Among the Fallen

by NS Dolkart

  48

  Ptera

  Narky never came back. Instead, the king’s son returned covered in the blood of other men, with the news that the Black Dragon had been slain by his own kinsman.

  The first thing Ptera did was to suppress a scream. Being widowed had been nothing the first time, but to lose her second husband, her young Narky, was unthinkable. Had he been killed, or only captured? Would it make any difference? If Ardis won the war, the Dragon Touched would surely slay Narky out of spite. If the Dragon Touched won, they would slay him then too – him, and anyone else they caught.

  The second thing Ptera did was to spread the word that Ravennis’ temple was buying food. Magerion was probably mere hours away from ordering another assault on the Dragon Touched, and if that gambit turned out to be as disastrous as the last one, the city would soon come under siege.

  Ptera did not go to talk to King Magerion. She knew that he would never listen to her, no matter her authority within the church – he had barely listened to Narky, and Narky was both a man and a prophet. It didn’t matter what Ptera might say; Magerion would believe that the Black Dragon’s death was an omen from Ravennis, proving that He favored war.

  This, Ptera knew, was nonsense. If Ravennis had favored war, He would have told Narky so. At the very least, He would have brought Narky safely home to her, and allowed him to deliver the news of the Black Dragon’s assassination. He would not, in His wisdom, have allowed Narky to be captured like this.

  This was what Ptera thought: either the Dragon Touched assassin had been acting alone, without divine favor, or God Most High had decided to lure Magerion in so that He could condemn Ravennis and the people of Ardis to complete destruction. Under the first scenario, Magerion would be making a mistake. Under the second, he would be dooming his people.

  Even so, Ptera had no intention of leaving the city. Ravennis could surely survive losing a second city if He had survived the loss of the first, and as long as Ravennis remained Lord Among the Fallen, Ptera must not fear death. Better to be a martyr in Ardis than to make her God think she did not trust Him.

  So she had the church buy grain with the money that Magerion and his terrified fellow nobles had donated, and she gave sermons about the delights that awaited Ravennis’ followers in the world below. People whispered about the grain, of course, but Ptera only smiled and carried on as if nothing was the matter. Either the king would order her to stop stockpiling food, or he wouldn’t.

  Within a week, the men of Ardis were marching off to war again, assured by their king that victory would be swift. Ptera hoped he was right – though if he was, what would happen to Narky? There had been no contact from the Dragon Touched regarding his release, but that was probably because they were in disarray after the slaying of their leader. Would their disarray be enough to give Magerion the victory he sought?

  The people of Ardis were hopeful, but it took no special insight to sense their wariness. More than two thousand men had died since the day Bestillos marched south to punish a wizard, and the city was feeling their loss. When word came of a standoff on the mountainside, the relief in the city was palpable – yet how low had Ardis sunk, that simply failing to lose their army in its first week of combat should be considered a good sign?

  The campaign dragged through another week, and another, as the army of Ardis proved unable to dislodge the Dragon Touched from their mountain. The swift victory that Magerion had promised was proving to be just as illusory as Ptera had expected: Ravennis did not truly support this war. Or if He did, He was opposed by an equally powerful force.

  Then at last the word came. The Ardisian army had been routed again, and Magerion’s son Atlon, who had been given its command, had died in battle.

  The news destroyed the fragile equilibrium of the city, and the people came to Ptera in droves, hoping for words of comfort, at least, before their city went the way of Laarna. She gave them that comfort as best she could, and at every service, the crowd grew. Even Mageris, the king’s second son, came to her to learn about his brother’s fate in the world below – and, it went unsaid, about the fate they were all likely to face in the near future.

  She spoke to him and to the others of the glories of Ravennis, and of the marvelous second lives that awaited them in His kingdom. But of course, that didn’t change the fact that nobody wanted to die. Ptera certainly didn’t, and it gave her great comfort to know that Narky hadn’t either. If even the high priest of Ravennis didn’t look forward to death, there was nothing wrong with her or with anyone for feeling the same way.

