Ascension of Death

by Andy Peloquin

  Briana’s eyes flew wide. “And a child of Secret Keepers.”

  “Son of Master Gold,” Aisha put in, pointing at him.

  The realization caught Kodyn by surprise. He’d been about to tell Briana that she was the child of gold—daughter of the Dhukari, clad in gold clothing and wearing a golden headband—but the words died on his lips. He couldn’t deny Aisha’s words. It fit too perfectly.

  “Half-master seeks the relic of old.” Hailen piped up. “It’s talking about you, Evren.”

  Evren appeared as stunned as Kodyn. “Wait, w-what?” He shook his head. “No way some ancient prophecy’s going to have anything to do with me.”

  “You were training to be a Lectern,” Briana said. “A priest of Kiro, the Master. Yet you left while still an apprentice. Not a full Master’s priest—”

  “But a half-master,” Hailen finished.

  Evren’s protests fell quiet, his face going ashen grey.

  “You came to Shalandra seeking the Blade of Hallar,” Kodyn’s mind worked to put the pieces together. “If it truly did belong to Shalandra’s founder, I’d say that makes it pretty bloody old!”

  “Which would make you ‘the blood of ancients’,” Briana said, turning to Hailen.

  The boy nodded. “My Melechha blood.” He seemed to accept it with his usual grace and maturity, strange from one so young, but something Kodyn had come to respect in Hailen.

  “B-But what about the rest?” Evren seemed to have recovered enough to form coherent words, though the color hadn’t yet returned to his face. “The sword and scepter bit, or Hallar’s blood?”

  “A literal alignment.” Hailen pulled out the cylindrical artifact and twisted it. Four stone prongs snapped outward like the teeth of a key. “The Blade of Hallar and the Pharus’ scepter could work like a key to open the vault.”

  “Or the tomb,” Briana put in. “Those are needed to ‘sew the final destruction from behind midnight eyes’. They could open the way into the Tomb of Hallar and whatever he’s hidden there.”

  Kodyn’s mind reeled from the gravity of this new revelation. They operated on a dangerous amount of suppositions and guesses, when he preferred to base his actions on facts, training, and instinct. Yet, given their circumstances, it was all they had to go on. Hawks had to trust that the Pathfinders had done their jobs and built the Hawk’s Highway to be solid; he could take this leap of faith, too.

  “That’s what we do, then.” Aisha said. She turned to him. “I’ll go to the Keeper’s Crypts, and Kodyn, you’ll go with Briana to—”

  “No.” Kodyn shook his head. “I’m going with you to the crypts.”

  “Kodyn—” Aisha began.

  “I’m not going to let you go off alone, Aisha.” Kodyn set his jaw. “Not again, not when I have a choice.”

  Her expression grew stubborn and she looked ready to refuse. Yet Kodyn had no intention of being dissuaded. He could out-stubborn Aisha any day, especially if it meant keeping her safe. He’d be damned if he let her go alone again.

  “I’ll go with Briana,” Evren said. “I’ll watch her back.”

  “Me, too.” Hailen stepped forward, hand going to the dagger at his belt.

  Briana shot the two of them a grateful smile. Her eyes brightened as she turned to Evren. Kodyn recognized that—she’d looked at him like that before. A smile spread across his lips. It was good to know that she could find happiness after everything that had happened. Watcher knows she deserves it.

  “So be it.” He nodded. “We’ll head to the Keeper’s Crypts, and you all will go talk to the Pharus. Once that’s done, we meet back here and head to the vault. We need to open it soon, just in case the battle outside goes bad.”

  Evren sighed and shook his head. “Impossible’s sort of becoming the norm, isn’t it?”

  Kodyn grinned. “Damn right!”

  Despite his bravado, he felt a sense of urgency, like the grains of a sandtimer trickling away in the back of his mind. If they failed here—to stop the Stumblers, to convince the Pharus to let them into the Vault of Ancients—all of Shalandra was doomed, and possibly the world with it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  For a long moment—too long—Lady Callista remained silent. Her face was a somber mask of stone, but Issa saw the burdened look in her eyes, the contemplative twist to her lips.

  She’s actually considering this!

  The realization stunned Issa. She couldn’t imagine the Proxenos surrendering the battle. In her mind, she had a clear picture of Lady Callista fighting to the death, a heroic last stand in defiance of impossible odds.

