“Draw your weapons,” Casstian yelled to his men grouped around him. “Archers, stay back at the perimeter of the woods. If we come upon the supply train, set your arrows aflame and take out the fuel wagons. They’ll be carrying coal or naphtha or something of the sort and should be easy to spot.”
Casstian drew his own sword and steeled himself. “For Pyrthinia!” he yelled.
“Pyrthinia!” his troops screamed back in reply, and he spurred his horse forward to lead the charge.
The forest thinned in front of them as they rushed forward through the trees and the supply wagons suddenly came into view on the road. Casstian felt a surge of triumph and spurred his horse on faster. He could clearly make out the supply wagons on the road, guarded only by a meager force. They’re just sitting there, waiting for the taking. He could hardly believe it, but gave it not a second thought.
“For Pyrthinia!” he yelled again, and the forest opened up before him.
Captain Haviero’s soldiers cleared a path through the crowd and marched forward, away from the docks toward the center of the city. Around them, the city folk still chanted the name Pallma. Parmo followed in the wake of the soldiers as if in a waking dream, and he had to remind himself not to get caught up in the reception. These people have lived for thirty years under the rule of Guderian and Don Bricio, he reminded himself. Of course they welcome you. He forced his mind to the tasks before him. The people would want to celebrate his return and draw out the coronation ceremonies, he knew, but he had no intention of sitting idly by while Pyrthinia fought against the Emperor. I will insist on a quick coronation, he decided. Then it’s off to Sevol to set forth the western fleet for the Gothol Sea. If we leave soon, perhaps we can take Lon Golier and Col Sargoth by surprise before Casstian is even fully engaged. And whatever infantry we have, we’ll send to Makady to reinforce the Pyrthin troops.
His escorts pushed now through the lower boroughs of Sol Valaróz and up the long slope leading from tier to tier toward the Royal Palace. The buildings surrounding them were as he remembered from his childhood: irregularly shaped with white and yellow stucco walls, a wide array of balustered balconies and windows, and orange terra cotta tiled roofs. The smell of braised, spicy meat cooking in hundreds of homes and taverns tinged the air, intermingling with the briny harbor odor. More and more Valarions were crowding around in the streets now, eager to see their prince, but Captain Haviero and his men kept the path toward the palace clear. Parmo looked up to see men, women, and children waving at him from the second and third story balconies of the buildings along the streets.
Pallma! Pallma! Pallma!
He could not help but smile and wave back.
Startled shouts rose up from the Sargothian soldiers along the road and Casstian let out a cry of triumph, but then from nowhere, a dark shape appeared to his right and his horse locked its legs in fear, nearly throwing Casstian from the saddle. Before he realized what was happening or fully regained his balance, he was bodily knocked from his saddle to land sprawled out on the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of him, but he pushed himself up to stagger clear of his panicked horse and survey his surroundings.
His men were nowhere to be seen. Terrified screams echoed from the shadows of the forest behind him.
Without a second thought he abandoned the Sargothian supply line and dashed back into the trees. Around him, men and horses cried out in fear and pain. He saw them only as silhouettes flitting between the trees. One of his men ran toward him, only to collapse, his throat torn out and gushing blood. The hair at the nape of Casstian’s neck stood up on end and he gripped his sword and shield tighter.
Suddenly, the wolf appeared from the shadows. Horses and men alike fled, leaving Casstian alone. The black wolf was impossibly large, its eyes and snout somehow human looking. Casstian crouched low and held his sword at the ready.
Pallma! Pallma! Pallma!
It still seemed unreal to Parmo to hear his name being shouted by thousands of people, but he waved and smiled nonetheless. When one of the soldiers beside him suddenly yelled out a warning, Parmo hardly noticed it over the cacophony of shouting and whistling around him, and even when he felt a sharp pain in his chest and was knocked backward onto the ground, he did not fully understand what was happening. “Where am I?” he whispered to Socorro, who was kneeling over him, but Socorro did not look Parmo in the face. His attention was on the feathered shaft protruding from Parmo’s chest. Socorro tried to pull the shaft free, and the sudden searing pain nearly blinded Parmo. “Merda!” he swore. “Leave it,” he tried saying, but warm blood oozed into his lungs and he fell into a fit of coughing.
