person. The leader had a material head and a shadowy body, while another
had solid limbs but nothing else. The third was split down the center, half silhouette and
half physical.

When the leader of the half-shadows saw Rikus and Sadira, he called out in the strange
language of the city. Though she did not understand the words, the sorceress recognized
the voice speaking them.

“Khidar!”

The halfling led his two fellows and the slaves toward her. “You would have been wiser to
leave after you killed Borys,” he said. “Rajaat is not fond of half-breeds like you and
your husband.”

The slaves spread out, preparing to come at Rikus and Sadira from all sides. Most were
armed with wooden sticks, but three had obsidian axes, and one carried a steel sword.

“Get out of here!” Rikus motioned the slaves back with his axe. I'd hate to have to hurt
you."

The slaves began jabbering at each other, no more capable of understanding the mul than he
was of understanding them.

“Call them off, Khidar,” Sadira ordered, slipping one hand into her pocket and using the
other to summon the energy for a spell. “They'll only get killed.”

Khidar hissed something at the slaves in their own language, and they launched themselves
forward. Eight went for the mul, while the other four, all armed with sticks, circled
around to come at Sadira. The sorceress saw Rikus swing his borrowed axe, smashing the
flat of the blade into the swordsman's skull. As the unconscious slave dropped to the
ground, the mul continued his swing, severing the heads of two obsidian axes with his
steel blade. At the same time, he sent the third axe- man tumbling away with a stomp-kick
to the chest, then the club wielders were on him.

Having slipped past Rikus, the other four slaves charged Sadira. She pulled a handful of
sand from her pocket and flung it in a wide arc before three of them, uttering her
incantation. A mesmerizing golden light glimmered over the grains, capturing the gaze of
the three men. Their heads slowly tilted forward as they watched the sand drop. When it
hit the ground, their eyes dosed and they fell on their faces, fast asleep.

Screaming some Draxan curse that Sadira did not understand, the fourth halfling brought
his club down in a vicious overhand strike. The sorceress twisted her body to the side and
slipped inside the attack, blocking at the wrist, just as Rikus had made her practice a
thousand times. She looped her hand over the warrior's arm, guiding the elbow down toward
her own knee, which she was bringing up beneath the joint.

The elbow snapped with a sharp crack, and the slave's hand opened. Sadira caught his club
as it fell, then drove the point of her elbow into the screaming halfling's throat. He
stumbled away, gasping for breath, and the sorceress stepped toward her husband.

Sadira could hardly see Rikus beneath the flailing dubs, yet the mul still seemed intent
on defeating his attackers without killing them. Three of the eight lay on the ground,
unconscious but showing no sign of an axe wound. She saw one of the warriors double over
and stumble away, then the hilt of her husband's axe flashed up beneath his chin, knocking
him off his feet. The slave shook his head and started to rise again.

“You don't have to be so careful!” Sadira yelled.

She smashed the butt end of her club into the man's temple. His eyes rolled back in his
head, then the sorceress waded into the fray with her husband. Though she did not
deliberately try to kill anyone, neither did she take pains to safeguard them. She knocked
one slave unconscious by smashing her stick across the back of his head, snapping the club
off at the midpoint, then drove the jagged end deep into the small of another man's back.
He dropped to his knees instantly, in too much pain to scream.

A wave of bone-numbing cold shot through the sorceress's wrist. She looked down and saw a
black shadow creeping up the arm, then heard Khidar's voice.

“I can still take you to the Black,” he said. “Come along.”

Sadira spun toward the half-shadow and raked her fingers across his eyes. Her nails bit
deep and Khidar screamed, but he remained attached to her. The dark stain of his cold
touch slipped up over her elbow, and it was no longer possible to tell where his hand
ended and her arm began.

The sorceress drew back to strike again and felt another icy hand grip her shoulder. She
looked back to see the another halfling, the one who was split down the center, grasping
her by the collar. A terrible numbness began to creep through her torso.

“Rikus!” she yelled.

Her husband had problems of his own. Although he had knocked the last two slaves
unconscious, the third half-shadow had thrown himself on the mul's back. Rikus was
whirling around madly, trying to hurl his attacker off. The halfling's arms and legs were
flailing wildly, but he and the mul remained joined at the torso.