Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 2 - The Crimson Legion by Troy Denning Read Free Book Online Page B

shafts of his cahulaks. “Leave
     them to the others. Come with me.”
    Rikus moved toward the front of the wagon, where Hamanu's yellow-robed templars continued
     to attack the mekillots with bolts of energy and balls of fire. Though no longer attached
     to the argosy, the reptiles remained in their harnesses and were turning back toward the
     Urikite lines.
    To the mul's amazement, the shape of a thri-kreen was hunched down on the centershaft
     between the rear mekillots. His carapace was black with soot, and one of his four arms
     seemed to be hanging limply at his side, but the mantis-warrior apparently remained in
     command of the reptiles.
    The templars were so intent on stopping K'kriq that they did not even notice Rikus and his
     two companions coming up behind them. The mul killed four with a quick series of strikes.
     In the few seconds it took him, Neeva and Gaanon finished the other five.
    When the magical barrage fell silent, K'kriq peered up from between his mekillots. He
     raised a clawed hand in Rikus's direction, calling, “The hunt is good!”
    The thri-kreen's mekillots snapped and stomped into the soldiers massed near the argosy,
     ripping a wide swath of destruction through the middle of the throng. Aided by the enemy's
     confusion and fear, the Tyrian gladiators tore into their foes like a cyclone into a faro
     field. Within moments, the coppery smell of blood filled Rikus's nose and the shrieks of
     dying Urikites rang in his ears.
    “What now?” asked Gaanon.
    Before answering, Rikus took a moment to study K'kriq's progress. The thri-kreen turned
     his mekillots straight into the long file of Urikites rushing toward the battle, followed
     closely by hundreds of
    
    
     gladiators.
    
    
     The maneuver brought the enemy's charge to an abrupt halt and sent those leading it
     scrambling for their lives. The soldiers that did not fall to the mighty reptiles'
     snapping jaws were quickly killed by Rikus's warriors.
    “It looks like K'kriq has this part of the fight well in hand,” the mul said, turning his
     gaze toward the terrain behind the battle. “Let's find the commander.”
    “This is no time to think of vengeance,” objected Neeva.
    “Sure it is,” Rikus countered. He spotted a small group of figures upon the shoulder of a
     small sand dune that had spilled down from rocky bluffs of the valley wall. Several
     messengers were running from them toward the growing rout in front of K'kriq's mekillots.
     “At the most, we can kill only a Few thousand Urikites. The rest will flee, regroup, and
     probably attack Tyr later. But if we slay their commander today, we'll finish the battle
     for good.”
    With that, Rikus returned to the rear of the wagon and gathered a small force of
     gladiators from the long line still pouring through the wall of darkness. He sent the rest
     to the other side of the argosy to reinforce the warriors who did not have the benefit of
     K'kriq's mekillots, then started toward the sand dune with his company.
    They reached the base of the dune at a run, sweating heavily. Rikus charged straight up
     the steep side, stopping to rest only when they were within a few dozen yards of the top.
     At the crest waited a small line of Urikites, their spears pointed down at the gladiators.
     They peered over the top of their shields as they nervously awaited the Tyrian attack.
    Rikus ordered his followers to spread out, deciding to let the Urikites contemplate their
     fate and give his warriors a few moments to rest. He took the opportunity to look over his
     shoulder and saw that the battle was going better than he had dared to hope. Jaseela had
     turned her flank back toward the main attack. The sands between her company and the argosy
     were red with Urikite blood and littered with more than two thousand Urikite soldiers.
     Many thousands more were fleeing the field in a long stream, pursued closely by howling
     knots of Tyrian gladiators.
    On