Ascension of Death
Page 29
Killian had moved a short distance down the corridor, a solemn look in his eyes. Evren dodged a servant hurrying into the chamber with an armful of sheathed daggers and strode toward the blacksmith.
“Playing hero, are we?” Evren asked.
Killian gave him a wry grin. “I’ll admit, it’s been a long time since I had the pleasure of a desperate last stand.” He rapped his knuckles against the thick cuisse covering his upper leg, just above his injured knee. “Let’s just hope I get off this easy again, eh?”
Evren chuckled. “I’d wish you luck, but that has an awfully gloomy feeling to it.” He held out a hand. “How about I just say ‘Get yourself through this in one piece, you crafty old windbag’?”
Killian returned the grip. “Old windbag? You better pray I fall in this battle, else I might have to give you a decent hiding for that.” A shadow in his eyes belied his mocking, lighthearted smile.
Evren was surprised to find a lump rising in his throat. He’d grown strangely fond of the enigmatic blacksmith. Killian had surprised him by being as kind, decent, and honorable as he was crafty. He was living proof that not everyone on the wrong side of the law was a total bastard.
Suddenly, Killian pulled him close and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. “Take this, quickly.” He pressed something smooth and hard into Evren’s hand. “If I get through this in one piece, I’ll explain everything. For now, trust that everything I’ve done has been in the name of protecting Shalandra. No matter what it may look like.”
Evren, caught off-guard, could find no words. He stared up at Killian, his mind too stunned to form a question.
“This cannot fall into the Iron Warlord’s hands.” Killian fixed Evren with a burning gaze. “Guard it with your life, or else all of Shalandra will—”
He cut off so abruptly that Evren staggered, his hand released from the blacksmith’s iron grip.
“Ah, Aleema.” Killian’s face brightened and his eyes slid past Evren toward the door. “Allow me the honor of defending Shalandra beside you one last time.”
Evren turned to see Issa’s white-haired Savta emerging from the chamber. Tears streaked her age-lined face, but she gave Killian a brilliant smile. “Elmessam, long has it been since we stood side by side and joined battle.”
“Not since the icy shores of Fehl,” Killian said. “Do you regret the decisions you were forced to make?”
“No.” Aleema shook her head. “But I expect you would say much the same. Even about training our Issa in secret, knowing you went against the wishes of your Ypertatos.”
Killian gave a little bow. “As always, Aleema, I act in service of Shalandra.”
“Indeed.” Aleema unslung her flammard and gripped it tight. “Now come, Elmessam. Battle waits for no man or woman, no matter how aged.”
Chuckling, Killian saluted and stepped aside to make way for the woman. As Aleema passed, Killian shot a meaningful glance at Evren, dropping his eyes to Evren’s hand. With that final wordless message, he turned and strode after Aleema east, toward the front of the palace and the inevitable battle.
The blacksmith’s furtive urgency had thrown Evren off-guard, and his mind took a moment to recover. He glanced down at his hand, uncurling his fingers. There lay a smooth black stone, the shape of two conjoined teardrops, just small enough to nestle in his palm. What the hell did he—
“Evren?” Hailen’s voice echoed from behind him.
Evren’s fingers instantly closed around the stone and he whirled to find the young boy standing in the hall behind him.
Hailen seemed to confuse his shock for worry. “What’s the matter?”
Evren gave a half-hearted wave. “Nothing,” he said, shrugging. “Just wanted to say farewell to Killian.”
“Oh.” Hailen’s face tightened, his eyes brimming with sorrow. “He was a good man, in the end, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Evren nodded. “A good man, despite himself.” He hurried toward the boy and strode into the room.
“—get a message to the Secret Keepers,” Lady Callista was saying as he entered. She, Issa, and Hykos were busy buckling on the daggers the servant had brought.
As if they don’t have weapons enough with those huge swords, Evren thought. Then again, given our enemy, another blade can’t hurt. He checked his own weapons—aside from his jambiyas and two throwing daggers, he was all out of knives. He’d have to fight with what he had, with every shred of strength in his arms and legs. For Hailen, Briana, and everyone else in the room.
