The Siege of Sol

by Nikolas Lee

  “Everyone is a suspect, Lillian,” said Nepia, rearing her head at me.

  “But I am the most suspicious of them?” I asked. “Because of my elven heritage? Is that what all the questions are about?”

  “Because of your involvement with the Traitor,” snapped the Queen. “Ionikus Reaves has proven himself a wart on the behind of our legacy. We would be fools not to question one of his dearest friends.”

  “I was not one of his dearest friends, as you say,” I replied, “Ion is confused. And his choices are nothing I had any part of.”

  “What do you think drove him to this madness?” asked Nepia.

  I paused, staring into their eyes. Perhaps it was how his Caller mother was killed at your hands Or maybe he still resents the chains your pantheon had him wear thereafter? “I’m unsure, Lady Nepia. But it is not alien of a Sky Guardian’s character to do strange things. All of the world knows this.”

  My ears picked up on distant, short breathing that came from my right, and when I turned, I found a nymph in a black tunic rushing across the gardens to us. She was a servant of Onyxia’s, but when the girl stopped before our table, Onyxia remained seated, not amused, in her chair.

  “Adora, my child, what’s wrong?” asked the Queen.

  The nymph’s cheeks were red as she bowed messily. “Lady Helia...she’s...she’s—”

  “Yes?” snapped Nepia.

  Adora swallowed. “Lady Helia is dead.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE THUNDER LORD

  The wheels of the chariot hobbled beneath me, uneasy as it pulled over the red sands of the High Heat.

  We were somewhere in the middle of the Southernlands, and the air here was hotter and drier than any climate I’d ever been in. There wasn’t a single drop of moisture for miles around. It was so dry I could feel the atmosphere clawing at my skin, over my neck, my arms, begging for moisture, begging for life. Above, ominous, gray clouds crowded the skies, stretching on for miles. The Forever Clouds, the humans called them. They were the work of Skylord Othum, sent to box in the heat, to bake the enemies who called this desert their home.

  Solara and Spike stood on the other side of the chariot, careful to keep their distance from me as usual. Solara admittedly looked brilliant in a white tunic complete with gold sandals, gold bracelets, and a headdress of golden, upturned feathers. Spike, however, looked heavy in armor of slick, black obsidian, strangely different from his old sandstone armor. And his head looked even bigger wearing a helm carved into the shape of an elephant’s head.

  Meanwhile, Illindria stood at the head of the chariot, tall, round, and tightly wound in a shimmering, golden dress, the branches of her shoulders sporting hanging diamonds. Her breath played with the thin material of her veil. Her spring-coiled hair bounced as the two Rhynodons—monstrous four-legged beasts with three horns growing out of their snouts like shovels—pulled the chariot up the last hill we needed to climb.

  Behind me, though I refused to look, would be two more Rhynodons pulling K’thas. I could just imagine his glass fingers gripped piously around the reins to the beasts, his black, decaying chin held high. Ignoring the moaning and whispering of the spirits that dwelled within his rib cage was no easy task in this silent desert.

  The Rhynodons grunted as they struggled over the peak of sand. They trudged down the side of the hill, and before me sprawled the City Under the Sun.

  Sol.

  It stood in the heart of a valley, surrounded by the blood red sands of the High Heat. It was a circular city laid out in many rings. The outermost walls were thick and carved of bricks fashioned from the desert and encircled the entire city. They soared at least a hundred feet in the air, studded with massive towers topped by strange metallic weapons that spun and hummed as turbines. So many bricks the color of fire.

  Beyond the walls were rings of farmland, windswept and thirsty, surrounding the inner terraces of the city where the buildings of red stone huddled close together. There were terraces upon terraces, each one higher than the other, until they met with the tower in the middle of it all. The Serpent’s Spine, Illindria had called it. I wondered at the immensity of it, recalling all that I had been taught about it. Built in five years. Two hundred feet tall. Its walls so red they look to be bathed in spilled blood. A giant iron snake coiled up its façade. Where at the flattened top of the tower, the snake’s metal hood flared, its opened mouth sheltering Sol’s lifeline.

