“It is good to see you again, Your Highness,” he said in Allrish. Switching smoothly to Danaan, he added, “I’m here to help. Play along.”
The High Sorcerer dropped to one knee a few feet in front of Vaaler, bowing his head and waiting for permission to rise.
“What’s going on?” Vaaler asked in their native tongue.
Andar stood up, acting as if the words had been the acknowledgment he was looking for.
“Lord Bonchamps,” he said, addressing their hosts in a language the humans could understand, “before we begin our discussions, might I have a private moment with the prince? I bring a personal message from his mother.”
“Of course,” the City Lord replied.
A few seconds later, he and his guards were gone. Jendarme was the last to leave, carefully closing the doors behind him as he did so.
“A brilliant performance,” Andar said, once more speaking Danaan. “I would have given you more warning if I could, but I trusted you would be quick enough to get through the first meeting without any prompting.
“I suggest we avoid speaking Allrish for the moment,” he added. “Bonchamps probably has spies listening in.”
“Everything’s okay,” Vaaler said in Verlsung to reassure Shalana and the others. “At least, I think it is.”
Turning back to Andar, he said, “Tell me why you’re here.”
“We’ve been heading to intercept you and your army for several days,” the wizard explained. “But by the time we caught up with you this morning, we heard you’d been taken prisoner by Lord Bonchamps. I thought he might rethink his position if he thought he had a chance to win the favor of the future Danaan King.”
“I’m not the future Danaan King,” Vaaler spat back. “I’m an exile.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“Why did you come looking for me in the first place?”
“Your mother sent me. She had a vision.”
“You know what I think of the Queen’s visions,” Vaaler told him.
“She was wrong, Vaaler,” Andar said. “We all were. She understands that now.”
“If she sent you to ask my forgiveness, then you wasted your time,” Vaaler said, his voice rising as he fought to control his anger. “Too many lives have been lost. Too much damage has been done.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Andar said. The High Sorcerer took a deep breath, collecting himself before he continued.
“There are great forces at play. You know this better than I. The fate of the mortal world hangs in the balance.
“You tried to warn us, but we wouldn’t listen. And we have all suffered for it.
“But now the Queen is ready to accept the truth. Now she knows you were right and she sent me to help you in your quest.”
“She did all this because of another dream?” Vaaler asked, shaking his head in disgust.
“Her visions are part of who she is,” Andar said. “But that is not what drives her now. You are her son. Even after all that has happened, all the blood that is spilled, that will never change.
“If she could change what happened, she would. But even the great mages before the Cataclysm could not roll back time.
“She has made mistakes, Vaaler,” Andar said. “We all have. Even you. Dwelling on them now will only bring further harm.”
Vaaler knew he was right but didn’t see how he could just accept Andar’s aid as if nothing had ever happened.
“What’s he saying?” Shalana asked in Verlsung.
“He said the Danaan want to help us now,” he answered.
“Then let them,” she said, much to Vaaler’s surprise. “We need all the help we can get.”
YASMIN WOKE BEFORE the sun, as she always did. The Blood Moon was setting, but she took comfort that it was still there. Never before in the history of the Southlands had a Blood Moon lasted as long as this manifestation: a clear sign that events of historic significance were about to unfold.
She stepped from her tent and surveyed her troops. Despite the early hour, the camp was a bustle of activity. From the very beginning of the siege, she’d put her followers on a strict schedule of early nights and even earlier mornings. She wanted her troops to be able to strike with the rising sun, while their opponents were still sluggish from drinking and fornicating deep into the night.
As he always did, Xadier arrived at her side mere moments after she emerged from her tent to deliver the daily status reports. Today, however, she cut him off before he could begin.
“Tell the generals to ready the troops,” she said. “We hit the city in three hours.”
“Based on your previous orders, everyone has been making preparations for an attack tomorrow,” he reminded her.
“That is why we must strike a day early. The enemy spies have all of Callastan thinking this is their final day of freedom. Half the city will have spent last night in one last drunken revelry. Our own troops may not be expecting this, but the defenders will be at a much greater disadvantage if we strike now.”
“Of course, Pontiff,” Xadier said. “Forgive me for doubting you. I will inform the generals right away.”
Behind her, Yasmin could just make out the first rays of the sun peeking up over the horizon. By the time it set below the edge of the Western Sea, Callastan—and the Crown—would be hers.
—
The light of the early-morning sun shone in through the apothecary window, casting a warm, comfortable glow over the shop and the two figures diligently working within.
“Each of the vials on the top shelf must be individually wrapped in cloth and tightly tied before you place them in the sack,” Methodis said. “But don’t bother with anything on the shelves below. Bo-Shing said we must travel light.”
Cassandra nodded but didn’t speak as she helped Methodis pack the most important of his medicines in preparation for their journey.
A journey he will not be making, Rexol reminded her. Are you going to let him take everything he packs to the false meeting point, or will you bring some of this medicine with you onto the ship?
Cassandra had no intention of stealing any of the healer’s wares. She already felt guilty enough about leaving him behind.
