The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  He emerged into a smog of dust that scratched his throat. More Shesaitju ran on this narrow street, though it thankfully wasn’t nearly as crowded as the markets. Rand searched from side to side, then saw the King only a cart’s length away, against a wall, chest heaving. Blood and dirt coated his thin cheeks.

  “My King, we need to get you out of here,” Rand said, approaching cautiously.

  Pi glanced over but didn’t make eye contact. His gaze darted in every direction, toward every scream, squeal, or roar, toward the terror-stricken zhulong trampling through anything in their paths.

  “My King, please,” Rand insisted.

  Pi swallowed audibly, then reached out and grasped Rand’s hand, still not looking. His touch startled Rand, even though he expected it.

  Is it really this easy? Rand wondered. Throughout history, all the tales of regicide came with epic stories and otherworldly assassins, like what his sister had become. The kings never willingly took the hands of their killers.

  Rand snapped out of it and studied his surroundings. There were too many people around to risk it here. He had no idea who any of the Shesaitju were or if they’d recognize what was happening. And no matter what, Rand had to survive this. Seeing Sigrid again depended on it.

  “This way!”

  He clasped tight and dragged Pi across the road. They dodged a zhulong, mounted by a warrior who couldn’t control it. Shoved by more people. Rand occasionally glanced back to see massive wianu tentacles thrashing over the dust.

  The words “Retreat!” echoed over screams of death. Fleeing Shesaitju warriors appeared in the distance. A handful of Shieldsmen were with them, pearly armor like beacons against the all-brown-and-black city.

  “Come on!” Rand pulled left down another alley then another until they reached a small clearing.

  “Which way?” Pi asked, squeezing Rand’s hand so tight he could hardly feel his fingers.

  Ahead, a blackwood fence was being pounded from the other side by more scared zhulong, locked in their pen. Otherwise, they were on a backstreet with only a child crying on a balcony above and a blind beggar trembling behind a blanket. In a city under attack, this was about as alone as he could get without a plan.

  “Sir Unger told me to get to the Keep,” Pi went on. “Which way is it?”

  Rand closed his eyes and drew a deep, grating breath.

  He’s just a child, a part of him said within.

  He started a war, answered another. Got thousands killed.

  Rand’s free hand quaked uncontrollably. He himself had done many things he wasn’t proud of for the sake of his Kingdom and sister—killed men, hung women, including the one he loved. Never a kid, though. Even if Pi was starting to look older, that’s what he was.

  “Answer your King,” Pi yelled, pushing against Rand’s side.

  Rand shoved it all out of his head and pictured him and Sigrid sitting on the docks of Yarrington. Pictured her soft, freckled skin, and the way her wild, red hair never seemed to stay still.

  Before he knew it, he stood behind the boy, his arm wrapping Pi’s throat and constricting. The boy immediately retaliated, but Rand withdrew against a wall to brace himself and wrenched Pi’s arm behind his back.

  Pi had truly grown bigger, though, and his bony elbow caught Rand in one of the wounds Lucas had left him with. His grip loosened, and Pi’s head slid down enough for him to sink his teeth into Rand’s arm.

  The King broke free but didn’t make it two steps before Rand grabbed the neckline of his overly elaborate cape and tore him back. He hit the ground hard, the wind fleeing his lungs with a loud gasp. Rand jumped on top of him, both hands throttling the boy like he was tying off a rope to dock.

  Slapping, kicking, Pi did everything he could to break free. Rand closed his eyes as he squeezed, feeling the boy’s windpipe beginning to collapse beneath his fingers. He remembered all those awful moments of his life. Everything he’d lost—his sister’s eyes as he told her he’d return for her…

  As the resistance lessened, Rand peeked once through his eyelids. The sheer dread in Pi’s crystal blue eyes arrested him. His mind was reminded of those poor souls Oleander had forced him to hang. To Tessa, a handmaiden he’d cared dearly for, begging him to ignore his duty, begging him to stop.

  She’d offered that same feeble look before he’d hanged her. He heard the rope creaking while she swung in the wind, left to be food for gallers. Now again, someone who wasn’t his sister had him playing executioner.

