The Verdant Passage

SIX DEBT OF HONOR

Rikus stood atop a peninsula protruding from a cliff of orange shale. A cool breeze danced over his face, and tall, wispy rods of ruby thornstem scratched his bare shoulders. At his back lay a vast plain of rusty desert mottled by delicate clumps of white brittlebush and green globes of tumbling spikeballs. Before him hung a void filled with still, ashen haze that stretched from below the cliff to the zenith of the sky.

The mul had been peering into the gray murk for a long time-he couldn’t say whether it had been minutes or hours or days-hoping for some glimpse of what lay on the other side. So far, the curtain had not parted, and he was beginning to think he was looking at the Sea of Silt.

Rikus did not remember crossing the desert at his back, and he had no idea how he had come to be standing on this cliff. The last thing he recalled was seeing his friends rush to his rescue as the gaj burned his mind. He feared that his lapse of memory was due to damage caused by the creature’s attack.

To the mul’s right, the gray haze finally stirred, churning itself into an oval eddy as tall as a man. Rikus stepped away and raised his fists to a fighting guard, prepared to defend himself. The eddy simply continued to whirl.

“Step through,” spoke a voice at Rikus’s back. It had a smooth, melodious timber that was neither male nor female.

The mul turned. A vaguely human shape stood beside him. The figure wore a gray burnoose with the hood pulled over its head so that neither its face nor eyes were visible. It held its arms before it, its hands neatly folded into the opposite sleeves.

“Who are you?” the mul demanded. His heart was suddenly beating hard with confusion and fear, and he did not like the feeling.

“No one,” came the reply. The figure lifted an arm and pointed toward the swirling eddy. There was no hand at the end of its sleeve. “What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing,” Rikus answered, staring at the sleeve.

“Then you have found it.”

Rikus stepped toward the figure. “What’s happening here?”

“Nothing,” came the reply.

The mul scowled and peered beneath the shadows of the hood. When he saw only empty darkness, he reached up and pulled the hood away.

The figure had no head. Even the burnoose’s collar was as empty as the sleeves and the hood.

With a start, Rikus realized why he could not remember crossing the desert. “Is that it? I’m dead?” he demanded, waving a hand at the curtain of grayness. “This is all a lifetime of pain and bondage comes to?”

“This is all everything comes to,” the figure replied, its dulcet voice sounding from the empty space above its collar. With its empty sleeve, it gestured toward the swirling eddy.

Rikus shook his head. “It’s not enough,” he said. “Not for me.” He turned toward the desert plain and started walking.

The gray figure appeared in front him. “There is nothing more,” it said, raising its empty sleeves to block his way. “You can’t escape.”

“I can try,” the mul hissed, reaching out to clutch the cloak. “Besides, what’s to stop me?” He wadded the empty robe into a bundle and tossed it over his shoulder. “Nothing.”

He walked for miles, then tens of miles. The terrain never changed, save that the gray curtain at his back grew more and more distant. Ahead of him, an endless plain of orange shale stretched to the horizon, the dreary monotony broken only by the white caps of brittlebush, the green dots of spikeballs, and the barren stalks of thornstem waving in the breeze.

Finally Rikus’s legs grew weary. He sat down to rest, then yawned and realized he could not remember the last time he had slept. The mul leaned back, ignoring the sharp edges of shale that poked him in the shoulders and ribs. There was no sun in the yellow sky, only an ethereal haze that radiated an amber glow. Rikus closed his eyes.

When he woke, he was no longer in the desert. Instead, he lay in the center of a square room. Over his head hung a ceiling of mekillot ribs, lashed together to form a grid of squares. Above the bone grid, the twin moons, Ral and Guthay, shone through a scaly roof of stretched hide, filling the room with dim, yellow light.

The walls and floor were of solid stone, save that there was a large gate of iron bars in one wall. Once unlocked, the gate could be raised into a special slot by means of a sturdy giant-hair rope-and-pulley system located outside the cell.

“What am I doing here?” Rikus asked no one in particular.

Beneath him lay a pile of dirty rags that had been serving as his bed. The cell stank of offal and sweat, and through the gate came the roars, chirps, and shrieks of a dozen kinds of beasts.

Rikus sat up and shook his head, sending waves of throbbing pain through his skull. His back, arms, and legs were stiff and sore, and his abdomen burned where the gaj’s barbed pincers had punctured his skin.

The mul groaned, taking his first good look around the pen. In one corner, Yarig and Anezka lay curled up together. At Rikus’s side, Neeva’s massive form was stretched out on the stone floor, covered only by her heavy cape.

“I’m alive,” Rikus said.

