by Sandell Wall
The governor stared at Remus with bloodshot eyes. Lank, wet hair covered a sweating brow. The governor's face was gaunt and feverish, his lips twisted in a permanent grimace. The source of the man’s pain was obvious. A hideous, festering wound burned an angry red on his throat and chest. It looked like someone had tried to saw his head off with a dull blade and failed.
The governor is not long for this world.
As if sensing Remus’s judgment, the governor spat on the floor before his throne. The gesture was probably supposed to be intimidating, but it brought on a coughing fit that almost knocked the man from his seat. When he finally recovered, he spoke, his raspy voice full of pain.
“Take your pity and cram it up your arse,” the governor growled.
“I’ve no reason to pity you,” Remus said. “Maybe you deserved that wound.”
“Impudent whelp. Do you know who I am? I am Theodosius Wranger, Governor of Umgragon, Lord of the Black Citadel. How did you come to enter my walls? By what strange power have you overcome the city’s ancient defenses?”
“You call one little portcullis ‘ancient defenses?’ ”
“Don’t jape with me, boy. No runestone has ever been activated inside Umgragon, and yet my soldiers tell me you used one against them, blasting aside their barricade with lightning from your fingertips.”
“Is such a thing possible?” Remus asked Pricker in his mind, while still talking with Governor Wranger.
“Blocking rune power is a common Drathani defense,” Pricker answered. “Only vessel stones like the one you carry are immune.”
Remus raised his left arm, bringing his clenched, gauntleted fist into the light. “Your defenses are not as sound as you thought. Don’t test me again.”
On both sides of the governor's throne, the massive shadows of his bodyguards sprang forward. Behind Remus, Monstur growled. Beards hid the faces of the Volgoth champions—the left’s gray and bushy, and the right’s black and immaculately manicured. Wicked axes dangled on their hips. They looked at Remus with violence in their eyes.
Governor Wranger waved them back in annoyance. “Settle down, you louts. I’ll not be intimidated by some manchild playing at war. I bet his balls haven't even dropped. Tell me, boy, have you tasted the fruits of a woman?”
Remus’s face burned. He was painfully aware of Tethana’s presence. “We’ve not come here as invaders. We come seeking help. Have you looked to the east? Have you seen the darkening sky? That’s no natural storm. It was summoned into being by an enemy of unimaginable power. The lightning hunts us. It pursued us across the plains, killing any who fell behind. Within hours it will reach this city, and we’ll discover if these stone walls can withstand the fury of the tempest.”
“You’ve come to me for aid, leading your doom to my doorstep?” Governor Wranger said. “You breached my walls, invaded my city, and opened the gates to the rabble that squatted outside. Now you tell me that because of your presence, some terrible foe is going to unleash its power on Umgragon? What part of this arrangement is good for me and mine? Did you consider that?”
“We had nowhere else to go,” Remus said, the excuse sounding hollow to his own ears.
“Then you should have died on the plains!” Governor Wranger roared. He stabbed a thin hand toward the city. “That pathetic mob has camped outside my gates for months, begging and pleading for me to let them in. Why is it that everyone thinks I hold the power to solve all their problems? I knew that if I let one man in, I’d have to let them all in. The city can’t sustain that many additional people. They chose to live and work beyond the protection of Umgragon’s walls. I have no sympathy for them if it proved to be a foolish decision.”
“Is the First Legion not responsible for defending the citizens of the empire?” asked Remus. “You act as if they are stationed here as your own personal army.”
The governor tried to laugh, but it turned into a tortured cough. When he could speak again, he said, “So the boy wants to play governor, does he? Protect the citizens, uphold the will of the emperor, and preserve the virtue of every fair maiden? It’s not as simple as that, you naive little fool. In case you haven't noticed, the empire’s crumbling. Traitors and usurpers strike from the shadows, sowing discord and advancing their nefarious aims. Umgragon has suffered at the hands of malcontents. The First Legion has been wholly occupied with rooting out and putting down the rebels that would take the city for themselves and set up their own state, free of the rightful rule of the emperor.”
