Ascension of Death

by Andy Peloquin

  Kodyn took it with a nod. “Careful, Ennolar, or people might think you’re actually starting to like me.”

  With a scowl, the portly Arch-Guardian wrapped his own loop of leather around the rope and slid across.

  Relief surged within Kodyn as the Arch-Guardian dropped onto the far roof. He’d insisted on going last, but the rising pile of Stumblers filled him with a driving urgency. Even as he swung his belt over the rope, the first of the creatures hauled themselves onto the roof and lurched to their feet just ten paces from where he stood.

  “Kodyn!” Briana’s scream echoed across the Artificer’s Courseway. “The sack!”

  Horror froze the blood in Kodyn’s veins. He whirled, his eyes dropping to where he’d left the cloth sack containing Suroth’s journal and the artifacts beside the doorway into the Temple of Whispers.

  Time slowed to a crawl. Kodyn couldn’t leave the sack—they’d need them to get into the Vault of Ancients—but if he delayed, the nearest Stumbler would reach him.

  Yet he had no choice.

  Releasing his grip on one end of the belt, Kodyn drew his sword and raced toward the sack. A Stumbler lurched into his way, arms outstretched. Kodyn barreled into the creature, shoulder driving into its chest. The impact knocked it backward into another Stumbler just clambering onto the rooftop. Together, the two toppled from the roof with a gurgling, rasping cry.

  Kodyn threw himself toward the sack, scooped it up in his free hand, and slid his arm through the looped drawstring until it rested on his shoulder. Spinning, he raced back toward the rope line, his heart pounding in his lungs. Two more Stumblers shambled into his path. He cut one down and dodged the other, barely avoiding its swiping claws. Desperation flooded him as five more monstrosities climbed onto the wall between him and the rope.

  He had a second to decide. In desperation, he turned sharply to the side, sprinted toward the edge of the roof, and threw himself into the air with all the force in his legs. Even as he hurtled into empty sky, he snapped his left hand up and out, looping the belt around the rope. His right hand barely snagged the buckled end of the belt, his fingers closing around the cold metal.

  His arms snapped tight, his shoulder twinging as his desperate leap carried his body swinging wildly to the left. The rope bounced once, twice, sagged. Kodyn’s heart sank and he braced himself for a plunge to the street below.

  But the anchor held. His grip on the leather belt tightened, and he hung on for dear life. Slowly, gravity took hold of him and he picked up speed, zipping down the line toward the Temple of Prosperity.

  A triumphant laugh burst from his throat. Against all odds, they had escaped the Temple of Whispers!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Evren leapt back to avoid a wild swing of Issa’s huge sword. What in the fiery hell? The Keeper’s Blade, usually so precise and determined, seemed to have lost her mind.

  Red-faced, teeth bared in a snarl, Issa hacked at the oncoming Stumblers, her flammard a blur of black steel that severed limbs, tore flesh, and sheared through bone. But instead of controlled finesse, she was a hurricane of fury and death.

  Hykos, too, retreated after a savage blow clipped the spiked pauldron protecting his left shoulder. Worry darkened his expression as he watched Issa hew her way through the slow-moving, ragged creatures flooding the hall.

  What happened to her? One minute, she’d been triumphant at seeing the Keeper’s Council under arrest. Now, after a private conversation with Lady Callista, she was this seething, roiling mass of rage. What did the Lady of Blades say to her?

  Issa fought with reckless abandon, throwing skill and training to the wind in favor of brute force. A low growl rumbled in her throat as she hacked down Stumblers in twos and threes. Evren had seen men fight in a battle rage, their vision clouded and mind dimmed by bloodlust. Rage drove Issa now, but Evren couldn’t tell where it was directed.

  He couldn’t fault her effectiveness. Of the original twenty Stumblers that had flooded the palace, only one remained alive. Issa buried her sword in the thing’s chest and tore it upward, snapping bones and spraying blood across the gold-and-silver tile. She charged the next pack of Stumblers with the same ferocity. The monstrosities fell faster than they could lurch from the secret passage.

  Then Issa was fighting to push the creatures back into the tunnel, thrusting, chopping, punching with her gauntleted fists, driving her crossguard into ghastly faces. The rasping, gurgling cries of the Stumblers were drowned out beneath the bestial snarl rumbling from Issa’s throat.