  Even from this distance I could see it. There, on the top floor, hovering in the mouth of the serpent, glowed the most beautiful blue light I’d ever seen. It was comforting, soothing, even from the dunes.

  The Scepter of First Light.

  The Scepter was once the property of Illyria, stowed away in their Weapons Vault, awaiting the day its monstrous power could be unleashed on some unsuspecting enemy of the pantheon. But two hundred years ago, it was stolen by Orthys Smith, Savior of the Humans, who used the Scepter against its creators. Because the Scepter was fashioned by godly hands, its powers were capable of dealing death to any god, no matter how powerful. The humans had infused their weapons with the Scepter’s light, which meant that even an untrained soldier could kill an Illyrian. And it was for that very reason that no god dared venture this close to the city.

  Though that was not the limit of the Scepter’s power.

  As the chariot neared the walls, a buzzing sound filled the air. It got louder the closer we got, until finally my eyes found the scorched line in the sand that ran left and right, encircling the city walls until it disappeared out of sight. The legendary shield of Sol. The only force protecting the humans from the true wrath of the Illyrians. It was a product of the Scepter, molded and maintained by the Scientists who could channel the weapon’s might. Illindria pulled on the reins as the buzzing came to a crescendo, and the Rhynodons stopped before the towering iron gates of Sol.

  “Halt!” came a stern male voice.

  As K’thas’s chariot stopped beside ours, a massive reptile covered in dusty orange scales scurried over the top of the gates. Its long, slender body sported a pair of leathery wings, which it flared open when the man who sat in a saddle on its back pulled at the reins in his hands. A Skyrider. Illindria had taught us about these creatures, too. They were once lizards, evolved by the power of the Solian Scientists long ago. They were dangerously quick in the air, and adults could breathe fire hot enough to melt stone. I glanced at Spike’s new black rock armor. Perhaps I’ll get to see how hot Skyrider fire truly burns.

  “Who approaches the walls of Sol?” called the guard on the Skyrider.

  The lizard stopped in the middle of the gate and opened its mouth, a glow of blue fire boiling just behind its throat.

  “Were you not told?” Solara snapped up at him. Even the silks of her white tunic couldn’t soften a thing about her.

  Illindria impatiently raised a hand to her daughter. “We are here by appointment, soldier of Sol.” Beneath her veil, her lips stretched wide in a sweet smile. “I am Empress Illindria, Goddess of the Seasons. And this is my pantheon—the Endari.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I must always ask, Empress. Sol must be weary of its visitors as always.”

  “Do you get many visitors here to not be so certain?” Solara sneered.

  He sniffed at Solara, which she flinched at. “I’ll open the gates at once,” he said, bowing in his saddle.

  He reared his reins back, and the Skyrider slithered back up the gates, its swaying tail the last we saw as it disappeared over the side.

  The buzzing of the Sol shield lightened, and the scorched line in the sand before our chariot faded. A tired creak split the air, and slowly, the gates heaved open.

  “Proceed, Endari!” shouted the man from his Skyrider, which stared down at us from atop the city wall.

  Illindria nodded and when she gave her reins a whip, the Rhynodons grunted, pulling us forward, K’thas following suit. We proceeded through the gates, where on the other side, we were met by a pair of g
reen-scaled beasts called Vusarians. They were wider than they were tall, with short, trunk-like legs that situated them close to the ground, complete with flat heads and flat backs. The same massive, spinning cannons that sat atop the turrets of the walls were strapped to their backs. I stared into the shimmering blue light that glowed within the mouth of the cannon just as it had in the mouth of the Skyrider. The Scepter’s power has touched everything here.

  “Endari,” greeted the man sitting atop the Vusarian’s neck on the left. “The Chancellor has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Shall we escort you to the Serpent’s Spine?”

  “We would be honored,” said Illindria through her veil.