  Yet that was simply her idea of the Lady of Blades, most powerful woman and military commander in Shalandra. A glorified, glamorized portrait of the person she’d always expected Lady Callista to be, aggrandized by the knowledge that she was Issa’s mother. The sort of woman Issa had always dreamed of meeting.

  The real Lady Callista, however, had greater concerns than simply being heroic. She had sworn to serve and protect her people from all enemies. If she fought this battle, her people died. Yet if she surrendered, she failed to protect her city—and her Pharus. This was a war she could not win.

  In that moment, one of Elder Dyrkton’s military history lessons flashed through Issa’s mind. In the Battle of Crimson Gorge, Invictus Danaj had convinced Pavesah Alecha, chieftain of the Zahirani war clans, to sit down in parley. The Invictus had demanded the Zahirani surrender, but it had been a ruse to buy the Keeper’s Blades time to send reinforcements to strengthen Danaj’s decimated forces. Had the chieftain ordered his five thousand men to attack, they would have slaughtered the four hundred Blades holding the mouth of Crimson Gorge.

  Issa sucked in a breath. “It’s a ruse!” she hissed.

  “What?” Lady Callista’s frown deepened, but she didn’t take her eyes from the Stumbler horde and their two human leaders.

  Issa’s mind raced. “Like Invictus Danaj. Tethum’s only parleying because he’s trying to trick us. He’s not certain he can win the battle.”

  She could think of no other reason Tethum would have paused the assault on the palace when his hordes had come so close to overwhelming the defenders. If he truly had enough Stumblers to fill every corner of Shalandra, he certainly had more than enough to break through the gate.

  So if he has them, why not use them? Between the battle on the wall and the clashes within the palace, Stumbler casualties might number in the thousands. Wherever they’d come from, the Iron Warlord had to have a limited supply.

  The threat of murdering everyone in Shalandra was certainly effective enough to convince Lady Callista to surrender, but only a foolish commander would spread his army so thin. Everything she’d learned about the cunning, manipulative Tethum made it clear he was no fool.

  But he was brazen enough to bluff his way to victory.

  “A bluff.” Lady Callista spoke in a slow, thoughtful voice, burdened beneath the weight of her decision.

  “Yes.” Issa nodded. “He has to have a limited supply of Stumblers. He’ll only waste as many as needed to convince us that he’s got the battle won.” She rounded on Lady Callista. “But he doesn’t! We can hold them here.”

  “And what of the people below?” Lady Callista asked. “Those who do not have high walls and sharp swords to defend themselves?”

  “He has no need to kill them.” Realization slammed into Issa. “Not when he can just turn them into Stumblers to add to his ranks.”

  Lady Callista’s brow furrowed. “A dangerous gamble, and a difficult choice.”

  “The only choice, Proxenos.” Invictus Tannard spoke up from beyond Lady Callista. “We fight to the death, in service of you and the Pharus, my lady.”

  Pain flashed across Lady Callista’s face. She knew what she risked, the suffering that awaited her people no matter her choice.

  But Issa saw the moment the truth sank home and she reached her decision. The Lady of Blades’ jaw firmed, her lips pressed into a grim line. She would fi
ght to the last.

  “Come, Lady Callista!” called Tethum. “Your answer!”

  “My answer is steel.” Lady Callista unslung her huge flammard. “Steel and defiance of your threat, as is the way of the Keeper’s Blades.”

  “A foolish decision, but no less than I would expect of a human.” Tethum’s voice dripped disdain. He turned to Groebus. “Bring down the gate, and kill everyone within the palace.” His words rang across the Keeper’s Tier. “Your people will die knowing you betrayed them, Lady Callista.”

  “My people will fight to the last.” She raised her sword high and roared, “We are Shalandrans! For Shalandra!”

  “For Shalandra!” echoed the soldiers on the ramparts and at the gate.

  Groebus spoke a single word, guttural and grating, and the Stumblers around his palanquin lurched to life. The Necroseti priest called the command again, his slurred voice ringing across Death Row. The entire army of Stumblers awoke, shifted, and pressed forward. A tide of living corpses surged up the avenue and crashed against the gate. The battle for the palace began anew.

