Ascension of Death

by Andy Peloquin

  The strength suddenly fled his limbs, replaced by pain. Blood trickled warm and hot down his back and a stabbing, throbbing torment lanced his right leg. Looking down, he found stones had scraped his leg and bruised the joint. He couldn’t put much weight on it, but he was certain he’d manage a slow limping walk with Aisha’s help.

  Lorran came over to stand in front of him. “Lady Callista was right to trust you.” He glanced at Aisha. “Both of you. We owe you our lives.”

  Kodyn gave a grin, coughing up a lungful of dust. “I’d settle for a bit of water to rinse my mouth.”

  Lorran laughed, a genuine sound of mirth. Kodyn and Aisha joined in. It felt good to laugh; it seemed an eternity since he’d had something to smile about.

  The Ypertatos saluted Kodyn, fist to chest, then turned to his men “Let’s go, Blades!” he called. “The battle is far from over. The palace is still under attack, and our brothers will need our help.”

  The twenty bloodied, battered soldiers marched into the palace. Hope glimmered in their eyes. They’d escaped death narrowly, and as long as they lived, they could fight.

  “Come on,” Aisha said, and slung Kodyn’s arm over her shoulder. “We need to get back to the others. Like Lorran said, we’ve won this fight, but the battle is far from over.”

  Kodyn leaned on her and, together, the two of them hurried into the palace as fast as his injured leg could carry him. “I know. Which makes it all the more important that we get into the Vault of Ancients and find out what the Iron Warlord is really after.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I was named in a prophecy?

  Evren couldn’t get past how strange that felt. All his life, he’d believed he was no one of consequence, nothing more than a runaway apprentice forced to live on the streets of Vothmot, as forgotten and unwanted by the world as every other urchin and orphaned child. Then he’d met the Hunter and gone off on the wild adventure into the Empty Mountains. Despite the fact that he had played a role in deciphering the riddles that enabled the Hunter to find the Lost City of Enarium, Evren hadn’t believed he was anything special.

  Joining the Hunter’s quest to sustain Kharna and accepting Father Reverentus’ mission to steal the Blade of Hallar hadn’t changed his mind. He’d been chosen because of his skills, honed over years on the street. Not because he was special or because “destiny foretold it”.

  But hearing the words “half-master seeks the relic of old”, he couldn’t deny that they spoke of him. Everything fit the others too perfectly for him to reject the notion that the Prophecy of Final Destruction had to be talking about them.

  Someone had spoken of him, Evren, thousands of years ago.

  He wasn’t quite certain how to feel about that. In a way, it stifled him, as if he had no control over his actions. If someone had preordained his presence here, nothing he did really mattered. The outcome was foretold, dictated by some prophecy written long before his birth.

  And yet, they clearly did matter, or else they wouldn’t have been spoken of in prophecy. That realization gave every action a terrible weight. Everything he did mattered, had foreseen consequences important enough to write about.

  “What’s the matter?” Briana asked from beside him.

  He glanced over at the Shalandran girl. Concern for him furrowed her brow, somehow making her seem all the more beautiful. Or maybe it was just the golden glow of the palace lamps; their soft illumination did wonders for her fine features.

  Normally, Evren would keep it to himself. He was reserved, guarded by nature. Now, however, he found himself wanting to share it with her. “I was thinking about how strange it is to be mentioned in a prophecy, especially one as big as this.”

  “Right?” Her eyebrows rose. “I can’t get it out of my mind! Someone as inconsequential as me, important enough for Hallar himself to foresee.”

  “Inconsequential?” The sentiment took Evren by surprise. “How can you, of all people, say that? You’re the daughter of two Secret Keepers, one of which was Arch-Guardian of all Shalandra. You know more about the Serenii and their secrets than most people alive today. And, on top of that, you’re a Dhukari—”

  “Zadii, now,” Briana said, her voice quiet.

  “Whatever.” Evren gave a dismissive wave. “Right now, thanks to you, we might be able to open the Vault of Ancients and stop the Final Destruction. I’d say that makes you pretty damned important.”

