The Ippos King: Wraith Kings Book Three

by Draven, Grace

  A crackling streak of light arrowed toward them, pulsing in colors of cerulean, scarlet and viridian. Anhuset automatically bent her knees and raised her knife in a defensive stance, even knowing that steel likely wouldn't work on this newest threat.

  The galla, a gibbering, cackling chimera of gruesome and constant transformation halted its contortions, emitted a mad scream, and shot away from the fountain. The luminescent quarrel hurtled after the demon, piercing the center of poisonous darkness. The galla screamed again, a raging cry for help as it convulsed in the grip of an expanding brightness that blinded Anhuset completely. She closed her eyes and turned her head. A flash erupted across her eyelids and silence fell.

  Anhuset dared a squint. The world remained a flare of outlines without details, only imprints of brightness. She felt Serovek close beside her. He asked a question, a single word, a single name.

  “Megiddo?”

  She strained to see, cursing under her breath at the struggle. Another voice broke the silence, a far echo where the distance between life and death was the span of a breath and the measure of eternity. A voice familiar, but also strange.

  “Run.”

  She was lifted off her feet, set down on dry ground just as abruptly and yanked forward so hard, she thought Serovek might tear her arm off as he launched them both into a dead run. “I can't see!” she cried out, trying not to stumble.

  “Keep running! I won't let you fall.”

  He was true to his word, guiding her along clear paths as they sprinted through Haradis. She only stumbled once, and he caught her, hand on her waist to keep her upright, never slowing in their dash to safety. Her vision slowly recovered from the flash-fire brightness that blinded her, and by the time they splashed into the first canal, Anhuset could make out the true shapes and colors of her surroundings.

  They stood knee-deep in freezing water, Haradis a gutted carcass behind them. She prayed she might never revisit it and suspected Brishen prayed for the same thing in the privacy of his thoughts or in the arms of his devoted hercegesé.

  Serovek pressed his hand to her shoulder, coaxing her to face him. His eyes no longer held the ethereal glow, though she found them just as disconcerting with their movements as he scanned her features. “Stop that,” she said.

  He blinked. “Stop what?”

  “Moving your eyes so much. I keep waiting for them to jump out of their sockets and run off.”

  He burst out laughing, and the hand holding her shoulder squeezed in an affectionate grip before he let her go. “Seems your sight is returned without issue.”

  “It is.” She offered up a faint smile, enjoying the sight of his amusement and the fact she was the one who'd amused him. “You're almost not ugly when you laugh, margrave.”

  He snorted, shaking his head. “Only you can wrap a compliment inside an insult and present it as a gift with all sincerity.” He bowed. “I thank you, madam. Stay with me a little longer, and soon you'll find me breathtaking.”

  She sniffed. “The Kai don't live that long.”

  More laughter, and this time she joined him, a delayed euphoria singing through her that had little to do with their ridiculous banter and everything to do with the fact they'd survived an encounter with the galla. No small thanks to an arrow of ethereal lightning and a one-word warning from a heretic Wraith king trapped in a world of demons.

  Once their laughter faded and they waded across the canal to solid ground, she spared a quick glance at Haradis. “What happened to the galla? I was blinded right as the light spear struck. I only saw flashes behind my eyelids.”

  Serovek's gaze followed the same path as hers. “It grew from a spear to a net and swallowed the galla whole before disappearing.”

  Anhuset recalled Serovek saying the monk's name, a question full of hope, of uncertainty, of regret. “Do you really think it was Megiddo?”

  He shrugged. “I have to be careful to see what is there instead of what I want to be there, but yes. At least a manifestation of him. He found a way to cross back into this realm and save us.”

  If that were so, then she and Serovek owed Megiddo a life-debt, one she hoped she might one day repay, though such a thing seemed impossible, at least in her lifetime. And after what she just faced in the broken city, she'd discourage anyone from trying to access the galla's realm for a rescue mission. Too many had suffered too greatly in order to shove the horde back into the cesspit from which they'd spawned. Even now, the idea that there'd been one running free in Haradis made her skin crawl and her chest tighten.