  The Dragon Touched reached the city two days later, and Magerion ordered the gate closed. Those farmers who had not found their way within the walls were stranded outside, presumably begging for their lives. The Dragon Touched showed them little mercy.

  The first assault on the city shook Ardis to its foundations. How many years had it been since these city walls had been tested? Over a hundred, probably; Ptera did not even know of a time when it had happened. Now they ran with blood and fire, and the sounds of war horns and clanging weaponry echoed into the night. Some of the city’s women took up arms and joined their husbands and brothers on the wall, while the rest crowded into the Temple of Ravennis with their children. Ptera led them all in prayers until word came that the Dragon Touched had been repelled, at which point the women looked at each other in dubious relief, and she turned to prayers of thanksgiving.

  The thanksgiving prayers were ones of Ptera’s own invention. It was a sad fact that much of the Ravennian liturgy had been lost when the Graceful Servant was martyred. Though refugees from Laarna had no doubt settled in Atuna and elsewhere, Ptera and Narky had yet to meet any of them, and so they had been forced to develop prayers of their own. In some ways, though, it was not as great a loss as it seemed: the old prayers had been developed at a time when Ravennis was not yet God of the Dead, so the break from the past was perfectly excusable.

  The Dragon Touched did not renew their assault the next day, so on Magerion’s invitation Ptera spent the morning blessing the walls that had held them back. From her vantage point atop the gates, she was able to view the opposing army as it camped outside, nursing its wounds.

  The army was small. If they had not humbled the men of Ardis so completely and repeatedly, Ptera would have thought the Dragon Touched too few to pose the city any threat. And yet, Ardis no longer had the kind of force to drive them away. The walls might hold or they might not, but no army of Ardismen would be leaving through these gates to break the siege. If Magerion could not buy the Dragon Touched off, the city would starve.

  The king sent messengers suggesting an end to the war under new terms, but no peace could be brokered. The Dragon Touched were now led by their high priestess, Hessina, and she was less invested in the notion of peace than the young Black Dragon had been. The messengers told of how she had ridiculed their king for suggesting peace now, after he had so quickly withdrawn Narky’s offer when he thought the Dragon Touched were too weak to defend themselves. She would no longer trust Magerion’s offers, she said – the war could only end with Ardis’ destruction.

  There was no word of Narky.

  For the next few days, a double contingent of men patrolled the walls day and night. Yet for now, the Dragon Touched seemed content to starve them out. Two weeks passed without a second assault on the walls, even as the food supplies within them dwindled. After another two weeks, Ptera opened up the temple’s food stores. But soon enough, her stockpile too was gone.

  The king sent for Ptera now, for the first time since Narky’s capture. Despite everything, the summons made her nervous. Ptera’s family had been minor members of the king’s clan, and they had always worshipped and feared their representative on the Council of Generals. Magerion was a powerful man, and a dangerous one.

  She had thought, somehow, that he would never call for her, despite the prominence she had gained in Narky’s absence. But, of course, she was the only representative Ravennis had in t
he city now. She would have to stand for the entire church. That meant she could not afford to be intimidated.

  She saw now how much of an asset Narky’s bluntness had been to their God. Her young husband was impudent and imprudent, but another man’s power and stature could never prevent him from speaking. The Graceful Servant’s power had been in her fearlessness; Narky’s was in his bluntness. Where did Ptera’s power lie?

  She met the king on the walkway above the city gate, where he had been surveying the army that threatened to starve them all to death. He waved his retainers off as she approached, and the two of them made their own patrol of the city wall, alone.

  “Our people have begun slaughtering their mules rather than feed them precious grain,” the king said. “When the grain is gone too, it will be cats next, and dogs, and rats.”

