by Sandell Wall
Mazareem now walked at Pynel’s side at the head of their group. The guidestone in Pynel’s hand winked out, and she stowed it in the pouch on her hip.
“From here on in, the stones don’t work,” Pynel said when she noticed Mazareem’s curious glance. “And the miasma gets so thick in some places that you can’t see the hand in front of your face. There are a thousand ways to enter Orcassus, but most of them are secret. If you don’t follow the highway to the main entrance, there’s a good chance you’ll lose your way. And to get lost down here is a death sentence.”
While Pynel spoke, the ground beneath their feet sloped downward. As they descended, the miasma thickened. It quickly surpassed the stifling density of the canyon they had passed through earlier on their journey. Mazareem expected the Ravening to direct its attention onto him again, but the weight of its sickly focus did not come. In fact, when Mazareem concentrated and tried to sense the stalking sentience that had hounded him since leaving Candeth, he discovered that it was gone, vanished without a trace.
Upon this realization, Mazareem turned his attention to the miasma itself. No matter how long he watched, it did not move. Gone was its incessant churning. Even in the absence of wind, the stuff never stopped moving. Now, it hung in the air, stagnant and dead.
“This miasma is different,” Mazareem said.
“This isn’t the Ravening,” Pynel said. “This is something else, created by Orcassus itself. The empress uses it as a defense against the blight stars. They won’t come near it. Now be silent, there are creatures in here that hunt by sound. Our voices will draw them like flies to carrion.”
Mazareem had more questions, but he stifled his curiosity and walked silently beside Pynel. True to her word, the miasma soon became so thick that he could only see a few feet in any direction. The only assurance they had of walking the correct path was the level surface of the road beneath their feet.
Pynel forbade the lighting of torches. Instead, the dark metal of her seplica armor started to glow. It was reminiscent of the guidestone’s blue light, and very faint, but it provided just enough illumination that they could navigate through the darkness.
Mazareem sensed Orcassus long before he laid eyes on it. It started as a tickle in the back of his mind, which slowly grew into a pressing anxiety. Something was out there, hidden by the miasma. Something massive. The sensation reminded him of passing near a mountain in the night. Its slopes and peak might be lost in the darkness, but it had an invisible immensity—a ponderous presence that could be felt in the absence of sight.
The woeful weight that Orcassus exerted on the world both attracted and repulsed Mazareem at the same time. Under different circumstances, he would have been eager to reach the capital to begin exploring its manifold mysteries. He had been cut off from the knowledge of Vaul for most of his life, and the possibility of secret knowledge stored away in its ancient libraries tantalized him to the point of madness.
But behind the allure, Mazareem also sensed grave danger. Here was a place as old as he was, and though he had committed his life to the study of the dark arts, he worried that in Orcassus, he might finally find a darkness that even he could not master.
When the city finally revealed itself, it came as a surprise. One moment, there was nothing but miasma in every direction, the next, Mazareem found himself standing before a giant gate. For something as massive as Orcassus to creep up on them without warning was unnerving.
Pynel placed the inert guidestone in a socket embedded in the gate. The stone flashed briefly and then went dark again. This was the same ritual they repeated at every city they visited. Soon, someone would appear to allow them entrance.
Mazareem craned his neck back to inspect the walls while they waited. The tops of the fortifications were too high to see, but he estimated they were at least a hundred feet high, maybe more. The walls were constructed with a type of porous, black rock. To Mazareem’s amazement, he realized that the stone itself was weeping miasma. It wafted away from the ramparts like the spores of some titanic, towering mushroom.
Quicker than usual, the small door set in the huge gate swung open and a squad of seplica filed through. The intricate gold metalwork on their armor identified them as royal troops. They immediately held a quiet conference with Pynel. Mazareem tried to eavesdrop, but he could only catch bits and pieces of the conversation. It was clear that they were expected.
Dezerath and her soldiers had separated themselves into a solitary group. They watched the seplica with open hostility. It dawned on Mazareem that the venerator might still try to overpower Pynel, even here, in the shadow of Orcassus’s walls.