  “Do you think there are more galla free in there?”

  “No.” His answer surprised her. “I think however it landed on this side, it was alone. Galla don't split off from one another. They're more like a hive. If there had been more than one, we'd have faced them as well.”

  “But how did it get free? And will others follow?”

  Another shrug. “I wish I knew. The Beladine and the Gauri record stories of stray galla brought across by necromancers with more ambition than brains, hoping to enslave one to do their bidding. It never ends well. The necromancer is eaten, as are his nearest neighbors, until a team of wizards come in and exorcise the thing back to where it came from. I wouldn't be surprised if just such a thing happened here. Haradis as it stands now might keep out the Kai and the usual looters, but a necromancer would see it as a treasure chest to be opened.”

  She scowled. “Such foul magic has no place in this world.” The moment the words rolled off her tongue, she regretted them. Necromantic magic had allowed living men to die, to resurrect and to lead an army of the dead into battle against the galla.

  Serovek's half smile held a hint of melancholy. “It has its uses from time to time.”

  Anhuset reached out and laid her hand on his chest. His heart, as noble as the moon was fair, beat strong and steady under her palm. “Forgive me. I meant no malice or insult toward you.”

  He covered her hand with his. He'd always been forthright in his admiration for her as well as his attraction to her, but the fond expression gracing his visage now was something else, something greater and deeper. “There's nothing to forgive. You, of all people, know firsthand what it took to win against the galla. You're right; there's no place for such twisted sorcery in this world. If it didn't exist, neither would the galla.”

  Her lips thinned. “Pull another stunt like you did in there, and I'll kill you myself.”

  She didn't stop him when he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm. A hot tingling purled up her arm to suffuse her entire body. She only pulled her hand away when he released her fingers.

  It's just the aftermath of relief at avoiding death, her reason told her turbulent emotions. Her emotions guffawed and told her reason to kindly fuck off.

  She took three obvious step backs to put distance between them, ignoring his faint smirk in favor of staring at Haradis. “With it sitting on an island now, any galla that might still be in there can't leave.” Or so she hoped.

  Serovek's smirk vanished and his reply revealed his doubt matched hers. “Maybe. It has so far. You have to tell Brishen everything when you return. You can set off for home with the others once we've reached the agreed-upon landing spot.”

  The implacable flatness in his tone made her stiffen, and his words sounded alarms. “I don't understand.”

  His shoulders went back and his legs tensed, all the signs of someone bracing for a physical altercation. “I'm taking Megiddo to the monastery alone. The magic remaining in his body is somehow tethering us to each other. I wouldn't be surprised if it drew that galla to me like a beacon. I won't risk my men or Brishen's sha to transport him to the monks.”

  That noble heart of his was a damn annoyance at times. Anhuset bared her teeth. He didn't even flinch. “My task,” she bit out. “My duty, is to accompany you and the monk to his order. I will complete that task.”

  “I relieve you of that duty. Go home to Saggara.”

  “Just
like that?” she scoffed. “A little hand-waving from you, and I march off to do your bidding?” She crossed her arms and gave him a thin smile. “You can neither relieve nor dismiss me. I'm the Khaskem's sha, not yours. If you don't wish me to ride with you and your men, so be it. I'll just follow behind you, but I'll see this journey through to its end.”

  He raised his hands and his gaze to the night sky, as if beseeching divine help. When he returned his attention to her, it was to glare her into submission. She raised one mocking eyebrow. “My gods,” he muttered. “Do you ever yield?”

  “Not if it means abandoning my duty.” She might not always read his expressions easily or correctly, but she clearly heard the surrender in his voice.

  He tried one last tactic. “Don't you think Brishen would find your observations regarding Haradis more valuable than you acting as a Kai ambassador to a group of heretic monks?”

  “Considering it was probably Megiddo's eidolon who saved us in Haradis less than a half hour ago, getting his body safely to the monastery is of utmost value. Besides, I can draft a message which one of the others can deliver.”