Around Parmo, the crowd was screaming and yelling in a frenzied panic. Captain Haviero and five of his men surrounded Parmo in a tight circle, and the rest of the troops Captain Haviero sent rushing into the building from where the assassin had fired his shot. They returned mere minutes later dragging the killer—a loyal follower of Don Bricio: an aged warrior from the Old World—and while Captain Haviero promptly disemboweled the assassin, none of it could keep the life blood of Parmenios Pallma from spilling onto the white cobble stones of Sol Valaróz.
I love you, Prisca, and my dear Makarria, Parmo spoke inwardly, hoping somehow his words would reach them. I’m sorry, dear Valaróz. And then all faded to black.
“Come on, you filthy animal!” King Casstian yelled, and the wolf swiped a paw at him, renting his shield into a dented mess and breaking his left arm. Casstian staggered back with a gasp, only with great effort willing himself to stay conscious and on his feet.
The wolf growled, a low chortling rumble, as it circled Casstian. It’s toying with me, Casstian realized, and with sudden fury he lunged forward with a sweeping overhand sword strike. The wolf merely sidestepped his blow though, and sprung back at him. Casstian tried but failed to raise his shield, and the wolf’s claws dug into his shoulders, driving him back into the ground with impossible strength. The wind was knocked from Casstian’s lungs and his ribs cracked beneath the force. He reached for the dagger at his belt in a desperate last attempt, but the wolf was again too fast. It snarled and snapped its fangs together like a whip, crushing Casstian’s skull beneath them with ease.
Taera awoke in her saddle with a scream.
Caile gasped, startled as much as she by her sudden outburst. He had been lost in his own thoughts and hadn’t even realized she was in a trance. Just hours before he had been making haste toward Weordan and come upon Taera and the High Constables retreating with the mass of the Pyrthin army. After having sailed six days up the River Kylep just to get to Kylep and find his father had marched on without him, Caile had wanted nothing more than to continue on to Weordan to help, but Taera had entreated him to return with her to Tyrna and prepare the city for attack. Caile had reluctantly agreed.
“Are you alright,” Caile asked Taera. “Another vision?”
“I’ve seen everything,” she said, her breaths coming in short gasps.
“Tell me,” Caile said, his hair standing on end. He could sense in her voice that something was very wrong.
“I’ve seen everything,” Taera said again, numb from her visions. “Wulfram has come, and Father is dead. Sol Valaróz weeps. And Makarria: she’s walking into a trap.”
33
Into Darkness
The winter rains had finally come, soaking the lands east of the Gothol Sea with a cold, relentless drizzle. Makarria and Talitha stood shivering and drenched for a long time upon the hill looking down at Col Sargoth from the eastern high road. The soot-stained buildings and smelting factories belching smoke into the air radiated outward from the towers of Lightbringer’s Keep like a feculent sore, and while only a handful of farmers passed by Makarria and Talitha on the eastern high road, the high road leading to the south was another matter: a solid mass of wagons and troops extended outward as far as they could see, trailing into Forrest Weorcan and Pyrthinia beyond. In the bay beyond the city, ships flying the blue and yellow bann
ers of Golier made way for the harbor bearing even more troops.
“I know what I have to do,” Makarria said, casting her eye upon Lightbringer’s Keep.
“You’re sure?” Talitha asked her.
“Yes.”
“What is your plan? What can I do to help?”
“Just get us into the city,” Makarria said, “somewhere where I have a good view of those black towers.”
“You’re going to tear them down?”
Makarria nodded. “I’ll turn the foundation to sand and bring the whole keep tumbling down on the Emperor. It’s the only way. You said yourself, it’s best to attack from afar.”