“So it would seem,” answered a familiar, sarcastic voice. “What a pity.”

Rikus lifted his eyes to the gate. Boaz stood in the corridor beyond. The half-elf wore a cape of blue silk and carried an open carafe of milkwine. His eyes were blurry, and he stood awkwardly braced on stiff legs, as if he would pitch forward at any moment. At his waist hung a ring of keys and a steel dirk.

“No guards?” asked Rikus. In his mind, the saw the trainer standing atop the practice pit wall, wanting to know which of the mul’s friends should be flogged in punishment for his disrespect. The memory filled the gladiator’s heart with bitter anger. “That’s careless of you, Boaz.”

“I’m safe enough with that between us,” the half-elf replied, gesturing at the iron gate. His words were slurred. “Besides, my guards have all passed out. Not enough to do in this tedious compound, so they drink too much.”

“If there’s nothing to do here, why aren’t you all in Tyr?” Rikus asked, stepping to the gate.

Boaz lifted the carafe to his lips, then spat a mouthful of milkwine over Rikus’s face. “Because of you-you and Sadira,” the trainer said, taking the precaution of moving out of arm’s reach. Behind him, something stirred in the pen opposite Rikus’s. “I’ll see to it that you’re punished in the morning.”

“For what?” Rikus demanded, wiping the white froth off his face. Even if he could have reached Boaz, he doubted that he would have killed the half-elf at that moment. Doing so would have meant giving up the chance to win his freedom, and he wasn’t prepared to do that over a mouthful of wine.

Boaz lifted the carafe to his lips again. Rikus stepped away from the gate, but this time the only wine that left the half-elf’s mouth was what dribbled down his chin. In a rambling speech, the trainer told Rikus how Sadira had saved him from the gaj with her magic, then killed two guards to escape the Break. “Lord Tithian was furious with me and my fellows,” Boaz finished. “He confined us all to the pits.”

“You’re lying,” Rikus said. “Sadira would never-”

“He’s not lying,” Neeva interrupted. She stepped to Rikus’s side and leaned against the gate, wrapped in the same cape she had been using as a blanket. “What part don’t you believe-that Sadira’s a sorceress or that she left you behind?”

“That I was saved by a scullery wench,” Rikus answered.

“She’s no ordinary slave girl,” Neeva replied, giving the mul a sarcastic smile. “It’s surprising that I’m the one who has to tell you that.”

Boaz snorted at Neeva’s jealousy.

Rikus ignored the trainer. “What happened to her?” he asked. “Where is she now?”

“What does it matter?” Neeva demanded, narrowing her emerald eyes. “You weren’t in love with her, were you?”

“Of course not,” Rikus looked away and noticed that both Yarig and Anezka had also awakened. The dwarf and his halfling partner were doing their best to not involve themselves in the conversation. “I owe her a debt of honor.

That’s all.”

“There have been other slave girls and you haven’t lied to me yet,” Neeva said, thumping Rikus in the chest. “Why start now?”

Rikus found that he could not look his fighting partner in the eye. Instead, he cast a meaningful glance at Boaz and asked, “Do we have to talk about this here?”

“Yes,” Boaz chuckled. “It’s best to air these things immediately. Hidden resentments have ruined many a matched pair.”

“Well?” Neeva asked. “Is Sadira so different from the others?”

Rikus forced himself to meet his partner’s gaze. In his own mind, the mul did not know whether what he felt for Sadira was gratitude or something deeper, and the uncertainty made him uncomfortable. “Sadira risked her life to save mine. I guess that makes her different.”

Neeva turned away, tears welling in her eyes.

Rikus grabbed her shoulders. “My feelings for Sadira-whatever they are-have nothing to do with us. I just need to know what happened to her.”

Neeva pulled away and stepped into a dark corner of the pen.

“I wish I could help you two lovers,” Boaz sneered. “Unfortunately, nobody knows what happened to her. My guess is that someday I’ll run into her in the Elven Market. In a brothel, no doubt.”

Rikus thrust an arm through the iron bars, clutching at the half-elf. Boaz watched the gladiator’s fingers close a few inches shy of their target, then clucked at the mul. “Anezka will pay dearly for that.”

No sooner had the trainer finished his threat than Rikus felt an earthenware mug smash against his back. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Yarig grab his halfling partner, who was just reaching for a wooden bowl to throw. The dwarf shrugged, but made no apology for her.

Rikus shook his head and faced Boaz again. Before he could say anything, he heard a wispy voice inside his head. He lies.

“What?” Rikus demanded, grabbing his ears. He turned to Neeva. “Did you hear that?”