  One long-suffering sigh that tempted a grin from her, and he tightened the pack on his back “Let's get on with it then. We'll have daylight soon enough, and I wouldn't put it past the captain to leave us behind if we're late.”

  Chapter Seven

  A hymn of the broken.

  To Serovek's surprise, Anhuset wasn't the only one to resist his plan of splitting their party. They'd hiked to the agreed-upon meeting place and reboarded the towboat where it and the barge had docked for the remainder of the night. Except for the nightwatch, the crew was asleep. Serovek's men, however, were awake, their lamps held high as they called greetings to the margrave and the Kai sha. The boat was crowded, dirty, and loaded with the bare minimum of necessities to keep passengers comfortable, especially overnight. After the foray into Haradis, he was happy to see it floating on the Absu, waiting for them.

  He fielded the rain of questions, held back a yawn, and glanced at Anhuset. She looked haggard. She'd slept little over the past few days, and while resilient, even she wasn't immune to exhaustion. “We'll tell you everything in the morning,” he promised the others. “For now, I'm off to bed and you should be as well.” He stepped closer to Anhuset. “That includes you. The towboat has a nightwatch as does the barge, and the crew knows this river better than any of us. I need you alert and refreshed if you plan to finish this journey with me.”

  She didn't argue, only gave a quick nod, fished her cloak out of her stash of gear left on the boat and stretched out on the deck away from the walkways. Wrapped in her cloak, she was a still silhouette under the stars. Serovek wished he could join her.

  Before he found his own bed, he checked on Magas and the other horses. The stallion whickered to him and nuzzled Serovek's hair while demanding more scratches along his neck. Serovek breathed deeply of the scent of horse and river. Despite their pungency, they were pleasant smells, a mark of the natural that traveled along paths adjacent to the unnatural.

  He gave Magas a few more affectionate pats before returning to the part of the boat his comrades had taken for sleeping. Someone had reserved a spot for him not far from Anhuset, using his gear as a marker. Serovek would much rather have shared her space or have her share his, but such preferences would have to remain wishes. For now.

  The captain approached him as he laid out his bedroll. “Haradis still surrounded by the canals?”

  Serovek didn't miss the worried note in the man's inquiry. He sat down to remove his boots and dug through his main satchel for a pair of stockings to warm his still frozen feet. He was tired, not so much from the trek back to the boat, but from the aftereffects of terror and the scrape with death in Haradis. “Still surrounded,” he said. “You weren't dressing it in frills when you said the landscape had changed. Who dug those canals? The squire who took out the bridges? Because that isn't the work of the Kai.”

  The captain shrugged. “Every Beladine within walking, riding or swimming distance gathered to dig them.” He shivered. “I hear tell from those who live closest or ride the river that on some nights you can hear the ghosts of the Kai who died there screaming.” He eyed Serovek who didn't comment. “Could be fanciful storyteller's tripe to scare everyone, but I'm glad the water's there.”

  He paled when Serovek said, “So am I.”

  The two bid each other good night, and Serovek lay on his back, contemplating the heavens while he waited for sleep to claim him. One galla. Only one lurking in Haradis, trapped by water and eager to devour anything or anyone unfortunate to cross its path. We thought we got them all. The idea that they missed one sickened him. The possibility that they hadn't and somehow one had escaped its prison again lodged his heart in his throat.

  The rough canals offered a small measure of fortification against another—gods forbid—hul-galla escaping the city, but he feared it wasn't enough. Not now and definitely not in the long-term. He understood Anhuset's insistence she accompany him and the others to the monastery. The dazzling bolt of cerulean light which speared then enveloped the shrieking galla before disappearing with it was Megiddo. Even had Serovek not heard or recognized the voice that commanded them to run, he knew the bright arrow's source, had felt the essence of the man's existence in his very bones. Somehow, the monk's eidolon had crossed ethereal barriers to capture a galla and drag it back to its pit.