“So I did,” Talitha conceded. “It could very well work, but we best wait for the cover of darkness to sneak into the city. There will be guards on the high road at the gates, and they might be looking for us.”
“We don’t have time to wait,” Makarria said, determined to go now that she had made her decision. “I’m scared to think what all those soldiers will be doing to our friends if we wait.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Talitha told her. “Another few hours will make little difference. We did not come this far only to be taken captive the moment we step into the city. Besides, the chances that we’ll catch Guderian in his tower are better at night. Come, we’ll take shelter in that copse of trees until it’s dark.”
Makarria nodded sullenly and followed Talitha off the road to wait beneath the trees. The trees were barren of leaves and did little to shelter them from the rain, but they at least shielded the wind somewhat and kept Makarria and Talitha from standing in plain sight. Talitha divided what little food she had left in her pack between the two of them and they ate silently, each lost in her own thoughts.
The sunset was indiscernible behind the rain clouds, and the western horizon merely faded from gray to black as time passed. When Talitha deemed it was dark enough, she motioned for Makarria to follow her. “The city is not walled, so we will have little trouble entering unnoticed,” Talitha said, veering off the high road into the mud. “I need you to stay close beside me though. We’ll be entering in the northeastern borough. There are many unsavory people there. If anyone speaks to you, just ignore them and let me do the talking. Stay focused on what you need to do with Lightbringer’s Keep.”
“I will,” Makarria promised.
“And one thing more, Makarria,” Talitha said, grabbing Makarria by the shoulder and bringing her to a halt. “If things go awry, I promise you I will do all that I can to help. If Wulfram finds us, I will give him the fight of his life and try to lead him away from you. If Guderian finds us… I cannot hope to hurt Guderian, but if nothing else, perhaps I can distract him and give you time to do what you must. If it comes to that, you must act quickly though.”
“I understand,” Makarria answered, and the two of them continued slogging wordlessly down the hill. It was still a mile or more to the outskirts of the city, and they were slowed by the mud and rain, but time held no meaning for Makarria—she was not aware of her feet carrying her one step at a time closer to the city or even of the rain pelting her in the face. Her eyes were locked on Lightbringer’s Keep, still visible above the city, a black shadow even in the night. There’s no other choice, she told herself again, trying not to think about the hundreds of innocent people who would be killed when she brought those towers toppling down: the porters, the cooks, the maids, the stable hands, and then of course, all the horses and whatever other animals were kept in the keep. The very thought almost brought Makarria to tears. She pushed them away and steeled herself. She had gone over every possible tactic she could think of in her mind, and there was no other way. She had to attack the Emperor from a distance, just like Talitha had said. Otherwise, he would simply stop her magic. And that meant innocent people would have to die. To protect the lives of others.
The ground leveled out before them, and they began passing the outermost buildings of the northeastern borough. The buildings were little more than dilapidated huts and sheds made of building scraps that rattled in the wind. Most were dark and lifeless, but a few had pitiful fires at their doorsteps where groups of people sat huddled together. If any of them noticed Talitha and Makarria passing by, they said nothing. The buildings gradually grew larger and more permanent-looking, and before long they were walking on a tar-paved road. Between the buildings, Makarria could still see Lightbringer’s Keep though, and her attention was focused entirely on its dark visage. She followed Talitha wordlessly, not even noticing the steam powered rickshaws, the gas lanterns lighting their way, or the increasing number of city people crowding the streets. When Talitha finally brought them to a halt, they stood at the intersection of two large streets that was absolutely bustling with people making for the center of the city.
“Something’s not right,” Talitha muttered. “There are never this many people in the streets of Col Sargoth.”
Makarria tore her eyes away from Lightbringer’s Keep and took in her surroundings. She’d not been in enough cities to know what was normal or not. “Maybe it’s because of the war. Could the Emperor be forcing people into his army?”