“Tell Ennolar to barricade himself and his priests in that office. All of Shalandra is counting on them to craft that antidote.”
“Yes, Proxenos.” Hykos snapped a crisp salute. “Once that is done, it would be my honor to join the ranks of those defending the palace.”
Worry flashed across Issa’s face, far more evident than the young blade might suspect.
Lady Callista seemed to notice as well. “The Pharus must be protected,” she said, her voice solemn, firm. “It falls to the three of us to guard him with our lives.”
Hykos looked ready to protest, but his eyes slid toward Issa, then the Pharus. “Of course, Proxenos.” Evren could swear he saw a hint of relief in the Archateros’ face. He limped away from the chamber as fast as his injured knee permitted. He turned east, heading toward the Secret Keepers.
“Then lead the way,” Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres said. “There is no time for delay.”
As if summoned by his words, the first sounds of battle echoed through the hall: the thump, thump of heavy bodies crashing against the barricaded front doors, the clattering of armor and weapons, the shouts of relayed orders.
The assault on the palace had begun.
Evren’s gut tightened. If the Stumblers are already attacking the palace itself, that means the gate has fallen. It would only be a matter of time before the creatures overwhelmed the meager defensive force or found a way to slip through one of the many entrances into the palace.
If they didn’t hurry, the Iron Warlord would triumph.
Once again, he felt a burning desire to unclench his fingers and study the object Killian had entrusted to him. He needed to get a better look at it, have a clearer understanding what he’d be protecting with his life. Yet he kept his hand firmly closed around the smooth stone. Killian had clearly wanted it kept a secret; he owed that much to the blacksmith that had helped him and Hailen so much during their time in Shalandra.
Lady Callista led the way through the halls toward the Vault of Ancients, the Pharus a step behind her. Issa brought up the rear of the protective guard. Briana, Aisha, and Kodyn hurried after them, as fast as Kodyn could manage despite his nasty limp.
“Hailen.” Evren caught the boy’s arm before he could follow the others from the room. “Are you sure about this?”
Hailen turned to him, confusion written on his face. “What do you mean?”
“You remember what happened the last time you encountered Serenii technology, in Enarium.” Evren gave him a meaningful look. “You nearly died.”
“That wasn’t the fault of the Serenii mechanisms.” Hailen shook his head. “That was the Sage trying to use my blood.”
“You know what I mean.” Evren threw up his hands. “We have no idea what sort of magic is within the vault or the tomb. And with your blood, things tend to go a little…” He wiggled his fingers. “…sideways.”
He had seen the way the artifact lit up in Suroth’s study, and the militants’ corpses riddled with holes—the magic of another Serenii relic.
“I know.” Hailen nodded. “But you know what I am, what I’m supposed to be able to do. I can’t hide from my destiny, no matter how much I wish I could.”
A heavy burden seemed to settle on the boy’s shoulders as he spoke, tugging his shoulders into a stoop. He carried the weight of Einan’s future—his blood was the only thing capable of putting an end to the Great Devourer.
“I feel like this is what I’m meant to do, Evren.” Hailen�
��s expression grew somber. “If there’s a way I can help to save Shalandra, that’s a start toward saving all of Einan, right? Even if the Great Devourer’s still out there in Enarium, waiting to destroy our world, it won’t matter if the world destroys itself. I can’t get so focused on the big picture that I fail to think about the small things, the little acts that can save lives and turn back evil wherever it’s found. Human, demon, or ancient force of chaos, whatever it is.”
The words stunned Evren. He’d thought much the same thing. But to hear it from the mouth of Hailen made him realize how much the boy truly had grown in the last few years.