And how do you intend to do that? Rexol asked. You don’t even have a plan yet.
As she so often did, she simply ignored the wizard’s voice even though in this instance he was correct.
“How much have you spent helping Bo-Shing prepare for this journey?” she asked aloud.
It seemed the pirate captain had sent someone around each day saying they needed more money to purchase essential supplies, and she was worried the old doctor would be left penniless when she was gone.
“Don’t fret over my finances, child,” Methodis said, reaching over to give her a reassuring pat on the hand. “A good healer never wants for anything.
“And I’m one of the best,” he added with a sly wink.
Despite her forebodings over what was to come, Cassandra couldn’t help but smile.
Please stay safe after I’m gone, she thought.
She valued her time with Methodis, brief though it had been. He was one of the kindest, gentlest souls she had ever met. Yet he also possessed a quiet, inner strength she found inspiring.
This day was likely to be their last together. It was an open secret around the city that the Pontiff was planning her attack for tomorrow.
Bo-Shing and his men aren’t the only ones making preparations to leave, she thought. From what Methodis had told her, it seemed that virtually all of his wealthier clients were going to try to flee the battle rather than stay and submit to the Order’s rule.
She couldn’t blame them for running; that was all she had done since Nazir had given her the Crown.
The nobles knew that the city had no chance of winning the coming battle. Even those who were going to stay and fight felt that way; they’d just rather die fighting than give up or run away. Cassandra admired their courage.
Maybe t
hey could win if you helped them, Rexol said. You still haven’t pushed the Crown to its limits. You still have no idea of how truly powerful you can be.
Cassandra had actually considered doing exactly that, though she wasn’t certain if it was her own idea or if Rexol had somehow slipped it into her thoughts. But as powerful as the Talismans were, she didn’t think the Crown alone would be enough to take on an entire army.
And even if she could somehow defeat all the soldiers, the Inquisitors and even the Pontiff herself, unleashing that much Chaos was sure to bring the Legacy crashing down.
My path is clear now. I must restore the Legacy. My destiny awaits me at the Keystone.
“What about the bottles on the table?” Cassandra asked, looking to take her mind off the future. “Are we bringing any of those?”
Before Methodis could answer, the city bells began to clang, the sound reverberating throughout the city.
Methodis uttered a curse completely out of the old man’s character. “Should have guessed the Pontiff would strike a day early!”
You really should have guessed that, too, Rexol chided her.
Cassandra didn’t bother to reply, her mind racing as it tried to grasp the reality of what was happening. The inevitable attack had finally come; it was time for her to leave Callastan.
—
The Pontiff sent her Inquisitors in as the first wave. They rushed the eastern wall, knifing back and forth in wild, unpredictable patterns to disorient the archers atop the walls. The defenders panicked and fired haphazardly, desperately unleashing arrow after arrow in a futile attempt to thwart the charge. The Inquisitors dodged and weaved through the incoming missiles, rapidly closing the space between them and their objective.
Instead of concentrating on the main gates, the Inquisitors fanned out all along the east wall, forcing the defenders to spread their lines too thin. The monks hit the wall at full speed, leaping up so their momentum threw them high into the air before latching on to the tiny cracks and crevices in the rough-hewn stone surface.
Scuttling up the wall like a swarm of spiders, the Inquisitors took only seconds to reach the battlements on top. Callastan’s defenders rushed to engage them, trying to overwhelm the deadly whirling dervishes tearing through their ranks.
Bells were ringing through the city, calling reinforcements to man their posts. Atop the wall, however, the only sounds to be heard were those of combat and the screams of the dying.
The Inquisitors spun, kicked, and flipped their enemies off the wall. Bodies sailed through the air before plummeting down to the earth twenty feet below. Many were dead before their fall, a neck snapped or a skull crushed. Others were dashed upon the hard ground, their bones broken and their bodies smashed by the impact.
Within minutes, the ground on either side of the east wall was littered with the mangled corpses of Callastan’s defenders, along with a smattering of robed Inquisitors who were felled by a lucky blow.
The massacre ended quickly, and with the top of the wall secured, the Inquisitors focused on opening the gates. Inside the city, bleary-eyed reinforcements stumbled from taverns and private homes into the streets, squinting against the early-morning sun as they raced to help hold the wall. They didn’t even come close to arriving in time.
The Inquisitors swept through the soldiers guarding the gates, slaughtering them by the dozens. In short order they had wiped out all opposition, and they opened the gates as the Pontiff’s second wave arrived.
Thousands of ordinary soldiers under the Pontiff’s command rushed through the breach as the gates swung wide, pouring into the city like a wave. As they spread out into the streets, they were met with fierce resistance by the reinforcements as they finally arrived, and brutal hand-to-hand combat ensued.
Inside the city, panic reigned. Those who hadn’t sworn to help fight off the attackers—and many who had—fled toward the docks, only to discover the enemy waiting for them. While the assault on the east wall had drawn the defenders’ attention, hundreds of soldiers had come up on the city’s western edge on small rafts launched before the attack began.