  “You must leave, Proxenos.” Invictus Tannard rumbled, his voice nearly drowned beneath the rasping, gurgling cries of the Stumblers and the sound of Stumbler hands battering at the gate. “You must return to the palace.”

  “No, Tannard.” Lady Callista shook her head. “My place is here, beside my Blades.”

  “Your place is with the Pharus.” Tannard’s face hardened. “And the palace must be prepared for a final defense.” He spoke it in a tone of such finality, emotionless and accepting of his fate.

  For the first time, Issa could see past the cold, cruel man that had tormented her. A bastard of the highest magnitude, yet a fierce warrior willing to die in service of Shalandra. A Keeper’s Blade who, like her, had sworn to protect the city, his commander, and his Pharus. She might hate him, yet in that moment, a hint of grudging respect blossomed in her chest.

  Lady Callista reached out a hand. “Fight well, Invictus.”

  “It has been a privilege to serve you.” Tannard clasped the Lady of Blades’ arm. “And your daughter.”

  The words struck Issa with the force of a physical blow. Her breath caught in her lungs, and she found herself paralyzed in shocked surprise. Her astonishment grew when Tannard turned to face her.

  “Never have I encountered a prototopoi so gifted, courageous, and defiant.” A grim smile twisted his hard, strong face, and for the first time, genuine warmth thawed the chill in his eyes. “With your strength, you bring honor to your mother, to your city, and to the Long Keeper. Farewell, Issa. May the spirits of the Blades gone before you guide your steps in the battle to come.”

  Issa could scarcely move. Her spine had gone rigid, her muscles frozen, stunned.

  With a nod, Lady Callista released Tannard’s arm. “May the Faces of Justice and Vengeance smile on you, my friend.”

  “And you, Proxenos.” With a nod, Tannard turned and strode along the wall, his deep voice booming out orders to the defenders.

  “Come, Issa.” Lady Callista beckoned for her to descend the stairs. To Issa’s surprise, tears glimmered in the Lady of Blades’ eyes. “To the palace.”

  Issa’s body moved independent of her benumbed mind. She stumbled down the stairs to the open-air courtyard, barely managing to keep pace with the fast-marching Lady Callista. For long seconds, words escaped her.

  “He…knew?!” The question came out in a gasp.

  “Before I did.” Lady Callista’s voice was quiet. “He saw the resemblance the moment you stepped onto the sands of the Crucible.”

  Issa’s eyes widened in astonishment. “And you let him torment me?” Anger burned through the chilling numbness of her surprise.

  “To make you strong.” Lady Callista didn’t meet her eyes, yet her voice held an edge of steel, the stubborn defiance Issa knew so well. “To prepare you for what was to come. For this.”

  Once again, Issa could find no words. Her mind reeled beneath the revelation.

  She barely registered the figures moving across the plaza toward them. When she finally looked up, Ormroth, Chirak, and the rest of the captive Blades and Indomitables stood before her.

  “Proxenos.” The Ypertatos’ salute cut off in a groan. Blood stained his tunic around a long slash in his left side, and his face twisted in pain as he spoke. “Forgive us. We were outnumbered, caught by surprise.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Ormroth.” Lady Callista cut him off with a shake of her head. “Our enemy is crafty, his forces far outnumbering ours. The fact that you escaped and made it into the palace to join us is a testament to your courage and fortitude.”

  She turned to the man supporting Ormroth’s right side. He was one of the heavily-armored warriors that had attacked the Stumblers. “I owe you gratitude for the lives of my men and for your timely assault, and mourn the loss of your comrades.” Her sword moved so quickly Issa barely saw it blur through the daylight. The tip rested lightly against the man’s throat, the long flame-shaped blade wavering not an inch. “That is the only thing stopping me from cutting you down. Who are you and what is a foreign army doing in my city?”

  The man raised an empty left hand. “My lady, I am no foreigner. My name is Burim, Shalandran by birth.” He unbuckled his chin strap and removed his helmet, revealing golden skin, strong features, a white headband, and four black dots tattooed in a diamond shape on his cheeks. “But also a servant of the Beggar God. I, and my fallen brothers, are Cambionari, serving our divine command to hunt down demons wherever they may lurk on Einan.”

  Lady Callista narrowed her eyes. “I have never heard of an order of warrior priests among the Beggar’s followers.”