Pynel anticipated the same thing. She stepped away from her soldiers to speak in hushed tones with Mazareem.
“It appears my message wasn’t the only one that went ahead of us,” Pynel said. “Dezerath’s family has assembled several hundred troops to greet us. We could equal their number easily, but the seplica have been commanded to do nothing that might provoke bloodshed within the walls of the city. To do so might start a war. When we pass through this gate, they’re going to try and force me to give you over. Let me handle it. Don’t try your ‘risen one’ act here. In Orcassus, you’re just another pawn.”
Mazareem nodded to indicate that he understood. His thoughts were racing. The woman who ruled here would not allow him to remain in Dezerath’s clutches for long, he knew that. But would it be advantageous to force a confrontation between the seplica and Dezerath’s family? On what terms did he wish to meet his soon-to-be captor?
Pynel was looking at him strangely. Mazareem interrupted his thoughts to ask her why.
“Is there something else, captain?” he said.
“I don’t know why you’ve come here, but you’re a fool if you think you’ll survive,” Pynel said. “No one escapes Orcassus. No one.”
“Why, my dear captain, is that sympathy I detect? And here I thought you seplica were all as hard as stone.”
Mazareem could not see it behind her mask, but he had no trouble imagining the glower on Pynel’s face. She turned abruptly on her heel and marched towards the open door. In that moment, Mazareem decided that he would not force a confrontation, if only for the reason that he liked Pynel.
Perhaps, if he went to the empress like a lamb to the slaughter, she would underestimate him. Mazareem reached a hand into his pocket to touch the tiny stone chip he carried. Reassured that he still had a way out, he followed Pynel into the City of Death.
Chapter 21
MAZAREEM TRAVERSED A LONG tunnel beneath the thick walls before crossing the threshold into Orcassus. On the other side of the gate, he stopped, stunned by the sight of the city. The capital sat in an ancient crater. The fortifications along the perimeter formed the edges of a colossal bowl. From his vantage point high on the slope next to the outer wall, Mazareem could look all the way across the rooftops of the city to the other side.
This startling view, combined with the sudden absence of the miasma, took Mazareem’s breath away. Overhead, a burning desert sun scorched the bleached stone buildings of the city. A cloudless, pale blue sky was the only reminder that before the miasma’s corruption, this used to be a vibrant, healthy world.
Orcassus was at least three miles wide. At this height, on the edge of the crater, Mazareem’s sightline was higher than the highest rooftop. Only the citadel in the center of the city rose above his head. And it was that castle that drew his eye now.
The central fortress dwarfed the surrounding city. It had its own set of walls, although it appeared that buildings were built right up against them. Its spires and towers reached high into the clear sky. The dark onyx stone shimmered in the brilliant sunlight.
In the Kingdom of Haverfell, Abimelech’s dragon spawn children fancied themselves accomplished architects, pouring their efforts into grotesque creations designed to evoke primal emotions like fear and dread. They would have cowered before this edifice. The black castle was the work of a master. It sat in Maz
areem’s vision like a thorn in his eye, its very existence clawing itself into his consciousness.
The peak of the highest tower seemed to pierce the heavens. Atop this tower, a long, black banner rippled against the blue sky. Mazareem closed his eyes. The castle was still there, a burning afterimage on the back of his eyelids. There was no escaping it. Despite the blazing sun, Mazareem shivered. The only time he had ever experienced something similar was when he stood in Abimelech’s presence.
Dezerath brushed past Mazareem with what remained of her original troop. He lowered his gaze to the soldiers standing in formation on this side of the gate. Rank upon rank of armored women stood facing him. They all bore the same insignia that Dezerath wore on her arm, the white, half-sun of House Gorvan.
Inside the city, everyone had removed their mask. It seemed odd to Mazareem to see so many uncovered faces after many long days of traveling through the Ravening. He looked for, and did not find, a single masculine face in the formation. That, too, felt very strange.