  Color rose to Briana’s cheeks; the delicate blush made her all the prettier.

  “You’re not inconsequential, Evren.” Hailen spoke up from Briana’s other side. “No one is.”

  Evren shot a questioning glance at the young boy. “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s something Father Reverentus once told me.” Hailen scrunched up his face. “You don’t have to believe in destiny or fate—whether or not they’re real isn’t important. When it comes down to it, all that matters is that the right person in the right position takes the right action or makes the right choice. Anyone can make that choice, but not everyone will. Those who do are the ones that end up changing the world.”

  “Like the choice to fight for your family and friends,” Briana said. “Or to stand up to injustice when you see it. Shalandra will be better off because you stood up to the Ybrazhe Syndicate. I’d say that’s enough to make you go down in Shalandran history.” Humor sparkled in her eyes. “Evren the Thug-slayer, they’ll call you!”

  Evren blushed. “I didn’t really do anything,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Evren.” Briana stopped abruptly, turning to face him. “From what I hear, you took on the Syndicate virtually alone, and thanks to you, the city is free of their cruelty.” She lifted her hand, hesitated, then placed it gently on his arm. “And, thanks to you, I’m still alive. You saved me more than once.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “That makes you a hero to me.”

  A raging fire burned in Evren’s cheeks. He was keenly aware of her soft hand on his arm, her slender frame so close to his. The smell of her hair, the warmth of her body, the gentle curvature of her cheeks and nose—every detail of her set the blood rushing through his body.

  The sight of Hailen’s impish grin behind Briana snapped Evren out of the moment. “Thanks.” He gave Briana a small smile. “I guess that’s what happens when you live on the streets long enough. You stop thinking of yourself as a real person, someone who matters to the world. Instead, you feel as forgotten and ignored as the shadows you hide in.”

  Briana smiled. “You’re real enough to me.” Turning, she resumed the journey toward the Pharus’ chambers. Hailen shot Evren a sly smile and fell into step behind Briana. After a moment, Evren hurried to follow.

  He reached them just as they rounded a corner and came face to face with two black-armored figures standing guard before a pair of broad, gold-enameled double doors.

  One, Hykos, tensed at their approach, with both guards’ hands dropping to their weapons. “Lady Briana?” he asked. Confusion twisted his brow, but he released his grip on his sword. “What are you doing here?”

  “I must speak to the Pharus at once.” Briana one again assumed the role of the commanding, authoritative Dhukari. “We have information of the utmost importance.”

  Hykos hesitated, shooting a glance at his fellow Blade. “I have orders from Lady Callista to let no one through.” His eyes went to Evren. “While I owe you for what you did to rescue Issa, I cannot countermand the orders of my Proxenos.”

  Evren’s eyes went to the second Blade, who hadn’t moved once throughout, save to bring a ripe apple to his mouth for a noisy, crunching bite. “I thought you were going to get food, blacksmith.” His tone dripped sarcasm.

  “Turns out I can eat and walk at the same time.” Killian shrugged and took another bite. “Besides, something told me you’d come here, so I figured I’d be present when you showed up. Things have a tendency to get…interesting around you.”

  “Interesting is right.” Evren grinned u
p at the broad-shouldered man. “Anything you can do to get us in to see the Pharus?”

  Killian chewed noisily for a long second, then tilted his head. “I’ll talk to Amhoset.” The casual way he said the Pharus’ name surprised Evren. “See what he says for you.” Nodding to Hykos, Killian opened one of the double doors and entered the chamber.

  “That is Killian?” Briana whispered in Evren’s ear. “I thought you said he was a blacksmith.”

  “That’s what I thought the first time I met him.” Evren spoke in a voice pitched low for her ears only. “Turns out he’s a great deal more.”

  Killian appeared a few seconds after he’d entered. “Archateros, the Pharus will permit Lady Briana and her companions to enter.”

  Hykos hesitated. “With all due respect, Ypertatos, I—”

  “Let them enter, noble Blade.” A deep, rich voice echoed from within the chamber. “Lady Briana is always welcome.”

  After a moment, Hykos stepped aside. “Of course, Bright One.”