  Ptera said nothing. She had prided herself once on her strength of character and her quick wit, but now she was standing next to the man whose very name had made her parents quake. He hulked above her, his shoulders wide and his voice gravelly and deep. Though she was a strong woman herself, though she was here to represent her God and His church, she still could not speak.

  “We are going to have to break this siege,” the king said. “We have no choice. The Dragon Touched have defeated us every time we’ve met on the open field, but that is no excuse to hide behind our walls. I would rather our people died in battle than in starvation – I will not leave this world without bringing some of the Dragon Touched with me.”

  This time, Ptera found her voice. “They’ll outnumber our army for the first time,” she said.

  Magerion shook his head. “Widows will have to take up their husbands’ weapons for this final battle, and orphans their parents’ tools of war. Everyone with legs to charge and hands to hold a spear must join us. That is why I called for you. What blessing can you give our people so that they will not fear the army they face?”

  Ptera pulled her eyes away from his bulk and thought on this. Was there anything that could keep their people from fearing this calamitous final battle? What could Ptera possibly say to them that she hadn’t said already?

  Part of the trouble was that the people of Ardis were so new to the worship of Ravennis. They trusted Him, or at least, they trusted her, but Ravennis could not recover for them the feeling that they were Ardismen, the fiercest and most feared warriors in the known world. How could a God who had come upon them only in their weakness ever hope to remind them of their strength?

  “Speak, girl.”

  The words hit her like a blow. Calling her “girl” was an attack on her, but it was more than that – it was an attack on Ravennis too. Blast her parents for teaching her to be intimidated by this man, and blast her own sudden shyness – she could not let him speak like that to a priestess. Afraid as she might be of Magerion, her faith demanded that he be chastised.

  She could not be Ptera anymore, not right now. No. She was the Graceful Servant.

  She stopped walking. “You can’t call a priestess of Ravennis ‘girl,’ and expect our God to serve you. Do you think that Ravennis is so weak or so forgiving that He will ignore your disrespect, old man?”

  Magerion was not accustomed to hearing such words from women. His first instinct was to raise his hand. But Ptera was ready, and she did not flinch. Instead she took a step closer to him.

  “Ravennis does not fear you,” she said, “and He does not serve you. Whether we drive the Dragon Touched away or whether we perish in hunger or in flames, your soul will soon pass into His halls, and you can expect to be judged according to your worth. Are you prepared for that?”

  The king’s hand was still up by his shoulder, but she was so close now that he could hardly have hit her with it if he’d tried. There was fear in his eyes.

  “There is no time for you to switch sides,” Ptera said, and the king himself flinched at her tone. She really was the Graceful Servant now, back in the flesh. “You have given Ardis to Ravennis,” she said, “and He will not give it back.”

  “I… apologize,” the king said at last, and when she would not step away, he did so himself. “But is your God – is our God content to let His second home on this earth fall, and His people starve, or will He help us? Will you do nothing to bless your city’s cause?”

  Ptera turned and walked on, forcing the king to follow. This game of imagining herself as the Graceful Servant really worked. An answer to his question presented itself quite suddenly, but she acted as if she had known of it all along and said confidently: “Our people need to know that it wasn’t Magor that gave them strength. We should have a spear dance tonight.”

  “But spear dances were a sacred rite of His!”

  “Magor is defeated,” Ptera countered. “His people have turned to Ravennis. Why shouldn’t Ravennis take His rituals too, if it suits Him?”

  Magerion considered this. “A spear dance would hearten our people. Thank you, priestess. Consider it done.”

  That night, as the flames of a bonfire rose between the armory and the Temple of Ravennis, the men of Ardis displayed their prowess in sacred dance, spinning and leaping as if the Dragon Touched had never broken their confidence, never sent their brothers fleeing across the countryside. They danced and forgot the Dragon Touched – danced, and remembered Ardis.

  The next day Ptera took up Narky’s spear and joined Magerion at the gate, alongside every able-bodied man and woman in the city, and a few who were less than able-bodied. In size, their force would easily dwarf the Dragon Touched army, or any other army for that matter. It was enough to help them pretend that they would not break upon first contact with their enemies.