  But beyond the Stumblers, down the hall, Evren caught sight of four figures locked in battle. These were no Stumblers; they wielded steel swords like Issa’s and wore splinted leather armor.

  Evren’s eyes flew wide as he recognized Hallar’s Warriors trading savage blows with a familiar figure. Aisha!

  The Ghandian was holding her own, her movements flowing and graceful. Her assegai darted in and out, striking flesh and drawing blood time and again, yet she faced three enemies alone. Even the most skillful warrior could be brought down.

  “Hykos!” he shouted, turning to the Blade. “We need to help her!”

  “Issa’s got this under control,” Hykos called back.

  “No, her!” He raced past Issa toward the militants and Aisha.

  He fell upon Hallar’s Warriors from the rear, his jambiyas flashing in the light of the palace lamps. He hamstrung the closest, drove the tip of his left-handed dagger into another’s spine, and brought his right-handed blade whipping across the back of the first man’s neck. The blow did little real damage, but the pain distracted the militant long enough for Aisha to bury her assegai into his gut. A moment later, Hykos’ sword whistled past Evren’s shoulder and plowed devastation through the third man’s head, collarbone, and shoulder. The militant seemed to split in half, crumbling to the ground to join his dead and dying comrades.

  “You hurt?” Evren asked.

  Aisha shook her head. “She might be, though.” She thrust her chin toward Issa.

  Evren turned and found the Keeper’s Blade locked in a grapple with four Stumblers. Blood and guts stained her armor, face, helmet, and sword, but she appeared lost in the madness of battle. With a growl, Issa hurled the creatures back into the tunnel and made to pursue.

  “Issa!” Hykos’ shout had no effect on the enraged Blade. The Archateros spun toward Evren. “I’ll get her, you get that passage closed!”

  “Good luck with that!” Evren retorted.

  Gritting his teeth, Hykos hobbled toward Issa, ducked beneath a wild swing of her sword, and seized her by the gorget. He moved so quickly Evren barely saw the quick pivot and twist of his hips. Issa flew backward and crashed to the ground, her sword clattering from her hand. Evren leapt past the struggling Blades and triggered the gemstone that sealed the opening. The guttural gurgling sounds in the tunnel faded as the stone wall slid closed.

  “Issa!” Injured knee or no, Hykos wrestled the furious, snarling Blade into submission. “Issa, it’s over. The battle’s over. They’re gone.”

  Issa struggled for a long moment, her teeth bared in a snarl. Yet slowly, Hykos’ voice and his grip on her arms seemed to push back the battle rage and she regained some of her sense. The wild light in her eyes faded and died. Her jaw unclenched, her thrashing stilled, and sense flickered in her eyes. “H-Hykos?” She seemed to suddenly collapse, going limp, like a flower wilted in a desert heat wave.

  “It’s me, Issa.” Hykos spoke in a firm yet soothing voice. “The battle is over. You drove them back.”

  “Back...” Issa seemed lost in a stupor, her brain struggling to return to consciousness. Her arms fell to her sides and she lay still, gasping for breath. But this was more than physical exhaustion; something had taken a toll on her mind, drained her completely.

  “What happened to her?” a voice whispered in Evren’s ear.

  Evren turned to find Aisha standing beside him. Worry darkened Aisha’s choclat-brown eyes as she stared at the now-still
Issa.

  Before Evren could speak, a new voice echoed through the halls.

  “A-Aleema?”

  Lady Callista stood frozen at the end of the corridor, hand gripping the hilt of the sword on her back. Her eyes had locked on the white-haired woman beside Killian. And the cloth-wrapped bundle draped over the blacksmith’s shoulder.

  “Callista, dear.” A smile brightened the white-haired woman’s face. “I wish better circumstances had brought about this reunion. I know Nytano would have wanted to see you one last time before…” Her voice trailed off and she bowed her head.

  Suddenly, Evren realized what lay in the bundle. A body, wrapped in a funeral shroud.

  Guilt settled like a burden on his shoulders, but he fought against its numbing weight. He clung to Hykos’ words. “Dealing with the guilt and moving on is the only way we can honor them,” the Archateros had said.