Governor Wranger thrust out his neck and chest, pulling down his tunic to show the wicked gash on his neck and torso. “You see this wound? The failed attempt of a traitorous assassin. Only by my shrewd foresight and continued vigilance is Umgragon still secure. That’s the only thing that matters. Farms can be rebuilt. The country rabble can spawn more brats. But if the city falls, the entire province is lost. And now, thanks to you, all of my work is undone.”
Remus bowed his head, trying to work out a response. He did not trust this vile, broken, shell of a man, but he could not deny the truth of the governor’s words. He had led the survivors to Umgragon because he expected salvation. It had never entered his mind that he might make things worse. There was no justification he could give for leading the storm here and then tearing down the city gates.
“What’s done is done,” Remus said, looking up. “I’ll not apologize for trying to do what’s best for my people, but it was not my intention to bring destruction down on your head. There’s no way I could have known what was going on inside the city. You had no men on the walls. The refugees outside said no one had come or gone in two weeks. I can’t undo my mistakes, but I can stand with you against the storm. Will you work with me now to help both our peoples survive?”
“I am nothing if not a practical man,” Governor Wranger said after considering Remus’s words. “You can atone for your errors by making sure Umgragon survives. But if you fail, I’ll not go to death’s cold embrace until I’ve dragged you down with me.”
“I won’t fail,” Remus said.
“Spoken with the foolhardy confidence of the young,” Governor Wranger said with a snort. “Now get out of my sight. If you’re going to do battle with a storm, you’re wasting your time here.”
Remus turned on his heel and marched out of the throne room. He avoided making eye contact with the others. He was furious, both with himself, and with the governor. Yes, he had miscalculated, but the man was a wretch. Remus had met reptiles with more pleasant dispositions.
Outside the double doors, he paused. During the entire conversation with the governor, something deep inside the fortress had been reaching out to him. Now that he was inside the citadel, he could feel the pull to a specific location. A location that was down, somewhere deep under the earth. He turned to Pikon.
“Take your soldiers and return to Promost Lister and Goregash,” Remus said. “Inform them that there’s no help to be found here beyond the safety of the walls. Once everyone is inside, find some way to block the gate. Get the people under cover. I don’t know what the storm will do, but our only chance of survival is to ride it out.”
Pikon nodded. “And what will you do?”
“I’m going to find out what’s calling to me through the gauntlet,” Remus said. “I can sense that it’s in the castle somewhere. I’ll take Pricker, Tethana, and Monstur with me, so I should be safe.”
“As you wish,” Pikon said. Instructions received, the Ethari soldiers jogged back through the empty feast hall and into the courtyard.
When the four of them were left standing alone in the hall, Remus turned to Tethana and said, “Let’s go exploring.”
The eldritch call dominated Remus’s senses, demanding a response. Insistent and growing stronger, the summons pulsed in his mind like a throbbing headache. He could no longer ignore it. If he did not soon find the source, he would have to leave the castle or be overwhelmed.
Upon taking the first step down the stone corridor, Remus realized that he knew
the way. Through some trick of the gauntlet, he knew instinctively how to navigate the warren of dark passageways to reach his goal. Outside the throne room, the castle was deserted. When they turned the corner and left the feasting hall behind, they were plunged into darkness—no one had bothered to light any torches in these unused passages.
A rune symbol flashed in Remus’s mind courtesy of Pricker. Remus examined his hand, locating the rune, and then pressed it into his palm. Reacting to the rune, the vessel stone flared, bathing the hallway in blood-red light. Remus raised the gauntlet over his head, illuminating their path.
No one spoke as they walked through the abandoned fortress. The weird, ruby light reminded Remus of a dream. He did not want to speak and shatter the illusion. The wealth of the empire was on display in the halls of the Black Citadel. They passed by great tapestries that twinkled with a hundred inset gems. Suits of intricate rune armor stood guard like silent sentinels. Remus was surprised to recognize statues carved from stygian marble. If what he knew about the rare material was correct, even one of those sculptures was worth enough to buy an entire province.