Pynel and her seplica stood to one side. The seplica captain waited patiently for Dezerath to reunite with her family. Dezerath saluted a tall, brutal-looking woman at the head of the assembled troops.
“Venerator Dezerath of Candeth, guardian of the risen one, firstborn of House Gorvan, at your command, Mother Terro,” Dezerath said. She had the gall to sound as if she arrived at the head of a victorious procession.
Mother Terro cast a severe eye over Mazareem, Pynel, and Dezerath’s ragged survivors. When she spoke, her voice grated like boulders being ground together.
“Tell me, venerator, where are the rest of your soldiers?” Terro said. “You should have set out with no less than fifty. I see only twenty, and no males. Explain yourself.”
“Mother Terro, as you can see, I was accompanied by a squad of seplica,” Dezerath said. “I was given no choice in the matter. We trusted their guidance through the Ravening, but they led us into an ambush. We were attacked by mistwalkers. The only survivors stand before you now.”
Mazareem expected Pynel to violently object to this lie. Instead, she said nothing.
“Mistwalkers, you say?” Terro said.
“Yes, Mother,” Dezerath said.
“That’s strange, because you only find mistwalkers where the miasma’s thickest, and a seplica knows better than most the dangers that lurk down those forbidden paths,” Terro said.
“We thought so too,” Dezerath said, nodding vigorously. “They betrayed our trust, and we suffered for it.”
“You didn’t notice the miasma getting thicker? You didn’t take charge and order your soldiers to take a different route?”
“I—uh, yes, of course I noticed,” Dezerath said, starting to sound flustered. “The seplica, they said there was no danger, and I believed them.”
“So, you’re saying they lied to you.”
“Yes, they must have.”
“Seplica don’t lie, you fool.”
Dezerath had no ready response to this insult. Mother Terro’s words echoed off the walls behind Mazareem.
“What?” Dezerath finally managed to say into the stunned silence.
“Let me educate you, child,” Terro said, her words dripping with malice. “Seplica cannot utter a falsehood. The Lady of Pain prefers it that way. It ensures they can never plot against her.”
Mother Terro turned her fierce gaze to Pynel.
“I won’t insult you by asking you for the true account, captain,” Terro said. “I’ve heard enough. Take the risen one to your master, with my apologies. I’ll take matters in hand here.”
Pynel bowed her head in acknowledgement.
“And, captain,” Terro said, “I’ll expect him returned to us by sundown tomorrow. This mewling babe may be incompetent beyond belief, but the risen one did choose House Gorvan. We’ll not see the glory of his coming fall to another.”
“I’ll inform my master of your request,” Pynel said.
Pynel gestured for Mazareem to follow her. In the company of Pynel and her squad of seplica, Mazareem left the gate behind and ventured into the city. The last he saw of Dezerath, she was staring after him with a horrified look on her face.
Mazareem chuckled after they turned a corner and moved out of sight.
“You knew that would happen,” Mazareem said.
“I knew Mother Terro would be the one to greet us,” Pynel said. “And I knew she’d see through Dezerath’s lies in an instant. Mother Terro despises any hint of weakness or incompetence. If you hadn’t picked Dezerath personally, her title as venerator would probably be forfeit. Maybe her life, too.”
“And you think I’ll be returned to her care in one piece?”
Pynel frowned. “That’s not my decision. Once I’ve delivered you, you’re no longer my concern.”
Mazareem might have been inclined to make sport of Pynel, but he was distracted by the growing apprehension in his gut. Even though he could not see it in the narrow confines of Orcassus’s streets, the dark citadel loomed large in his thoughts. Before the sun set on this day, he would once again lay eyes on the woman who had cursed him a thousand years ago. The only woman he had ever loved. The woman he had betrayed.
