“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 r
ibs 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 ensure 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.
“He was nothing like the rumors said,” Mahraveh whispered. “I am honored to call him husband. I know what protecting him meant to you. It’s how my father looked at me. I swear to you, Sir Unger, we will destroy Nesilia in his name. Whatever it takes.”
Torsten swallowed against a dry throat. His lips were so chapped they’d already begun cracking and bleeding. “I don’t know how much more I have to offer,” he said, voice trembling.
Bit’rudam’s voice echoed across the dunes, shouting something in Saitjuese.
“They found someone,” Mahraveh relayed. Bit’rudam yelled some more. “A Glassman with one arm,” she went on.
“Kaviel,” Torsten whispered. He handed the zhulong reins to Mahraveh, offering her little choice but to take them. “Don’t let him out of your sight.” Then, looking back to Sir Mulliner and the other Shieldsmen, he nodded for them to follow.
He never found it easy, moving through the sand. Maybe it was his size. The supple surface shifted beneath his every step, and his giant feet kept sliding outward, but he managed.
The heat, however, was a different story. By the time he reached the clearing of the ruined village, he was panting and sweating from every pore. He had to pause a short distance away from Bit’rudam to rest against a blackwood palm and catch his breath.
“No wonder they all kill each other,” Sir Mulliner said as he caught up, also short of breath. It was much too hot for plate mail. He took a deep breath. “Who could be happy in a place this sweltering?”
“We’re not as thin-skinned as you,” Bit’rudam said, approaching on zhulongback. “The man requested to speak with Sir Unger. He’s lucky it’s daytime, or the wolves would already be feasting on him. As it stands, he’s lucky to not have encountered sand snakes or pit lizards. The desert is not forgiving.”
“Get your filthy hands off me!” Lord Jolly protested. Torsten leaned around the zhulong and saw him kicking at Serpent Guards. His hair was unkempt, his face coated by dirt and dried blood. His fine robes were tattered and equally stained. One of the guards managed to flip him and wrenched his only arm behind his back, shoving his face down into the sand.
“What in Iam’s name are they doing?” Torsten asked. He went to step forward, but Bit’rudam trotted his zhulong into his path.
“He could be working with Babrak,” Bit’rudam said.
“He’s on the Royal Council, you dumb pound of shog!” Sir Mulliner barked, half-drawing his sword from its sheath. The other Shieldsmen joined him.
“As was your Yuri Darkings,” Bit’rudam argued.
“He was at the ceremony!” yelled one of them.
Bit’rudam reached for his own weapon. “And now he’s here. Maybe, he helped Babrak ambush us. Maybe all you pink-skins did.” He barked something else in Saitjuese that didn’t sound friendly. Lord Jolly protested even louder.
Mulliner stomped forward and growled, “Easy to say from atop one of your oversized swine.”
Bit’rudam hopped down and puffed out his chest. “I don’t need anything to take you down.”
“Would you both stop it and get out of my way,” Torsten yelled. He grasped one of the beast’s tusks and pushed it aside so hard it squealed and nearly knocked Bit’rudam over.
Bit’rudam rattled off commands in Saitjuese, and at least a dozen Serpent Guards formed a line in front of Lord Jolly. Their dark eyes were the only parts of their faces visible beneath their horrifying masks. And even with their heavy armor and the heat, they barely breathed.
“You wo
uld dare draw your blades at him?” Sir Mulliner asked. His defense of Torsten was more surprising than anything, at least until the man reared back and punched Bit’rudam across the face.
They were both trained enough to know to disarm each other’s weapon hands first. Since they couldn’t fully draw them, they wrestled each other to the ground, rolling in the sand, punching and kicking.
The Serpent Guards started to march forward. The Shieldsmen armed themselves and did the same. One went to help Mulliner, but Bit’rudam was fast as a viper. He rolled free, kicked the interloper in the chest, then ducked under Mulliner’s punch. He caught Mulliner under the armpit, flipped him over, and fell upon him.
“Get off him, in the name of our Ki—“ Torsten stopped himself before he finished the word. Just the act of nearly speaking it caused his chest to constrict.
Sir Mulliner caught Bit’rudam in the jaw with a wild haymaker and scrambled free. He reversed the attack, climbing onto Bit’rudam and kneeing him in the side once, and when he tried to again, a spear lanced through the air, shaving his cheek.
Sir Mulliner staggered backward, dabbing at the fresh line of blood on his face. “You… you…”
Mahraveh arrived, parting the Shieldsmen, the zhulong carrying Pi in tow. Behind her, thousands of her people followed, all of them witnessing a skirmish break out between the elite soldiers of their respective kingdoms.
“My Caleef, I…” Bit’rudam spat out a gob of blood and fell into a bow.
She passed by him and Mulliner, and to the spear she’d thrown. It was lodged in the neck of a pit lizard that had been baking in the sun on the coast of the oasis.
“Bit’rudam, take the guards and sweep the rest of the village,” she ordered. “We’ll rest here in what little shade there is and keep moving at sundown when it’s cooler. I must believe that it’s the heat that has the commanders of my army acting like children.”
Bit’rudam’s cheeks flushed. He stammered over a response, then started issuing orders to the Serpent Guards. They promptly sheathed their weapons, fanning out across the ruins and leaving Lord Jolly lying in the sand, coughing.
Word of Truth Page 29