Soon, Remus’s unnatural instinct led them down a dark stair. The winding, circular steps descended deep into the earth. Unable to resist, Remus counted five hundred steps before they reached the bottom. The glowing gem on the back of his hand revealed iron bars embedded into floor and ceiling stretching away into the darkness.
“This is a dungeon,” Tethana said.
“Woe to the man who finds himself imprisoned here,” Monstur said. “To be so far from sun and sky is punishment enough.”
“Whatever’s reaching out for the gauntlet is on this level,” Remus said.
Slower now, unnerved by the prison cells and long-neglected implements of torture, Remus and his companions crept through the shadowy dungeon. Only Pricker seemed unconcerned.
As they neared their goal, Remus saw the faint flicker of torchlight ahead of them. He extinguished the light from the vessel stone. Plunged into darkness, the four of them waited, holding their breath and straining their ears for any hint of activity. When no sound came, they moved forward, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Monstur moved with the grace of a falling tree. His heavy footfalls echoed throughout the deserted prison.
“If there’s anyone down here, they’ll think the entire Volgoth horde is charging them,” Remus hissed.
“I cannot move with the stealth of my feline companion,” Monstur said, his voice defensive.
In the end, it did not matter. The torchlight was coming from one of the cells. There was only one torch, and only one man. Chained to the obsidian wall, the man hung limp as if dead. The only sign of life was the glitter of his eyes, two firelit gems that reflected the weak and guttering flame. Those eyes tracked Remus as he stepped into the room.
Whoever the man was, he was in miserable shape. His body was black and blue, every inch covered with festering wounds. A square patch of skin on his chest was wet and red where a torturer had peeled the flesh away in strips. With his arms anchored above his head, it looked like both shoulders were dislocated.
The pain must be terrible.
Remus stopped in front of the man, his objective briefly forgotten. He looked into the flinty eyes, expecting to see madness, but instead saw fierce intelligence. So shocking was the man’s gaze that he recoiled.
“What new horrors has Wranger ordered you to visit upon me today?” the man said, his voice strong despite his ruined body. “Come, do your worst. I’ll shake and scream. I’ll dance to your tune, and then you can leave me here in the darkness to get some rest.”
The man eyed each of them in turn. He paused when his gaze rested on Pricker, and Remus saw him gulp.
“We’re not here to torture you,” Remus said. “Who are you?”
Suspicion burned in the man’s eyes. “Come now, that’s been tried before. I’ll tell you no more than I told anyone else. Drown yourself in my blood and then be on your merry way. I know you’ve orders not to kill me.”
“Suit yourself, but we could have helped you,” Remus said. He turned from the man and faced the back wall of the cell. It looked like any of the other walls—nondescript black stone, but there was something behind it that screamed for his attention.
Unsure of what was required of him, Remus approached the wall and placed his gauntleted palm on the hard surface. Nothing happened at first, but then the vessel stone on the back of his hand pulsed once, twice, and then a third time. From somewhere in the floor came a deep rumble. The wall slowly folded in on itself to reveal a narrow stone tunnel.
Remus glanced over his shoulder to see the prisoner watching him with keen interest. “Didn't know you had a hidden escape route in here, did you?” Remus said. He looked at Monstur. “You’re too big to fit. Stay here and guard the entrance with Pricker. Tethana and I will find out what secrets Umgragon is hiding.”
With Tethana close behind him, Remus ducked his head and crawled into the tunnel. He could feel a mountain of stone hanging over his head. As the darkness swallowed them, he tried not to think about being imprisoned down here forever.
Chapter 23
SPREAD OUT IN COMBAT formation, rune casters ready to empower the fighters, the Rune Guard stood their ground against the Drathani soldiers on the deck of the massive ship. No one moved as the echoes of Savaroth’s words died away. In the shocked silence that followed, Aventine could hear the noise of the waves gently lapping against the docks. Beneath Savaroth’s feet, the great ship creaked and groaned. Poised at the top of the gangplank, he watched and waited, as if expecting a response from the soldiers of the empire. A seagull screeched overhead, oblivious to the scene playing out in the shadow of its wings.