  He hadn’t been the reason for Nytano’s death. It took effort to admit it, even to himself, yet he forced himself to repeat it a second time, a third. He and Issa had arrived in time to save Nytano, to turn the tide of battle in their favor. Issa’s grandfather had died at the hands of the Ybrazhe. Blaming himself wouldn’t help Issa or her family.

  All these thoughts flashed through his mind in the space between heartbeats. In that time, Lady Callista still hadn’t managed to speak. She seemed unable to form words, her expression a mask of shocked surprise.

  Aleema glanced over her shoulder at Issa. “We had to tell her, Callista. Nytano couldn’t go to the Long Keeper without her knowing the truth.”

  Lady Callista’s face paled. “She’s angry, and rightly so. What I did—”

  “You did for her.” Aleema stepped closer to the Lady of Blades and placed a motherly hand on her arm. “She’ll understand, walida. Give her time.”

  “Not to be melodramatic,” Killian put in, “but if the Stumblers could get in here, with Hallar’s Warriors opening the way for them, it’s likely they’ll be flooding the palace from all of the other entrances. They need to be secured, now.”

  Evren’s brow furrowed. For the first time, he registered the fact that Killian the blacksmith stood in the palace, with a strange familiarity.

  “Yes, of course,” Lady Callista mumbled. She seemed in a trance, half-dazed and fully worried for Issa. Yet as her eyes traveled past Killian, the sight of the Stumblers’ bodies strewn across the blood-soaked floor seemed to snap her out of it.

  She turned to Killian. “Elmessam, get Nytano’s body to safety.”

  “Of course, my lady.” The blacksmith inclined his head.

  Elmessam? Evren cocked an eyebrow. He’d long known Killian wasn’t a blacksmith—or not only a blacksmith—yet it seemed his name was just another of the myriad layers of deception.

  Lady Callista turned to the white-haired woman. “Aleema—”

  “I will fight with you, walida.” The Blade drew her sword. “The years haven’t been so unkind that I can’t still swing a blade.”

  “Thank you, Yamma.” Lady Callista bowed, her face still a mask of surprise, wonder, and something more…sorrow, a deep-rooted longing.

  She raised her voice. “Archateros Hykos!”

  Hykos looked up from where he crouched beside Issa.

  “Go with Invictus Aleema and secure the Pharus’ quarters. No one gets in without my authorization.” She narrowed her eyes. “No one.”

  Hykos hesitated, shooting a glance at Issa, who lay slumped against the wall, her eyes glazed over. The battle rage had passed fully, leaving her bewildered and numb.

  “You have your orders, Archateros,” Lady Callista barked.

  A torrent of emotions flashed across Hykos’ face as duty to his commander warred with his desire to remain beside Issa. Long seconds passed before he spoke. “Yes, Proxenos.”

  Aisha crouched next to the seated Blade and smiled at Hykos. “We’ll keep an eye on her.”

  With a nod, Hykos rose to his feet, gritting his teeth to hide a wince of pain. Evren noticed only a slight limp as he marched down the hall to join Aleema and, together, the two of them disappeared around a corner.

  “I could use a bit of help here,” Killian put in as he stumped up the corridor. “Evren, lend me a hand.”

  At the mention of Evren’s name, Lady Callista’s eyes narrowed.

  “Of course.” Evren hurried to follow before the Lady of Blades could speak.

  Killian moved at a steady pace, though they could only move as fast as his braced, injured knee permitted. Evren had seen the blacksmith fight, but the thrill of battle had a way of masking even severe pain. Now, with the rush past, Killian would be feeling the discomfort in his old battle wound.

  His eyes were drawn toward Killian’s armor—the same armor that Lady Callista wore, complete with the snarling lion helmet, the golden headband with its sigil, and the huge two-handed sword.

  “Elmessam?” Evren hissed. “The name Killian’s just one more façade, eh?”

  Killian grunted. “New line of work needs a new name. I couldn’t very well go about calling myself Elmessam, else the wrong people might remember that I was once a Keeper’s Blade.”

  “So you’re working with the Lady of Blades. ’Some of us have to find other ways to serve our city’, if I recall.” Evren threw up his hands. “You couldn’t have told me that a week ago? Could have made things a whole lot easier if I’d known we had allies in the palace.”

  “Some secrets are too important to share with anyone,” Killian replied.