  Briana shot Hykos a dazzling smile and strode through the door, which Killian held open for her, Evren, and Hailen. The blacksmith met Evren’s questioning glance with a blank expression, a hint of a wry smile on his lips.

  That man enjoys his secrets far too much!

  The chamber they entered was clearly a sitting room, one fit for the Pharus of Shalandra. Evren hadn’t seen so much velvet, gold, platinum, and bloodwood since the Grand Lectern’s rooftop suite in Vothmot. Everything in the room sparkled, reflecting the light of ornate lanterns with an almost blinding brilliance. The carpets, couches, divans, and armchairs appeared so soft and comfortable, Evren found himself wishing he could sit, rest his tired body. He’d fall asleep in a paradise of plush luxury.

  Aleema, Issa’s grandmother, sat in a comfortable chair on one side of the room, sipping from a silver goblet. She seemed relaxed, an odd sight given who she shared the chamber with.

  Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres definitely fit Evren’s idea of what a monarch should look like. Tall, with broad shoulders and strong arms that looked capable of wielding the khopesh on his belt, he wore a long shendyt and a draping tunic that revealed a muscular chest. His hair matched the dark brown of his eyes, and he had high cheekbones, a sharp nose, square jaw, and a strong mouth that creased into a smile as they entered.

  “Briana.” He held out a hand to Briana, pulling her into an embrace that seemed oddly familiar, considering his station. “It does my heart good to see you here, close at hand. I was worried about you, locked away in the Temple of Whispers.”

  Evren struggled to conceal his surprise. The Pharus and Lady Callista were dangerously well-informed. His eyes drifted toward Killian, narrowing in suspicion. Killian’s face revealed nothing. He simply continued munching on his apple, albeit with far less noise than he’d made outside.

  “What can I do for you?” The Pharus’ words brought Evren back to the conversation. “Elmessam tells me you have urgent information. What could be more urgent than the battle even now raging at our front door?”

  “The Final Destruction,” Briana said.

  The Pharus’ eyes darkened. “I have heard those words on too many angry lips in the last weeks. The ancient prophecy of my distant ancestor has haunted my fathers and forefathers for thousands of years.” He squared his broad shoulders and lifted his head. “So tell me, Briana, what other threats do we face than the army at our gates?”

  Briana straightened. “The one who calls himself the Iron Warlord seeks to open the Vault of Ancients. This attack on the palace, everything that has happened in the last few weeks, it is all his plot to get at the Blade of Hallar and the Crown of the Pharus.”

  “For what purpose?” The Pharus cocked an eyebrow. “They are symbols of the Pharus’ power, nothing more.”

  “That’s not quite true—” Evren wasn’t certain how to address the Pharus—his experience with monarchs was limited to gawking at the Caliph of Vothmot from the shadows of the Master’s Temple—so he settled for, “—your majesty.”

  The Pharus’ eyes went to Evren. “And you are?”

  “Lad’s name is Evren, Bright One,” Killian put in from his place.

  “Ah, of course.” The Pharus shot a questioning glance at the black-bearded soldier. “The one of whom you spoke so highly?”

  Evren blushed, his eyes wide.

  Killian bowed. “The same.”

  “And the one who arrived in time to save you both from the rioters?” the Pharus asked.

  “That is he.” This from Aleema, seated across from the Pharus.

  “Indeed.” The Pharus’ expression grew musing. “Then tell me, Evren, what more is there that I do not know about the blade and crown? The Iron Warlord lays siege to my palace and destroys my city. What does he hope to claim?”

  “Hallar’s Final Destruction,” Evren said. “He wants to unleash whatever it is on Shalandra.”

  “My father dedicated his life to studying the creations of the Serenii,” Briana put in. “Including the Vault of Ancients.” She drew the leather-bound journal from within the sack and held it up. “In here, his private journal, he wrote about translations of the various Serenii writings he encountered, as well as anything he believed pertinent to understanding the ancient race.”

  The Pharus’ eyebrows knit together in a frown. “You believe the Prophecy of the Final Destruction is of Serenii origin?”