Aventine glanced at the other soldiers on the pier. They were frozen in place, no doubt stricken with the same terror and awe that she felt. Aventine willed Narin to respond, silently urging the other woman to draw her weapon and order the defense of the city. She could do nothing until the commander acted.
Finally, Narin spoke. The Commander of the Rune Guard drew her sword, pointed it at Savaroth, and said, “I don’t know who you are or from whence you came, but this empire already has a ruler, and we are his elite guard. Set aside your weapons, stand down your soldiers, and you will be treated as a foreign emissary. Ignore my warning, and you will discover the might of the Rune Guard.”
When Narin finished her challenge, one of the soldiers behind her activated a runestone. The runes on Narin’s outstretched sword flared to life—white and shining with the intensity of the sun. Shocked by the brightness of the blade, Aventine averted her gaze. She looked to Savaroth, whose silver armor glittered with the reflection of Narin’s sword.
“Who is the slave to threaten her master with lash and chain?” Savaroth’s voice reverberated around the harbor. “I created thy power even as I created thou, and thine empire.” As he spoke, Savaroth lifted the gauntlet on his left arm. His fingers twitched, and the stone embedded on the back of his hand glowed brighter. Narin’s weapon started to spark and burn. Aventine could hear the rune-inscribed sword sizzle. An instant later she was hit by a terrible stench of metal burning to slag.
With a yelp, Narin dropped her ruined blade and stepped back. When it struck the dock, the melting sword ate though the wooden planks and fell into the bay below. Quenched in the sea, the blade screamed as it hit the cold water and then went silent. Steam rose through the hole in the pier.
Behind Narin, the soldier who had been powering her weapon screamed in agony. He dropped to his knees, his hand fused to the runestone clutched between his fingers. Like the sword, the stone was melted and destroyed.
Stunned, every head turned back toward Savaroth. Aventine resisted the overpowering urge to take her rune-powered daggers and hurl them into the sea.
“Lead me to thine emperor,” Savaroth said. “Else I shall forget mercy, and thou wilt learn the folly of disobedience.”
Narin turned to look at Aventine. She saw fear
in the commander’s eyes, but also determination. Narin was prepared to die here.
If we fall here, there will be nothing between this monster and the emperor.
Aventine slowly shook her head. Sacrificing themselves on the docks would accomplish nothing. If they could buy time by accommodating Savaroth, perhaps they would discover a way to overcome the Drathani leader.
Narin squared her shoulders and faced Savaroth. “It is not my desire to throw away my life or the lives of my men. We will conduct you to the emperor on one condition: you give me your word that you will not try to harm him. If you cannot give that assurance, you will pay dearly for every step you take in this city. We don’t need rune weapons to kill your soldiers. Steel will suffice.”
Savaroth cocked his head while he listened to Narin. When she was finished speaking, he said, “Thou hast my word. Thine emperor will not come to harm at my hand. If I desired this city, I would have taken it already.”
Once he was finished speaking, Savaroth stepped to the side of the gangplank and motioned for someone to come forward. A second figure appeared, this one clad in dark red robes. Beneath the robes, silver mail glinted in the sunlight. A shorter version of Savaroth, the pale-skinned creature had a rune circlet on his brow and a golden gauntlet on his left arm. Aventine had seen such a creature before. The raiders in Tickton had been led by a red-robed overseer who controlled his soldiers with a similar gauntlet on his left hand.
Inclining his head to Savaroth, the smaller Drathani handed a small crystal sphere to his lord. Then the overseer turned toward the soldiers standing in formation on the deck of the ship. The fingers on his left hand twitched, and as one the soldiers stepped forward. They marched down the gangplank with perfect precision and took up position on the docks.
Aventine shuddered. The silver soldiers moved like marionettes. In Tickton, her runeforged blade had freed one of these soldiers from his runebound prison. The strange gray man had begged to be killed. Her stomach twisted with horror and revulsion as she realized that the soldiers were slaves, chained to the master’s bidding by the circlets they wore. On a hunch, she scanned the high rigging of the ship, trying to spot one of the gray-skinned sailors. When she found one, her suspicion was confirmed. A rune circlet glowed on the sailor’s forehead.