  The blacksmith led the way into a small, richly decorated chamber. Moving past the plush couches and pillow-strewn Al Hani carpet, Killian strode to the center of the room and gently deposited his burden onto an ornately carved red oak table. He rested a hand on the bundle, bowing his head. “He was a good man, Nytano.” He spoke without looking up. “One of the best Blades I ever knew. Not only a great warrior, but a man of courage and honor. He will be missed.”

  “You came all the way up here just to bring his body?” Evren cocked an eyebrow. That sounded nothing like the Killian he’d known.

  Killian turned to him. His face had gone dark, a shadow in his eyes. “The smithy’s defenses would never have held out the Stumblers. We had to run. Aleema wouldn’t leave Nytano’s body for those creatures. And, we figured that the palace could use two more Blades to help hold the walls.” He gave a wry smile and tapped the bands of steel reinforcing the right leg of his armor. “Even old, broken Blades.”

  Evren narrowed his eyes. “Why does it seem like you’re not even a little surprised that these supposedly mythical creatures are attacking?”

  Over the last few years, Evren had encountered the offspring of demons, stone-skinned monstrosities, and ancient Serenii magic. But for a man like Killian, such legends coming to life should be far more shocking.

  “Surprised the shite out of me, they did.” Killian chuckled. “Lurching into the smithy like that, impossible creatures right out of Shalandran lore. But I’d been hearing rumors of Stumblers spotted in the Keeper’s Crypts for weeks now. Never had a credible eyewitness account to back up those whispers, so I dismissed them as nothing more. Yet the more I heard scattered reports from my Mumblers, the tales of drunks and Deadeners, the more convinced I was they were real.” He shook his head. “One of those times when it’s terrible to be right.”

  “I’ll say!” Evren snorted. “Do you have any idea where they came from, or what they really are? Let’s just say I don’t buy the whole ‘dark magic’ myth.”

  The Hunter had spoken of the Devourer of Worlds, an entity of pure chaos that sought to destroy all of reality. The Devourer had torn a demon apart and literally un-made it—a concept Evren couldn’t hope to understand, but Hailen had sworn it was true. In none of the tales of the Great Devourer had there been any mention of bringing the dead back to life.

  This felt a lot more…human.

  “I’m no Secret Keeper,” Killian said, “but this could be black alchemy at work. Until we get
one of the Mistress’ priests to weigh in on this, though, we’re…” His brow furrowed. “What’s the matter?”

  “Hailen!” A sudden, overwhelming fear had gripped Evren’s heart at the mention of the Secret Keepers. He’d pushed his worry to the back of his mind, but the presence of the Stumblers in the palace drove a dagger of ice into his gut. If Hallar’s Warriors had opened the way for the creatures to get into the palace, could they also find the secret tunnel into the Temple of Whispers?

  “I’ve got to go,” Evren raced toward the door. “Got to make sure he’s—”

  “No!” A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him just within the door. Killian spun him around. “There’s no way you’re getting down there, not through the tunnels, and definitely not through the streets. The underground passages are crawling with Stumblers, so thick we barely made it through. The Artisan’s Tier is overrun.”

  Overrun? Evren felt as if he’d just had the wind kicked out of him. He struggled to breathe. Dread dug icy fingers into his brain.

  They’re safe! He repeated the words to himself over and over, clinging to the memories of Hailen and Briana’s faces. They have to be.

  Killian’s eyes darkened. “The city is falling, Evren. Our only hope of survival is to win the fight here. If we are overrun…” He trailed off with a shake of his head. Slowly, he drew his huge sword with a whisper of steel on leather. “To win, it will take everyone to fight. You and I included. So let us join the battle—the final battle to save Shalandra from destruction.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Aisha crouched beside Issa, worry burning a hole in her stomach. She’d never seen the usually-calm Blade so unnerved, so disoriented.

  Issa sat leaning against the wall, her shoulders slumped, a dazed look in her eyes. She said nothing as Hykos hurried away with her grandmother, or when Evren dashed past Lady Callista to join Killian.

  Yet the clacking of Lady Callista’s boots made Issa suddenly stiffen. The dazed look faded, replaced by a cold fire burning in her eyes. The intensity of that look, the vehemence in Issa’s gaze, surprised Aisha.