When she ignored him, Yarig asked, “A voice inside your head?” The dwarf still had not released Anezka.

Rikus nodded.

“No, I didn’t hear it just now,” he answered. “But I have in the last few days.”

Rikus furrowed his hairless brow and shook his head.

“If-”

Boaz laughed at the mul’s confusion. “It’s the gaj, you buffoon. It was talking to you.”

“Talking to me?” Rikus gasped, half-disgusted and half-frightened. The gaj’s stinging tentacles and the way it had scorched his mind glowed fresh in his memory.

Yes. I am learning to speak well, the gaj reported.

Boaz looked toward the pen opposite Rikus’s. The beast inside had moved in front of its gate, and the tips of its pincers protruded between the iron bars. Rikus could barely see the gaj’s bulbous white head inside the murky pen.

“We’ve learned a lot about the gaj over the last couple of days, haven’t we?” Boaz said. “It doesn’t eat bodies, it eats minds.” He took a step toward its pen.

The beast scuttled back into the shadows. Boaz knows an elf called Radurak, the gaj said in Rikus’s mind. Radurak has your woman.

Rikus turned to Yarig. “Did you hear that?”

The dwarf shook his head. “It only talks to one person at a time,” he said.

Boaz will tell Tithian where to find her.

“How do you know?” Rikus asked.

It’s in his thoughts, the gaj replied.

In the corridor, Boaz picked up a loose stone and threw it into the gaj’s cage. “How come you don’t talk to me anymore?”

Rikus was stunned. Should he believe the gaj, or was this some sort of trick on Boaz’s part to get him to reveal what he knew of Sadira? Rikus had heard of the Way, of course, and knew that it could be used to speak telepathically. What he had trouble accepting was that an overgrown bug like the gaj might be intelligent enough to use it. Still, he had no choice except to believe what he heard inside his head.

Boaz drained the last of his milkwine, then threw the carafe at the gaj. “Stupid beast!” He started to stumble out of the animal shed.

“Tell me, Boaz, do you think telling Tithian about Radurak will make the high templar forgive you?” Rikus called.

Boaz stopped dead. “Where did you hear Radurak’s name?”

Any doubts about what the gaj had told him vanished from Rikus’s mind. “I don’t think it’ll help you,” the mul continued, ignoring the trainer’s question. “Lord Tithian will still blame you for not noticing Sadira’s powers, and then for letting her escape.”

Rikus heard Neeva shuffle in the dark corner to which she had retreated. He glanced at her and saw that, although she still glowered at him, she had dropped the cape from her shoulders and watched him closely. The mul breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know what would happen next, but he was happy to see that she would back him up.

Boaz returned and stood in front of Rikus’s pen, safely out of reach. “You had better hope my confinement is lifted,” the trainer said. Though he stank of fermented milk, the half-elf suddenly appeared almost sober. Rikus feared it would be difficult to lure him close enough to the gate to strike.

“Life is growing tedious on this estate,” Boaz continued. “When I get bored, I get irritable. Things could go very hard on you and your friends if Tithian is not in a forgiving mood.”

“Perhaps I should put in a good word for you with the high templar,” Rikus offered.

Behind Boaz, the gaj, too, moved forward, pushing its pincers through the bars of its cage in an effort to snag the trainer. The mandibles were too short to reach the half-elf, but an idea occurred to Rikus that might make it possible to kill Boaz and save Sadira, without sacrificing his dream of freedom.

The trainer sneered at Rikus’s offer of aid. “I doubt that I’ll let you live long enough to speak with Lord Tithian.”

Gaj, if you want Boaz, here’s what to do, Rikus thought, hoping the beast could hear his thoughts as it had heard Boaz’s. He laid out a simple plan.

He must be alive, came the reply. If he dies before my antennae touch his head, his mind will be spoiled for me.

Yes, Rikus agreed. He grabbed the bars of his gate, then said to Boaz, “After I’m free, the first thing I’m going to do is track you into a dark street-”

The mul did not have a chance to finish his threat. Behind the trainer, the gaj threw itself at its gate. A tremendous crash echoed through the animal shed as the beast’s carapace struck the iron bars, triggering an immediate chorus of alarmed squeals and roars from the other pens.

As Rikus had hoped, the startled trainer leaped away from the gaj, straight into the mul’s waiting arms. Rikus grabbed Boaz by the collar, pulling the half-elf toward the gate. The astonished trainer started to cry for help, but Rikus slapped a massive hand over the man’s mouth.

“Rikus!” gasped Neeva. “What are you doing?”

“Repaying Sadira for saving my life,” the mul responded. “Get his keys and unlock our gate.”