He had tried his best to protect Hailen. From the moment he’d found the boy hiding in the back of Brother Modestus’ wagon, he’d done what he could to shield him from danger, harm, and the malevolent actions of wicked men. Yet Hailen was no longer a child in need of sheltering. He had killed bandits, driven off Snarth, used Serenii magic to kill Hallar’s Warriors. He had seen hundreds of deaths in his life, far more than Evren could imagine. He had stared into the face of a being older than Einan itself, had watched it destroy a creature of immense power. Each of those experiences had shaped him, matured him into the young man that now stood before Evren.
But this, this foray into the Serenii-made Vault of Ancients, this was one danger he couldn’t protect Hailen from. Hailen had to face this challenge, for the future of Shalandra, and his own sake. The world needed him to embrace his Serenii heritage and the power of his Melechha blood.
“Thank you, Evren.” Hailen’s quiet words snapped him from his musing.
“For what?” Evren’s brow twisted in confusion.
“For being my brother.” Hailen grinned. “Even though we were born a thousand leagues apart, you truly are my brother. You’ve protected me, trained me, helped me in more ways than you’ll ever realize. It’s thanks to you that I am ready to face my destiny here. And wherever else I will need it. I’m only strong because you showed me how to be.”
A lump rose to Evren’s throat. He found himself at a sudden loss for words; what could he say to that? Anything he could say felt inadequate.
Hailen suddenly threw his arms around Evren. “I love you, Evren,” he said, his voice hoarse. “No matter what happens to us here, I want you to know that.”
Evren embraced the boy, holding him in a fierce hug. “I love you, too, Hailen.” Errant tears brimmed in his eyes and slid down his cheeks. For once, Evren didn’t fight the emotions. “Meeting you was one of the best things that ever happened to me. And if our journey ends here, I’ll go down fighting and with a smile on my face because I had the best little brother ever.” He gave a tight-throated chuckle. “Even if you are a smart-arse.”
Hailen laughed and pulled back from the hug. “Right now, it’s that big brain of mine that’s going to save us all. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”
“Damn,” Evren groaned. “If you really do pull this off, it’s going to your head. You’ll have an ego larger than Graeme’s.”
“And well-deserved.” Hailen tilted his nose up into the air and gave a snobbish sniff. A beaming smile and childish giggle ruined his haughty air of conceit.
Evren threw his arm around Hailen’s shoulder. “Come on, Brother. Let’s go save a city.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ennolar’s words repeated over and over in Aisha’s mind. “Your power can save the Stumblers, burn the poison from their bodies, but to do so now would only kill them.”
Sorrow welled within her, set the acid in her gut churning. The discovery that her powers could cleanse the Stumblers had filled her with hope. She could not only turn the tide of battle, but she’d been able to help the people affected by Groebus’ black alchemy. After all the suffering in Shalandra, she had felt such relief to know that she could make a difference.
Only to have her relief dashed by the Arch-Guardian.
“They have begun to die in the hours since. Their bodies function, but their brains are not fully in control. Some have ceased breathing, while others’ hearts stopped.”
Nausea surged within her at the thought of so many deaths. She’d cleansed more than a hundred Stumblers in the Terrestra, given them a shot at life once more. Now, they would all die. Because of her.
No, the voice of a Keeper’s Blade echoed in her mind. Because of the traitor.
Anger flared within her so hot and bright it pushed back her misery. The spirits of the Blades she’d absorbed in the crypts filled her with their fury. They had sworn to protect Shalandra in life and death, and now the Iron Warlord was destroying their city. The Kish’aa begged for vengeance against the one that had turned Shalandra’s people against each other.
And they would have it, the moment Aisha came face to face with the Iron Warlord. She might not be able to cleanse the Stumblers—not until Ennolar and his Secret Keepers formulated enough antidote—but through her, the Kish’aa would punish the one that had brought so much turmoil and suffering to Shalandra.
First, however, they had to find a way to foil the Iron Warlord’s plans. He wanted something within the Vault of Ancients, the secrets concealed in the Tomb of Hallar. With the help of the spirits and those beside her, she would stop Tethum from fulfilling his evil plans.