  “What am I doing?” Rand asked himself. He staggered away. His hands peeled from Pi’s flesh, grits of sand sticking to both his and Pi’s sweat. The boy gasped and coughed, squirming to get free.

  All Rand could manage was to gape at his trembling hands, the hands of a young boy from Dockside who wanted to grow up and become a great Shieldsman who looked out for the small, defenseless people of the world. Even if they were the King.

  “Sigrid couldn’t—“

  Pi cut him off with a heel across the jaw. He pulled free, still coughing and clutching his brushed throat.

  “Help me!” the boy rasped and tried to run.

  Rand lunged and grabbed him by the sleeve. “The Boiling Keep isn’t that way,” he said. “I’ll show you. I won’t hurt you.”

  Pi punched at his arm, the exertion making him hack. Rand caught a kick in the shin this time and bit his lip to fight against the burst of pain.

  “I won’t hurt you!” he said.

  “Get off of me, traitor!”

  “I’m not—“

  The sleeve ripped, and Pi stumbled onto his rear. At the same time, a shadow fell over them, cast by a wianu rising high over the stables. A zhulong thrashed as it was strangled by its tentacles high in the air, on its way to being dropped into the monster’s oversized maw.

  Pi scrabbled to stand. The penned zhulong went into a frenzy and slammed against the fence until the blackwood snapped. Rand didn’t think. He bolted forward as they stampeded out onto the street, grabbing Pi and hoisting him over his shoulders. He evaded one of the charging beasts right before it bashed into the side of another, both mewing in pain.

  He caromed off their collapsed bodies and sprinted. Pi fought every step of the way, but Rand felt stronger than he had in months, at that moment, doing the right thing. Pi may have been a cursed, troubled boy and the daughter of a monster, but how many times had Rand been scolded by teachers for acting out of line, or beating down a street rat for saying something inappropriate to Sigrid?

  I won’t kill him, Rand decided. Only destroy the Crown.

  A zhulong bumped him in the side and sent him right, spinning out of the way of another one, all while Pi pounded on his back. Behind them, the wianu roared again and rampaged, feeding on zhulong like a feast had been laid out for it. Dust swirled. Bodies of the city’s retreating populace dropped in the stampede. Rand wasn’t sure where he was going, only that he had to keep running. They were now trapped in the middle of a street, no building to duck into, as if that would matter.

  A second before he felt it, he heard it. A beast snorted and rammed Rand from behind. He hit the sand-coated stone and skidded, scraping his elbows and knees. Pi tumbled off his shoulder. The boy looked up, petrified. Rand dived under the legs of a zhulong racing by, passing beneath it just in time. Then, he grasped Pi to help him up. They were nearly to their feet when a hoof crashed down upon Rand’s neck.

  His head hit the stone, and he saw stars. Pi was somewhere beneath him, squirming to get free. Another hoof hit, and another. Before Rand knew it, pain exploded from every part of his body, and he couldn’t move.

  It felt like drowning. Dust choked him, caught in his throat, and he couldn’t scream; couldn’t even draw breath because every time he did, another hoof pounded on his back.

  Pi’s body ceased to wriggle underneath him, and before Rand knew it, the stampede ended. He rolled over onto his back, struggling for breath. Every inhalation stung. Every exhalation stung worse. The stifling veil of
dirt, sand, and Iam-knows-what-else lifted enough so Rand could see the people running past. He couldn’t manage to turn his head, only peer through his peripherals.

  “My King!” a deep, familiar voice bellowed as Rand lay there, gasping.

  Rand expended as much energy as he could to rotate his head toward the sound, and saw Torsten kneeling by King Pi’s broken body. The Glass Crown lay beside them, surrounded by hoof prints and broken into countless shards.

  “Sir Unger, we have to go!” Sir Mulliner shouted. In the center of the avenue stood a wall of Shieldsmen and Serpent Guards. They slowly backed up while providing cover for the retreat against Babrak’s invaders. Their armor was so covered in blood and grime it no longer shone.

  “No, no, no…” Torsten sniveled. “My King, wake up. I won’t lose you, too.”