Chapter 22
LACRAEL STRUGGLED IN HER new role. To pass as a forsaken in the Palacostian Empire required constant vigilance. The slightest mistake could be perceived as an insult, with deadly consequences. She was not allowed to look at a woman from a royal house. She was not to be seen speaking with a man, even though sometimes business transactions required it. If she did not debase herself at the sight of a tomb keeper, she could be killed in the street.
Niad did her best to coach Lacrael on what she knew of the unspoken rules that governed the life of a forsaken, but Lacrael still lived with the constant fear that she would get something wrong. Niad, for her part, had slipped into her disguise as slaver with surprising ease. Lacrael stayed close to Niad’s side, acting as her personal servant whenever required.
With every city they visited, it got a little easier. Brant was not happy about the risk to Lacrael. And while she hated the idea of him being locked in a cage, she was grateful he did not have to see her suffer humiliation.
At Sendren, the city where Lacrael had dueled Elise, Niad had discovered that a game of chance she used to play was still popular. Wagering the dagger Lacrael had taken from Elise, Niad had managed to win some coin. From those winnings, she doubled their wealth at every settlement they visited. No one looked twice at a slaver who knew how to gamble, as long as she did not win too much in one place. This allowed them to buy food and pay the bribes to keep the tomb keepers off their backs.
This pattern continued for over a week while they traveled along the imperial highway. Outside the walls of the fortified cities, Lacrael was free to be herself and stay near Brant. But once they passed through the gate of the next settlement, Lacrael and Niad were forced to separate themselves from the others, who had to wait in a holding pen with the other slaves.
Tarathine seemed to be getting worse, and Kaiser grew more adamant by the day that they must find a cure. He demanded to know why none of the cities they had visited so far had the medicine they needed. Niad could only reassure him that their best chance was in Orcassus. Gustavus continued to suffer, speaking little, and passing out to sleep like the dead when they entered the clean air behind the high walls of a Palacostian city. There was an average of two days hard walking between these fortified refuges from the miasma.
On the fourteenth day since entering the Ravening after leaving Sadreed’s village, they came to what Niad said would be the last city before reaching Orcassus. Lacrael stumbled to a halt when Niad stopped before the gate. She was exhausted. Constant exposure to the miasma took its toll on all of them. None of them had it as bad as Gustavus, but Lacrael had a constant pain in her temples, like someone was pounding a spike into her skull. And she had no energy. It took every scrap of willpower that she possessed to rise each morning and continue walking.
>
Instead of going to the gate and signaling that they wanted to enter, Niad turned to face them. She pulled down the cloth mask that covered her nose and mouth.
“To reach Orcassus from here, we have to hire a guide,” Niad said. “The land surrounding the capital is too dangerous for us to wander into on our own. We’ll also need proper masks. The miasma outside Orcassus is too concentrated to breathe. Without a basic filtering pack, we’d be dead within an hour.”
“You can arrange all of this?” Kaiser asked.
“I can try. I’ll need to double our funds first, but if I can do that, I should have just enough money to buy what we need.”
“I don’t like betting our fate on a game of chance.”
“You don’t have to like it. It’s the only option we’ve got.”
Kaiser did not respond. For a tense moment, Lacrael feared he was going to lash out at Niad. Instead, Kaiser gave her a sharp nod. Taking this as approval of her plan, Niad moved to the gate and placed the guidestone in the waiting socket.
Moments later, they were being ushered through the gate. Lacrael breathed a sigh of relief when the tomb keeper guard captain did not give them any trouble. She stood at Niad’s side and watched as the others were led away to be locked in the slave quarter. Niad was given a piece of wood with a number carved into it. This corresponded to the cage the others would be waiting in when it came time to collect them.
Brant glanced over his shoulder, as he always did, making eye contact with Lacrael. He was worried about her. She wished she could give him a reassuring smile, but it would be wasted behind her featureless gray mask.
“I know this city,” Niad said when the others had gone. “This is Lister, the last refuge before risking the crossing to Orcassus. My family used to store trade goods here. Come on. Things tend to remain unchanged in Palacost. I bet the old tavern is in the same place as I remember.”