  The soldiers nodded, and when they pulled their reins to the side, the Vusarians fell in on either side of our chariots, their massive legs sending tremors through the earth with each step. We started down the gravelly road, flanked by orchards that stretched for miles around the inner city. Thousands of trees rose in every direction, though most of them were barren. And what few seemed to actually have fruit looked days away from becoming barren themselves.

  “The Scepter’s light once gave life to their plants, but they grow no longer,” Illindria had taught us. “They need our help more than ever.”

  As the inner city and its many terraces inched closer, I could make out the thousands upon thousands of red bricks that had forged each building. They were closely huddled together, dotted by iron-barred windows and balconies. Everything was dark with the High Heat’s blood-red sand—from the city’s outer walls, to its roads, to its buildings. It was as if Sol was laid bleeding and dying before me like some hapless traveller moments away from death. Shall I be the one to quench his thirst? Illindria would have it be so...

  “Remember to smile, Guardians,” she whispered, as the Vusarians walked ahead and led us up a small ramp into the city, K’thas and his moaning spirits behind us. “The citizens of Sol must learn to love and trust us. Show them we are deserving of such things.”

  We rolled up the dirt ramp, into the clouds of dust the Vusarians’ meaty legs had kicked up, and turned left after them. The city air stank of smoke and earth. The uneven, dusty streets were dim and eerie under the twilight of the Forever Clouds. The only real light they received came from the lanterns of orange glass that hung from the undersides of the many bridges above us, each connecting one building to the other.

  The city was deathly quiet as we rolled through it, though it was bustling with citizens. Women hung clothes out to dry on lines that stretched above us; men stared suspiciously at us from their shops and carts that flanked the streets; children huddled together, surely eager for a look at the gods they’d been taught to fear. Each and every one of them was veiled in rich blue silk tunics or dresses, with some elderly women wearing shrouds that masked everything but their eyes. Glowering eyes, I did not fail to note. Though, however glowering their gazes might have been, they did not linger on the one place I had expected them to...my jaw.

  Something else I couldn’t miss were the markings. Snaking down their arms and hands, up their shoulders, down their legs, and even slithering down past their hairlines, were scars that burned a ghostly blue. Scars made at six-months-old, carved into their skin by knives infused with the Scepter’s light. Scars that imbued their wearers with long-lasting life. Two hundred years of it, give or take a few.

  As I caught each one of their tired faces, I recalled all the stories I’d heard growing up of the horrible, treacherous, conniving Outerworld humans. How they’d depleted the world of its resources and blamed everything but themselves. How they’d fought each other for so many years about things as petty as land that had only ever been the property of the gods. But even when Illindria repeated these same stories during her teachings of Sol’s history, I knew evil was not always as I was told. Evil came from the gods too. As I stared into the eyes of those we passed, however, I realized they’d heard the same frightening stories.

  Only they were probably about me.

  If they knew who was standing in that chariot, in their city, they would’ve killed me then and there. But Illindria had kept whom she was bringing a secret from the Chancellor. To be sure, she had said. Your past could be a liability for me, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

  We continued up the road, which wound around the town, slowly climbing the terraces of Sol. Each rotation brought us closer to its heart: the Serpent’s Spine. We passed countless dried up fountains, statues depicting the great Orthys Smith, and even a hatchery for the Skyriders and Vusarians alive with the indignant cries of the young reptiles. It was a slow journey following the Vusarians up the winding road, but when they stopped, we found ourselves at the highest terrace.

  I looked out over the many terraces sprawling outward like the ripples in a pond, past the barren orchards that encircled them and even the walls beyond that. We’d reached the end of the road, the center of the city. And to our right loomed the thick base of the Serpent’s Spine.

  The soldiers seated upon their Vusarians pulled their beasts around until they faced us again.

  “Chancellor Mythborne awaits inside,” they said in unison, gesturing toward the small set of stairs that lead to the tower’s opened iron doors. “Fiftieth floor.”

  We left our chariots and filed into the tower. We rode a small platform in the center of the room, passing floor after floor until my nose began to tingle with the smell of incense.