She shot a glance at Kodyn. The Hawk limped along on her right, but he no longer needed her shoulder to lean on. His wound seemed mostly superficial. He ought to be back to his usual spryness with a few days of rest.
Rest. Aisha snorted. I think we could all use some of that. Exhaustion tugged on her limbs, made it hard to keep her eyes open. Were it not for the heat of the Kish’aa coursing through her veins, pushing back her fatigue, she might have been tempted to curl up on the tiled floor and sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d rested.
The others seemed equally drained. Despite Lady Callista’s confident gait, the woman’s shoulders appeared burdened by a new weight. Issa, too, seemed unusually quiet. The Pharus’ arrival had clearly interrupted an important moment between her and the Lady of Blades.
Something seemed to have changed in Issa since the last time Aisha had seen the Blade. A shadow darkened her eyes, yet her face had lost some of its tension, replaced by a new light of determination. She almost hovered protectively as she marched behind Lady Callista and the Pharus.
Maybe that has something to do with the fact that there’s a battle just a short distance away.
The Stumbler assault on the door had been relentless, and the shouts of the men leading the defense rang with an ominous edge of fear. They knew the inevitability of the battle they faced—thousands of Stumblers against scores of defenders. Terrible odds, even on the best of days. Yet Aisha had seen grim determination on the faces of Invictus Tannard and every Blade and Indomitable guarding the wall. They would fight to their last breath in the name of Shalandra, Pharus, and Proxenos.
The realization filled Aisha with a burning urgency. They had to get to the Vault of Ancients, unlock its secrets, and find whatever the Iron Warlord wanted. If it truly was a weapon they could unleash against the Stumblers, it could buy them enough time for Ennolar and the Secret Keepers to formulate their antidote.
It took all her self-control not to race ahead through the halls to reach the vault. She and her comrades would do this together; only in unity would they survive whatever lay ahead.
Her heart leapt as the ornate, gold-and-silver-tiled halls turned to the simpler, sparse stone corridors around the Blades’ wing of the palace. From there, it was just a few minutes’ trek down a long passage toward the blank stone wall that Lady Callista had told them was the Vault of Ancients.
The vault door was a perfect square, fully five paces wide and tall. It stood at an intersection of three corridors, all smooth stone carved with the indecipherable glyphs and runes she recognized as Serenii writing. Threads of black, grey, and dark brown swirled through the golden sandstone, a natural simplicity that held more beauty than the opulence of the rest of the palace.
On her only visit to the vault, something within the stone door—the strange Serenii magic—had absorbed the spirit stored within her Dy’nashia pendant. The power had set the door aglow, activating a mechanism or artifact set in the stone. Imbuka’s words confirmed it: her Umoyahlebe abilities were crucial to opening the door.
Yet Imbuka’s spirit had warned her. “If he ever learned the truth, he will come for you. You are critical to his plans.”
They planned to open the door, a decision which played right into Tethum’s hands. He wanted to get into the Vault of Ancients to unleash the Final Destruction. Though Aisha realized that Kodyn was right, that getting into the vault first would be the only way to stop the Iron Warlord, she couldn’t help wondering if their actions led one step closer to the triumph of evil.
Cowards hide. The voice of Shishak, called Queenslayer, a fallen Blade, rang in her mind. Only the brave faces combat head on.
Another presence, this one belonging to a Blade named Tosorthros Stilltongued, filled her with grim determination. Fear will kill you slowly, a blade to the heart every time you cringe, cower, or flee. Warriors die in battle, a single death, an honorable death.
Dozens of voices rang in her mind. The greatest of Shalandra’s warriors lent her strength, hardened her resolve, washed away her fears.
Yet it was not the spirits alone that overcame her reticence. Kodyn was at her side, a resolute smile on his face. Briana, Hailen, and Evren all faced the vault with the tenacious courage that had persisted and triumphed through so many obstacles. Issa stood proud and tall, a fierce warrior to the last.