Ricko Daggerheart's Arc

Chapter 14 of 18

The alarm bell died. Boots thundered down the stair before Ricko could move. Guards poured out, too many to fight in the open. Kelli dropped two. T'Zaro gutted a third. Then a spear butt cracked the back of Ricko's skull, and the gold light folded into black. He woke on cold tile with iron on his wrists. His head throbbed. A wide hall stretched above him, columns rising to a painted ceiling. Kelli knelt beside him, shackled, her lip split. T'Zaro sat chained on his other side, still and watchful. Jaina crouched behind the panther, hands bound, tears cutting through the dust on her face. On a raised chair sat an old man in red and gold robes. White beard, dark eyes, a jeweled turban. Sultan Rashid al-Anima studied them the way a man studies spoiled meat. His guards lined the walls. Ricko knew that calm. The same calm had watched his pack die. "Thieves in my cellars," the sultan said. His voice was dry and slow. "Crawling up from the drains like rats." His eyes moved over Ricko's spotted face. "The survivor. I wondered where you had crawled to." Ricko strained against the shackles. The iron held. Then the guards dragged a fourth prisoner forward. Ricko's gut dropped. It was Torin, the elephant merchant who had pulled him off the dunes and hidden him in his spice wagon. One tusk was cracked. Blood matted the fur around his eye. He had been beaten long before this hall. "Ricko," Torin said through a swollen mouth. He tried to smile. "They found the wagon. I'm sorry, friend." "Let him go," Ricko said. "He's a trader. He knows nothing." The sultan raised one thin hand. "He carried rats through my gate." He did not shout. He simply nodded to the nearest guard, a hard-eyed man in desert armor named Rashid Dascmin. Rashid drew his blade. Torin looked at Ricko, not the sword. "Steal it anyway," the elephant whispered. "For all of them." Ricko lunged. The shackles ripped his wrists bloody. Two guards shoved him down. He screamed Torin's name. The blade came down. Torin fell and did not rise. The sound filled the hall, then silence. Ricko stared at the body of the only man who had helped him with nothing asked in return. Something in his chest went cold and quiet. No more running. No more fear. Only the jewel, somewhere two floors above, and the old man who had just killed his last kind friend. The sultan rose. "Take them to the deep cells. I will deal with the vermin at dawn." He turned his back as if they were already dead. Guards hauled Ricko to his feet. As they dragged him from the hall, he fixed every detail in his mind. The columns. The stair. The reliquary above. He would come back. He would take everything from this man, starting with the jewel.