  Serovek suspected Megiddo's ability to do so was directly tied to the existence of his still-breathing body in this world—a lifeline that allowed the eidolon access to the reality in which his physical form abided. Keeping his body safe had become more than a mission of respect for a fallen hero: it was now an absolute necessity. If another galla swarm somehow broke free again, every breathing being would depend on a circle of water and the imprisoned soul of a monk to save them. Had he been standing at the moment, the weight of such an awful scenario would have brought him to his knees.

  Brishen needed to know what was happening at the old Kai capital and possibly organize a brigade of workers to deepen, widen, and reinforce those canals. And if the Kai wouldn't do it, Serovek would find a Beladine who would. He'd redirect the entire mighty Absu until Haradis drowned under her waters if necessary. Such an act might start a war between his country and Brishen's, but dealing with the galla exacted a greater price. Friendships throughout history had been tested by difficult decisions. Some survived, some didn't. One lived with the consequences of doing what was necessary.

  Snores and muttered bits of dreams from his comrades surrounded him. Sleep didn't elude them as it did him. Serovek abandoned his observation of the stars to regard Anhuset where she lay on her side away from him, a long silhouette. He'd never forget her expression when she gazed upon Haradis, wrecked by the galla.

  He'd always considered her a fiercely beautiful woman, even with the yellow eyes and intimidating teeth. His first sight of her had stopped him in his tracks, and he'd gawked like a young lad while she bent a contemptuous scowl on him. Everything about her fascinated him, and despite the emotional armor she wore, even more difficult to penetrate than that made of leather and steel, he'd swear before any and all that underneath was a woman as vulnerable as she was powerful. He'd glimpsed that vulnerability as they stood before Haradis's broken gates. It had taken colossal effort not to reach out and draw her into his embrace, to offer some token of sympathy or comfort.

  She would have broken his arms for his presumption. Instead, he'd waited beside her as she rode out the shockwave of grief. Later, practically drunk on relief at escaping the city still alive, he'd dared to kiss her palm. Those claws of hers would have shredded his cheek with a single swipe had she wished to harm him. Her hand had been cool on his face, the skin toughened in places with calluses. Not the delicate palm of a pampered lady, but one of a warrior who wielded sword and spear and carried a shield.

  What would it be like, he wondered, to gain sha-Anhuset's affection? That unswe
rving devotion she gifted to Brishen and, by association, to his wife Ildiko?

  He put aside the question and other useless pondering about the enigmatic Kai woman and closed his eyes. An image of the stray galla in all its shadowy madness rode along the edges of slumber, making him shiver. Somehow the monk, tortured and flensed on an iron web by a mob of the demonic, had broken free and become a hunter of his torturers.

  Serovek hadn't given any thought to the death awaiting him when he used himself as bait to give Anhuset a slim chance of safely reaching the canals. He'd simply reacted. Thank the gods she'd cut off his noble, reckless gesture at the knees by chasing after him, then dragging him into the fountain's stagnant waters. But it had been Megiddo who'd ultimately saved them both. Could they do no less for him? Do more than just leave his body at the monastery and be on their merry way? The question grated against Serovek's soul until sleep finally overtook him.

  The two crafts continued their way up the Absu's tributary the following day, traveling toward the territories troubled by the warlord Chamtivos. Serovek stood with his men at one end of the boat. Anhuset was not among them. She remained where she'd bedded down the night before, still fast asleep. He'd chosen not to wake her to break her fast or join this meeting. She already knew of his plan; they'd discussed the details on the trek back to the landing. After several days with minimal sleep, she needed the rest, and he needed her alert for the remainder of the journey.

  Earlier, he'd enjoyed a smoke from his pipe and watched from a spot nearby as Ogran passed Anhuset, paused, and walked backwards to stand beside her. He slid a foot toward her slumbering form as if to shove her awake.

  Serovek lowered his pipe. “Ogran,” he warned in a soft voice. The tracker froze. “Unless you want your head used as fish bait and your entrails decorating the barge, I suggest you rethink that idea.”