  “No, Bright One.” Briana shook her head. “But we think Hallar discovered a Serenii-made creation of great power. An artifact capable of bringing on the Final Destruction. Thus, he wrote the prophecy for his descendants and his city, a warning of what was to come.”

  “And you believe the Iron Warlord, the one who hurls monsters of legend at our gates, comes for that artifact.” His expression grew pensive. “But without a Secret Keeper to open the vault, surely he will be unable to open it?”

  “That’s a pretty poor wager to make,” Evren said. “He doesn’t seem like the type to go to all this trouble unless he already had a way to get in.”

  The Pharus tilted his head. “I’m inclined to believe the same.”

  “Which is why we’ve come to you, my Pharus.” Briana’s voice grew stronger, ringing with confidence. “We intend to open the vault before he can get at it.”

  The Pharus narrowed his kohl-rimmed eyes. “Do his work for him?”

  “Not if we remove the artifacts first.” Evren grinned. “We haul the Blade of Hallar and the Crown of the Pharus out of his grasp, take them somewhere safe, and his grand scheme to bring on the Final Destruction will be useless.”

  “But he’ll still overrun my palace, kill everyone in my city.” The Pharus met their gazes. “Unless something within the vault can turn back the tide of creatures.”

  “The Secret Keepers are working on a solution for that particular problem.” Evren’s grin broadened. “The Stumblers aren’t actually dead, like your legends believe. They’re alive, just twisted by black alchemy into monsters.”

  “I can attest to that, Bright One.” To Evren’s surprise, it was Killian who spoke up. “Four of the creatures survived in the Terrestra, their minds restored, at least somewhat. Even now, the Secret Keepers are examining them to learn what they can about whatever foul potion was given them.”

  “What?” The Pharus’ eyes flew wide. “Truly?”

  “We can go see them right now, if you’d like.” Evren gestured toward the door. “But that will take valuable time, time we could be spending figuring out how to stop the Iron Warlord from getting whatever he needs to unleash the Final Destruction on your city.” His jaw clenched. “Thousands may die in the battle against the Stumblers, but imagine the casualties if he manages to get his hands on a Serenii artifact powerful enough to cause the ‘Final Destruction’. Hallar had to write that prophecy for a reason!”

  He might still doubt his role in the prophecy or whether it actually spoke of him, but if it convinced the Pharus to help them, he’d sing that note for all he w
as worth.

  The Pharus remained silent a long moment. His teeth worried at his lip, a very pensive, very un-kingly gesture. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision. Striding toward a nearby table, he picked up a small metallic bell. The high-pitched tinkling summoned a manservant, who appeared before the Pharus had returned it to the table.

  “Find out where Lady Callista is,” the Pharus told the servant.

  “Of course, Bright One.” The man bowed and hurried from the room.

  The Pharus turned back to Briana. “I have no doubt the Lady of Blades is occupied with the battle, so we will go to her.” He strode toward the door. “I must speak with Callista. She must know the truth of what we face, and I would have her counsel on what you say. Together, we will decide what must be done to save Shalandra.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The double doors to the Palace of Golden Eternity closed with a ringing boom of finality. Issa felt it to her bones, an ominous thunderclap that reverberated along the high-vaulted halls of the palace, signaling the beginning of the end.

  This is where we fight our last stand. The thought filled her with foreboding, yet she met it with grim determination. So be it. We fight to the end.

  The palace’s front entrance was consumed in a flurry of activity. Servants rushed up and down the gold-and-silver-tiled halls, dragging ornate and priceless furniture toward the main entrance to pile onto the improvised barricades. Ormroth, Chirak, and the other freed captives worked with the few Indomitables remaining in the palace to build a defensive position. Even as Issa and Lady Callista strode past, soldiers nailed heavy wooden beams across the doors, sealing them against the expected assault.

  The palace prepared for war.

  Lady Callista nodded her approval at the growing barricades and snagged a passing servant, one wearing the silver-threaded headband of her trusted attendants. “Get to the armory, the kitchen, anywhere else you can think of and find me all the iron weapons you’ve got.”