Don’t kill him! the gaj urged, settling back into its pen.

“You’ll have him alive-more or less,” Rikus answered, squeezing Boaz’s mouth with all his strength. He felt a series of satisfying pops as the half-elf’s front teeth broke away at the roots.

Boaz groaned in pain, then reached for the dirk at his belt. Rikus grabbed the trainer’s wrist with his free hand. “Wrong move,” he said, pulling the offending arm through the gate. He pressed the forearm against an iron bar until he heard a sharp crack. A muffled wail escaped Boaz’s covered lips.

“You’ll get us killed,” Neeva said, stepping to Rikus’s side. She removed the key ring from Boaz’s belt.

“Not if my plan works,” Rikus replied, giving his fighting partner a confident wink. “They’ll think the gaj did it.”

“They’d better,” Neeva said, moving to the gate lock and fitting keys into it.

Rikus looked at the dwarf, who still held onto Anezka, though it no longer appeared that she needed to be restrained. “Yarig, you’ll have to lift the gate for Neeva to crawl under.”

“I don’t like it,” the dwarf said. “You shouldn’t have done something like this without asking us first.”

Boaz tried to pull free. Without looking away from Yarig, Rikus slammed him back into the gate. “Don’t you think asking would have ruined the surprise?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Yarig answered stubbornly. “This affects all of us. I don’t care if you are the champion. You can’t make decisions like this on your own.”

Rikus rolled his eyes, then let go of Boaz’s broken wrist. “You’re right,” the mul said. “I’ll let him go.”

Anezka shook her bead urgently.

Neeva turned a key in the gate lock and a loud click echoed in the cell. “Make up your mind, Yarig,” she said.

“We’ll push Boaz over to the gaj, lock ourselves back in, and toss the keys in front of its pen,” Rikus said, once more slamming the half-elf into the gate-this time only because he enjoyed doing so. “Everyone will think he was drunk, wandering around in here, and got too close to the cage.”

Yarig released the halfling and slowly lifted the gate. Once he had raised it high enough for Neeva to crawl beneath, she went into the corridor and restrained Boaz from the outside while Rikus left the pen.

In both directions, the long corridor was lined with steel gates similar to the one from beneath which the mul had just crawled. In a few places, he could see claws or tentacles or vaguely humanlike hands protruding from between the bars, but otherwise every pen appeared identical.

As Rikus stepped into the corrider, Neeva shoved Boaz toward a cage a short distance away. A powerful, acrid odor rose from the pen.

“Rikus, maybe we should feed Boaz to a raakle instead of the gaj,” Neeva said.

No, Rikus! the gaj whined. You promised!

The trainer cringed, and his eyes glazed with horror. Rikus did not blame him for being frightened. Raakles were brilliantly colored birds the size of half-giants, but their mouths were short tubular beaks no larger around than a man’s fingers. They digested their prey by gripping it with their powerful, three-clawed feet, then spitting sticky acid over it. This fluid reduced bone and flesh alike to a pulpy ooze that the bird sucked up through its small mouth.

Though he would have enjoyed hearing Boaz scream in the terrible agony of being digested alive, Rikus shook his head. “I gave my word,” he said. “Besides, being eaten by a raakle can’t compare to the pain the gaj will cause Boaz’s mind.”

“If you say so.” Neeva shoved the trainer toward the gaj’s pen.

Rikus laid a hand on his fighting partner’s shoulder and shook his head. “I’ll take him,” Rikus said. He substituted his hand for the one that Neeva had been using to hold Boaz’s bleeding mouth closed. “I want the pleasure of feeding him to the gaj myself.”

The gaj thrust its mandibles as far into the corridor as they would go. Rikus stepped toward the pen.

Boaz mumbled something at the mul. Though the trainer was doing his best to appear menacing and confident, fear and panic softened his sharp features.

The gladiator moved the hand covering the half-elf’s mouth just far enough to hear what he had to say. “You’ll never get away with this,” Boaz hissed. “Tithian will know what happened, and Neeva will be the one who pays.”

“You’re the only one who’s going to pay,” Rikus interrupted. The mul smashed a fist into the half-elf’s rib cage. Boaz cried out, then began to wheeze.

Please, Rikus, the gaj asked. Give him to me now.

Boaz tried to call for help, but with his broken ribs and teeth, only incoherent mumbles came from his mouth. Rikus smiled, then pushed the half-elf across the corridor. The gaj’s barbed mandibles closed on the trainer’s abdomen, and a pair of whiplike antennae lashed out of the pen, entwining themselves around its victim’s brow.

Despite his injuries, Boaz found the strength to scream.