The unexpected invasion by sea was supposed to cut off all hope of escape, but the rafts they floated on were slow and unsteady, making it difficult for the soldiers to land. And the denizens of the docks were not helpless prey. Their numbers were bolstered by pirates, mercenaries, and private guards assigned to protect the ships and holdings of wealthy masters. Seeing the enemy trying to come ashore, they launched a vicious counterattack.
Heavy barrels and anchors were thrown from the piers and the decks of tall ships at the tiny rafts on the water below. Each direct hit sent one of the rafts—and the armored soldiers atop it—to a watery grave.
But the sheer numbers of the invasion ensured that some of the vessels made it through the barrage of ballast, and the soldiers scrambled out onto the docks to engage the enemy. The attackers hacked and slashed wildly at anyone within reach, trying to force them to retreat into the city. But the defenders refused to give ground, knowing the ships were the only hope of escape. Southern short swords clashed with the curved blades of the Western Isles, and the brackish water of Callastan’s port began to run thick with the blood of the fallen.
Outside the gates on the east wall, Yasmin regarded the scene from afar. She had wanted to be at the head of the assault, but as the Pontiff she had to stay in the rear to coordinate the efforts of her army.
The east wall had fallen even more quickly than she’d hoped; as she’d planned, the early-morning assault had caught the defenders completely off guard. But now that her troops were inside the city they were meeting staunch resistance. The defenders were poorly organized, but they didn’t lack for courage and fighting spirit.
Reaching out with her awareness, she sensed that the reinforcements she’d sent to help secure the docks had failed.
But my Inquisitors are still there, she reminded herself.
It had been many days since their last report to Xadier, but she wasn’t concerned. They had no reason to check in with him or the Pontiff. Their mission was simple: secretly patrol the docks at night, keeping watch in case Cassandra tried to slip out of the city.
If they joined the assault, Yasmin realized, they could probably turn the tide of the battle at the docks. But she had given them strict instructions not to help the soldiers when she first sent them into the city. If they were to take part in the battle, the Crown might slip through their fingers in the confusion.
The Talisman is the real goal here. And soon Cassandra will bring it right to them!
—
“We have to go!” Methodis said, shouting to be heard over the clanging bells. “Bo-Shing won’t wait for us! We have to get to the warehouse!”
“You go on ahead,” Cassandra told him. “Let me finish packing this shelf!”
“I’m not going to leave you behind!”
“You don’t want to leave these vials behind, either!” she shouted. “They’re too valuable to let them fall into the Order’s hands!
“And I can move much faster than you,” she reminded him. “I will catch up!”
She could see him struggling with the dilemma. He wanted to watch over her, but he also didn’t want to abandon the most useful medicines. Like all great craftsmen, the healer had a strong attachment to his tools.
“You will only slow me down once we’re out on the streets,” she insisted. “It will actually be easier for me if you go on ahead!”
To Cassandra’s immense relief, the healer nodded.
“Do you remember how to find the warehouse?”
“I will be there,” she told him.
Lies come easy to you, Rexol noted. Is this something you learned in the Monastery?
It’s for his own good, she shot back.
“Be careful,” Methodis told her before slipping out the door with a half-full sack slung over his shoulder.
Cassandra watched him through the window, his limp more pronounced as he tried to h
urry down the street. When he finally disappeared around the corner, she turned her attention back to his workshop. She rummaged around for a few seconds until she found a small piece of chalk and a slate he used to write down orders and notes.
I’m sorry, she scribbled. But I know you will understand why it had to be done. I can never repay the kindness you showed me. Thank you for everything, and I will pray to the True Gods to keep you safe.
Then she left the shop carrying nothing but the Crown in the sack strapped across her back, leaving the precious medicines behind.
That’s a mistake, Rexol insisted.
I won’t need them, she answered. Not when I can call upon the Crown to heal me. And Bo-Shing and his men don’t deserve them.
Out in the street the ringing bells were so loud they were almost deafening. People were running madly in all directions—some toward the east wall, some toward the docks, and others heading off in search of loved ones or to simply hide in their homes until the fighting was done. But the soldiers hadn’t reached this neighborhood yet—the battle was still confined to the outskirts of the city.
Cassandra broke into an easy run, the hood of her robe pulled up to hide her features. She could have moved much faster, but she worried a robed figure racing by at superhuman speed might draw too much attention. As it was, she was already traveling at a pace few ordinary people could match.
She wound her way through the streets and arrived at Bo-Shing’s warehouse. Three wagons overflowing with provisions were already out in the street. Each wagon had a towrope manned by four burly pirates. The rest of Bo-Shing’s crew, nearly two dozen in all, had formed an armed wall around their convoy.
“Wasn’t sure you’d make it,” the pirate captain called out as she arrived.
“How far to your ship?” she asked.
“Only a few blocks,” he told her. “But soldiers have hit the docks. We might have to fight our way through.”
“Put me with the vanguard and we can clear a path,” she said.
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