  Rand didn’t understand. He’d absorbed the brunt of the trampling zhulong. But as Torsten shoveled his hands under Pi’s body and lifted, Rand realized something. Pi looked smaller than ever, wilting like a dry flower over Torsten’s arms, fragile. His clothing, perhaps, had made him seem larger. If he wasn’t dead, he was close to it.

  Rand took solace, though barely, knowing that if Pi was dead, he hadn’t killed him in cold blood; hadn’t crossed that line of no return... but he may as well have.

  I crossed that line a long time ago…

  As Torsten’s feet shuffled in his efforts to lift Pi despite his own wounds, all Rand could hear was the creaking of rope. That same infernal sound that plagued him into drunkenness back in Yarrington returned in full force.

  Creak, creak, creak, went the strained ropes tied around the throats of those he’d hanged. He could smell the death of their decaying bodies swinging in the wind.

  “Rand?” Torsten muttered, his tone dripping with disbelief.

  Rand could hardly turn his head enough to see the face of his old mentor. The pity Torsten wore in his expression when last they met was gone, replaced by heartbreak. Or was it rage? Probably some combination of the two that made Rand’s already aching heart feel like it had sunk out between his shoulder blades.

  “I… I… didn’t…” he muttered. Forming even the simplest words hurt all over. He shook his head, and every time it felt like a knife-point pushing against his spine. “I… couldn’t…”

  “Sir Unger, the Caleef is safe, we have to go,” Sir Mulliner panted, sprinting over. The Shieldsman stopped, eyes going wide. “Is that the King?”

  Torsten didn’t answer. His attention remained on Rand, and he stayed completely silent. Sir Mulliner looked the same way, and his features corkscrewed with anger.

  “Rand Langley? I heard what you did at White Bridge, you traitor!” Sir Mulliner raised his sword and charged. Torsten stepped between them.

  “No,” Torsten said, low and measured.

  Sir Mulliner panted like a wild beast, knuckles whitening as he squeezed the grip of his sword. Rand had met him in training but didn’t know him well. But it was like Torsten said, he’d harmed Lucas, which meant he’d harmed them all.

  “Let him live his few last moments knowing what he’s done,” Torsten went on. “Better yet, let him survive knowing. Let him live forever.”

  Sir Mulliner lowered his weapon and spat. Then, placing his hand on Torsten’s shoulder, he guided him away. Just like in the tunnel, Torsten glanced back, and now Rand knew that it was indeed heartbreak gripping his expression. He looked like Sigrid had every time Rand came home, too drunk to stand up.

  Torsten stopped and turned fully, ignoring Sir Mulliner’s protests.

  “The Sigrid I knew would be ashamed,” Torsten said. “But you got her killed, too.”

  And then he was gone, Pi draped across his forearms. At the gates, Shieldsmen lined up, side by side with Serpent Guards, covering the retreat. The Glassmen formed an unbreakable wall of shields while the Shesaitju used polearms through the openings. They’d die eventually, but waves of their enemies crashed against them and were torn to pieces.

  A worthy sacrifice, unlike Rand’s.

  His head fell back. Darkness closed in around his vision, but not as far as he hoped. He didn’t die. He merely lay there, unable to move, each breath agonizingly painful.

  Creak, creak, creak.

  “What a shame.” The otherworldly voice of a woman spoke after what could have been hours. At first, Rand thought it was Nesilia until the pale, dour face of her mystic pet appeared. She hovered over him with her continually vacillating form. Behind her, one of the wianu rose on all its tentacles to eclipse the sun. Its black, soulless eyes fixated on Rand.

  The mystic touched down. The mystic scooped up the Glass Crown, letting the shards fall between the gaps in her long fingers.

  “Yet, perhaps not a waste,” she snickered.

  She swept in front of Rand and joined the wianu in staring directly into his eyes. “You want the end now, don’t you?” she said. “You pathetic, fragile creations always do.”

  Rand’s lips quivered as he tried to reply, but he couldn’t. He could only watch more of the fractured Glass Crown fall from her hand to be buried in the sand for all time. Forgotten.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not your time yet, little one,” she said.

  She leaned over him and pressed her palm against his chest. Then, muttering under her breath, her hand started to glow, bright and golden like the rising sun. Energy surged through Rand’s limbs. Blue smoke rose. His bones popped as his tangled limbs and broken ribs straightened. His neck cracked left, then right. His lungs inflated, and air rushed down his throat.