“He doesn’t need them,” Talitha said, shaking her head. She waved at an old woman passing by. “Excuse me, what’s all the excitement about tonight?”
“Haven’t you heard?” the old woman replied. “There’s a public execution in the city square. The Emperor is killing the King and Queen of Valaróz.”
“That’s impossible,” Talitha said, shaking her head. “We were told the Pallma line was killed off years ago.”
“So we were. So we were. I guess we were told wrong.”
“Wait,” Makarria said. “My grandfather—”
“Hush now,” Talitha interrupted, covering Makarria’s mouth and waving the old woman away. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
Makarria pushed Talitha’s hand aside, annoyed she was being treated like a child. “Don’t do that. What if it’s my grandfather the Emperor has?”
“I don’t see how that’s possible. The last we heard, he was in Kal Pyrthin, preparing to sail for Valaróz. In all likelihood this is all just a ruse.”
Makarria didn’t believe it. The moment she had heard the old woman utter the word Valaróz, she knew something was wrong. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her grandfather was in trouble. “I have to find out if it’s him.”
“Don’t be rash,” Talitha said, but Makarria was hearing none of it. She dashed off into the crowd of people and began making her way toward the center of the city. “Wait!” Talitha yelled, hurrying after her, but it was hopeless. Makarria was swallowed up by the crowd, and being shorter than most of the city people, she was impossible to spot. Still, Talitha forged her way forward, frantically looking for her.
A good distance ahead, Makarria wormed her way through the slow-moving crowd. When the street finally opened up into the city square, the crowd dispersed somewhat, and Makarria saw before her thousands of people mobbed around a huge platform in the middle of the square. She sprinted forward, and as she got closer she could see that two people were being held captive on the platform in pillories. By the time she got close enough to make out their faces, she was in the midst of the crowd and could see nothing. She shoved her way forward, frantically looking for a break in the mass of people. She spotted to her right a statue in the near distance and changed course toward it. Once there, she scrambled up onto the base platform of the statue and pivoted around to finally look upon the prisoners on the platform.
It was not her grandfather she saw.
She didn’t know how or why her parents could be there, but it was them in the pillories, their hands and heads protruding from the cruel wooden framework, both of them badly beaten and shivering in the cold rain. Galen’s face was hardly recognizable it was so bruised and swollen, and Prisca’s nose was bleeding, her clothes tattered and sodden with blood. The crowd was jeering them with curses and insults, and those close enough threw rotten food and garbage at them or
spat on their faces. As Makarria watched stunned, a man pulled himself onto the platform and grabbed one of Prisca’s hands where it protruded from the large wood beam. He guffawed at the crowd, then yanked her fingers back with a savage twist, mangling her fingers into a broken mess. Prisca screamed out in pain, and at the base of the statue Makarria screamed. Both screams were lost in the yells of the crowd. Makarria tried to jump clear of the statue, but hundreds more people had crowded in around her, trapping her where she was. The man on the platform sauntered to where Galen was held, backhanded him across the face, and Makarria could take no more.
She closed her eyes and envisioned the pillories. She imagined them turning to sawdust and a great whirlwind blowing the dust into the crowd to chase everyone off. She felt the resistance in her core as she pushed the dream toward becoming reality. In her periphery, she heard her name and faltered for a moment. Makarria, no. It’s a trap. Still in a trance, Makarria opened her eyes and saw Talitha there, trying to pull her away. Beyond Talitha, Makarria could still see her parents in the stockades, being kicked and spat upon. Again, she envisioned the pillories turning to sawdust…
A sudden gut-wrenching pain ripped the image from Makarria’s mind. She opened her mouth to breathe but could not. The wind had been knocked out of her, and rough hands were pulling her from the statue. Someone smacked her across the face, and she was dragged to the ground to lie on her hands and knees. When air finally returned to her lungs and the tears cleared from eyes, she saw that she was surrounded by soldiers. Six of them surrounded Talitha, the tips of their pikes held inches from her throat.
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