  “And yet, here I stand.” Defiance sparkled in the man’s eyes and he stood taller, heedless of the sword at his throat. “Ready to fight to my last breath if it means I can strike down that foul abomination masquerading as the Iron Warlord. You face a demon, my lady, a creature of ancient evil.”

  Everyone on Einan knew the legends of demons: hellish monsters of nightmare, summoned by the evil god Kharna in the War of Gods. The battle against Kharna had been won, thanks to the Long Keeper. The god of death had gathered the power of the slain Swordsman into himself, and with it, trapped the Destroyer in an eternal prison.

  “Demons?” Lady Callista raised her eyebrows. “They are a myth.”

  “As are Stumblers, and yet…” Burim gestured toward the battle raging at the gate.

  Issa’s brow furrowed. “Wait, are you talking about Groebus? The Necroseti priest is a demon?” It almost made sense. The hunchbacked priest was so twisted and hideous, Issa had no trouble believing he could be a creature of evil. With everything he’d done, the horrors he’d unleashed upon Shalandra, she found it easier to accept.

  “No.” Burim shook his head. “The priest is nothing more than the pawn of a creature far older and more cunning than any mortal alive today.” His expression grew grim, his jaw set. “Tethum, the one who calls himself the Iron Warlord, he is the demon.”

  Lady Callista’s sword wavered. Suspicion and disbelief flashed across her face. “Prove it.”

  “I cannot, my lady.” Burim shook his head. “At least, not without getting close enough to strike him down. But look.” He drew one of the two swords worn at his right hip. The long, heavy blade was darker than steel, made of iron. “Demons cannot be killed by steel, but only pure iron.” He drew a dagger, also iron. “Were I to face a mortal threat, such weapons would be pitiful against steel blades.”

  Iron was strong, but far more brittle than good steel. Weapons made of iron would bend or break in a single battle.

  “Your choice of weapons is hardly proof,” Lady Callista retorted.

  Burim nodded. “Of course.” He turned to Ormroth. “Tell me, Ypertatos, when you looked into the eyes behind the mask, what did you see?”

  To Issa’s surprise, the stalwart Ormroth’s face grew pale. “Black, depthless, like an empty void.” He gri
maced, swallowed hard. “Yet not empty, but filled with…evil.”

  “That, my lady, is the mark of a demon,” Burim said. “I can offer you no more evidence, other than the fact that every one of my brethren were willing to die to put an end to the creature.” He released Ormroth and drew his steel sword. “Just as I will fight to the death beside your men for a chance to get close enough to bring the demon down. With his death, my brothers will be avenged and your city will be saved.”

  Lady Callista hesitated. Her lips twitched, a furrow playing across her forehead. Issa could see her struggling to accept the man’s words—they sounded simply too fantastical to be real, yet one look in Burim’s eyes made it clear he believed them to the core of his being. He was willing to die for them.

  Finally, Lady Callista lowered her sword. “Go.” She nodded to the Cambionari. “And may your god grant you strength.”

  “May the Beggar have mercy on all of us,” said Burim. With a salute of his sword, he turned and raced toward the wall.

  “My lady,” Ormroth said, “allow me to join the Invictus atop the wall.” He tried to straighten, but groaned and doubled over the gash in his side. Breathing hard, he looked up at Lady Callista. “The battle is dire, but—”

  “No, Ypertatos.” Lady Callista spoke in a quiet voice. “Our place is not at the gate. Go, take your men and prepare the palace for battle.”

  “But—” Ormroth began.

  “A valuable lesson for the prototopoi.” Lady Callista’s voice was firm, insistent. “A Keeper’s Blade must know when to fight and when to retreat.”

  Ormroth’s face hardened. With effort, he stood straight and saluted—fist to chest, the Blades’ salute. “Yes, Proxenos.” Sorrow darkened his eyes as he turned away and led his small company of wounded, unarmored Blades and Indomitables toward the palace.

  Lady Callista shot a glance back, toward the brave men battling atop the wall and fighting to hold the gate. Already, the locking bar had bowed inward beneath the strain of so many Stumbler bodies, and one iron-banded wooden gate had swung open. Just enough for Stumblers to claw their way inside. The creatures could only get through one at a time, easily cut down by the Indomitables and Blades holding the opening, but the outcome was inevitable.