  “Backs straight, heads high,” said Illindria. “And K’thas...leave the talking to me, please.”

  We passed the fortieth. Forty-fourth. Forty-eighth. And the lift stopped.

  Above us hung more lanterns of orange glass, crowding the ceiling as their glorious light filled the room. The walls inside the rounded chambers were carved from the same red stone as the rest of Sol, and were just as dusty too, veiled in a thin layer of loose sand. Four great wall-to-floor openings rose in each direction, looking out over the city. Directly before us rose a ramp, at the top of which sat a stout man on a plain wooden bench. To his left and right stood quiet guards heavy in pale white armor, their hands wrapped around spears. But they weren’t ordinary spears. Very quickly, I detected the heat radiating off of them, the power of the Scepter’s light burning within their metal confines.

  “Chancellor Mythborne!” said Illindria, bowing to the man on the bench, her veil allowing me a quick view of her decayed lips.

  He remained seated, staring down at us with dark eyes. Eyes that kept secrets better than others, I could tell. He was broad-shouldered and strong-jawed, with a long beard as golden as the sun, woven into a single thick braid that hung past his stomach. He wore a long warrior’s skirt of blue silk that stopped at his knees, where the straps of his leather sandals began. He must’ve been just as tall as Illindria, too. And the mantle of gleaming silver plates that sat proudly on his shoulders and upper back didn’t help to shorten him either.

  I struggled to keep my face a mask as I analyzed him from head to toe. I was shocked. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his face, nor a gray hair in his beard. He looked like a younger, blonder version of my father. Only, this man before me was much older than my father.

  By two-hundred years or so.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE HAND OF THE MOON

  The air smelled of death. A mixture of rotted flowers and sick.

  The hall I walked down was so thick with it I nearly choked. Helia, dead? I thought, as I followed Onyxia, Nepia, and Adora through the dimly lit corridor. We climbed a small flight of stairs and took a left into a small room.

  The walls of the chamber were rounded into the shape of an egg. There was a small window, allowing a sliver of light to break upon the prison of enchanted ivory tusks growing out of the floor below. Two male guards with long, elven ears growing out of the holes in their helmets stood to the left of the cell, looking anxiously upon Othum, who knelt within the prison. Tears streamed down his face as he held Helia in his arms, her motionless body like a doll in his hand
s. Light sparkled off her golden helmet, and the gloves weaving over her long fingers and nails.

  Would that she could turn back time now...

  “What happened?” Onyxia asked breathlessly, entering the cage to stand behind the Skylord, her hand to her chest.

  “W-w-we just found her like this, My Queen,” answered one of the guards, one taller than the other with skin a faded blue. “She...she just started shaking and convulsing, and then her veins went black and...and that was the end.”

  I traced my narrowed eyes over the veins in Helia’s neck. They were so black—rivers of tar running up and down the flesh of her neck, arms, and legs.

  “Well,” Onyxia snapped at Othum, smacking him on the back of the head, “aren’t you going to at least remove her helmet?”

  Othum sniffled, and wiped his nose with his robes. His diamond did not have the glitter it usually had, I was sad to note. It was not a surprise, though; Connection Seals always mimicked the emotions of their owner’s. I thought of Ion in that moment, as I watched Othum slowly remove the golden helmet from Helia’s head. This pantheon is unraveling on its own, Ion. They did not need your help.

  Gasps filled the room along with the sound of Nepia’s fin fanning open like the snap of an opened sail. I could not help but prop my hand over my nose and mouth in an attempt to shield myself from the horrible stench. Black liquid leaked from her white eyes, out of her ears, even from the corners of her mouth.

  Silence fell as we stared, each of us searching for an answer in the face of the fallen goddess. I examined the liquid closely, zooming in on the substance. It was thick, indeed, like tar. And had already begun to harden upon her skin.

  “W-what is it?” Othum croaked.

  Onyxia slowly knelt beside her daughter, though they appeared more like sisters with their porcelain skin, absent any wrinkles. She took Helia’s head in her hands and looked closely at the liquid.