  Magerion stood before them, dressed in scales of interlaced bronze and steel, polished to a magnificent shine. “The Dragon Touched think they can starve us to death,” he said. “Today we show them what Ardis is, what the men and women of this great city can do to their puny little army. Today, this war ends.”

  Ptera cheered along with the rest, knowing that few of them truly expected to win, but willing to indulge in the fantasy. Ravennis, she prayed silently, bring us to victory today. If You can do anything, bring these people home safely. Let us come to you another day.

  Perhaps Ravennis heard her. Perhaps He didn’t.

  The gates were opened.

  49

  Bandu

  The first thing Bandu noticed when she stepped through the door was that the floor was made of stone, not roots. The Yarek’s strength was enough to touch the underworld, but not enough to breach it. Beyond the door, she was on her own.

  On this stone floor, bodies were piled. Hundreds of bodies, their skin a dark gray, were stacked one on top of the other all across the room, with only a narrow path leading between them. Now and then, one would mumble something or try to turn in its sleep, unsuccessfully. The bodies reminded Bandu of the ghosts she had seen on Tarphae a year ago, with no faces and no features. But they were solid. She accidentally brushed against one as she walked past, and there was no mistaking it.

  There was an open archway in the wall ahead, and she passed from one chamber of bodies into another. There was no ceiling that she could see – the walls rose up into darkness. The second chamber was identical to the first, and when she came to a third, the only difference there was that the bodies here were not piled quite as high – they only came up to Bandu’s waist and not her shoulder.

  It was warmer than she had expected in the land of the dead – the kind of warmth that fogged the mind and made her eyes keep trying to close. But she forced herself to keep them open. She knew better than to fall asleep among the dead.

  A screech from above made Bandu duck as a pale monster flew past her on raven wings, carrying another body in its arms. Bandu had seen these monsters before, with their bald heads and spiked teeth. Phaedra had called them angels, messengers from Ravennis. Two of these had attacked Bandu and her friends once. She knew how easily those talons could tear flesh, and that when these creatures died,
they would turn back into crows.

  But this one did not attack her. It only put its cargo down, almost lovingly, atop the other sleepers, and flew off into the darkness. Bandu stayed crouched for some time, until her body cried for her to stretch out, preferably on the ground, and her eyes began to shut themselves again. She rose, and pinched herself until a trickle of blood ran between her fingernails. The sting was enough to jolt her eyes open. For now.

  She walked on, but before she could reach the next chamber two more angels swooped out of the darkness and stood before her on either side of the path. She was cautious in her approach, but the angels were faster than she expected. They caught her each under an arm and immediately lifted her into the air. Bandu wriggled in their grip, but it did no good. Higher and higher they rose until the chamber’s walls came to an end and they flew over them through the darkness, sometimes veering left or right to avoid a collision with another body carrier. Bandu barely had the chance to catch her breath before they took a final turn over a high wall and lowered her to the floor. Then they screeched and flew away.

  The new room was well-lit, with a rich carpet of woven feathers on the floor leading up to a majestic throne. On this throne sat the God Ravennis.

  His body was like a man’s, though easily three times too large, with the head of a crow. In His right palm He held an eye the size of a fist, a trophy she recognized. It was the eye of the Boar of Hagardis, which the Tarphaeans had given to Ravennis in the hopes that He might protect them from Magor. They had given other parts to other Gods, but apparently Narky’s God cherished the gift nonetheless.

  He nodded at her as she approached, and turned His head slightly to watch her. I am glad you’ve come, He said.

  She knew His voice instantly. It was the voice that had whispered to her of Tarphae’s drowning, the voice that had told her which water-leaf to hide in when she was a little girl trying to escape the fairies. It had always spoken to her through the wind, but she did not think Ravennis was the wind itself. He couldn’t be. Could He?