  He shot forward, gasping. The mystic stroked his back, hushing him like a crying infant.

  “There you are,” she whispered. “You can’t die yet, Rand Langley. How then would I ever be able to control my sister?”

  XXIV

  The Knight

  Every part of him hurt, but Torsten walked, clutching the reins of the zhulong over which he’d secured Pi’s body, refusing to ride it. For two days, the survivors of the ambush on Latiapur marched through the sweltering heat of the Black Sands.

  Solemn. Weary. Defeated.

  No one would ever know what happened to the dozens who stayed behind at the gates, bravely covering the retreat. Lucas had to be amongst them, as he hadn’t been seen since Torsten dispatched him to find Pi, all too late.

  Torsten found strange peace in the knowledge that his and Lucas’ horses were also missing. They’d either broken off their hitches and ran, or Dellbar and Lord Jolly had indeed made it out alive.

  Torsten had promised that chestnut mare her retirement. Just yet another failure...

  The Shesaitju managed to herd many of the frightened zhulong so they could help the exodus. Torsten accepted only a single beast to transport Pi. He wanted to feel the burn in his arms and legs as he climbed and descended the dunes. He deserved it. He should’ve been there in the arena when all hell broke loose. Right at King Pi’s side like the shield he was meant to be. Instead, Rand Langley’s final betrayal was complete. He’d caused them to be separated and gotten Pi killed.

  Whether or not Rand did it with his own two hands, or it was the result of a stampede, Torsten couldn’t be sure. The boy’s body was too bruised and bloody to tell. All Torsten knew was that it would take more than a miracle to bring Pi back to life again this time.

  And while he lay across a zhulong, wrapped in blankets to keep out the heat, his bride yet lived. Mahraveh hadn’t spoken since joining up with everyone, not to her guardian, who commanded the defense of the women and children marching with them. Not to Torsten. The most she’d offered was a sad look as she passed by and saw Pi’s remains.

  Shouting from up ahead slowed the migration. Shesaitju mounted on zhulong raced by, and as Torsten ascended a dune, he saw the small settlement in a clearing below, beside a rocky outcrop. Rather, what used to be a settlement. Charred structures and a few lonely palms surrounded a small oasis.

  Bit’rudam had gone ahead, taking the cavalry on a sweep meant to en
sure that more enemies weren’t waiting to ambush them.

  “This used to be my home,” Mahraveh said, stepping up beside him. She, too, had refused a mount. “Saujibar. I learned most of what I know about fighting on these very dunes.”

  Torsten turned to face her. She looked every bit as battered as all of her newly homeless people. Her resplendent dress might as well have been rags.

  “I’m alive because of you,” Mahraveh said.

  “And he’s not,” Torsten replied. He had no eyes. Otherwise, she’d have seen tears welling in them, but his expression must’ve revealed everything. He couldn’t fight it. Couldn’t manage a brave face.

  She shook her head. “You sent him with me. I shouldn’t have gone after Babrak, I shouldn’t have—“

  “No. The King’s Shield failed him. I failed him.”

  “Your people won’t believe that. Babrak wanted me because of my deeds, and Pi died for it.”

  “He wasn’t a child anymore. He chose to marry you, here, in the name of peace.”

  “Will that matter?” Mahraveh asked.

  “Will anything if Nesilia wins?”

  Mahraveh exhaled through her teeth. “I should have killed Babrak when I had the chance,” Mahraveh said. “Now, Nesilia has more allies.”

  “There are plenty I should’ve killed earlier, as well,” Torsten answered. “I didn’t. I desperately tried to see the light in them. Now, look where we are.”

  Mahraveh stepped closer and ran her fingers through Pi’s hair. Torsten choked back tears he couldn’t release. The boy actually looked peaceful, lying there. He’d fought so much just to live a normal life, to grow into the man all of Pantego hoped he would be. He did it in spite of Redstar, Nesilia, Liam, Oleander, even Torsten.

  Torsten wondered if he and Oleander were finally together, without pain, without sadness. Still, he knew if there was any justice, those two would not find rest on the same plane.