by Casey Eanes
She entered, forcing the memory out of her mind. There, standing next to the ring of light, was Rander, flanked by two bodyguards. Her entrance brought a harrowing explosion of applause. The annexed sides of the colossal chamber were filled with Grogan and Bagger alike, all joining in a triumphant and thunderous applause. Willyn’s face went pale, and she would have stumbled if not for Luken, who propped her in her place.
“I...I…”
“All hail the mighty Sar! Willyn Kara, daughter of Wodyn, sister of Hagan!” The crowd boiled over with joy as a throng of soldiers rolled out from each annex. Each battalion of soldiers carried a banner with a stark, white symbol on crimson flags. The symbols flashed by her like galloping constellations, each the shape of a unique animal. Rhino, badger, dragon, cobra, lion, wolf. Aleph above. Willyn realized what was happening. The War Quorum was beginning.
Luken leaned in, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. “What is happening, Willyn?”
“War Quorum, shut up.” The stark reply was more for her than for him. Her mind was racing through the ceremony, desperately trying to remember the acts and formalities that went with it. She had only seen Wodyn perform it, and only once. Why did Rander do this? Why had he not told me about this?
Her mind was distant, but soon Rander approached her and bowed. When he stood up, he grabbed her hands and whispered, “Don’t worry, my Sar. I am here to help you if you need it.” He handed her a datalink, where the words of the ceremony jumped off the screen.
Willyn sighed, relief filling her face.
Rander nodded. “Are you ready to begin?”
Willyn nodded, and Rander turned around. “Bring in the helm and let the tally of the dead begin!”
A triumphant sound of rolling drums filled the dome, which made all the people go instantly silent. Willyn stood, feeling very small in the colossal room, at once understanding the silent weight that her father once carried. She felt a small vibration on her wrist and glanced down at her datalink. The words were there, and she swallowed, preparing for her voice to fill the void.
“Bring in the helm of Rodnim and lay down the number of the dead.”
A lone soldier carried the ancient relic of the Grogan people and laid it before the Sar’s feet. The first banner came.
“Rhino; forty-seven souls.” The soldier lay the crimson banner down before the helm and turned to the people. “All for all!”
The people chanted back, “All for all!”
The next banner came. “Badger; two hundred and twenty-three souls.” The banner fell before Willyn’s feet.
“All for all!”
Willyn counted the tally as each banner was thrown to the ground before her ancestor’s helmet.
Dragon; one hundred and sixty-four souls.
Cobra; two hundred and fifty-two souls.
Lion; one hundred and sixty-six souls.
Wolf; three hundred souls.
After all the companies reported those who were dead, Rander stood up. “May it now be written that in the first year of Willyn Kara’s reign that one thousand, one hundred and fifty-two souls gave their life to fight our enemy, High King Seam Panderean.”
The people screamed, “Cursed be his name!”
The hall boomed with rage for only a split second and was followed by sheer silence. Willyn felt her datalink vibrate, but she did not look down at it. The words found her in that sacred space.
“To die a good death is great, my friends.”
The people chanted back, filling the cadence with a chilling rhythm.
“All for all! For the Groganlands!”
Willyn’s mouth moved, her voice echoing throughout the war chamber like thunder.
“No darkness, no dread, no fiend nor foe, can stop the Grogan march below,”
“To death we go, to death we go…”
“We pound on its darkened doors, we welcome it with open arms…”
“To death we go, to death we go…”
“We pay for freedom with our own, we bear the crops of others sown,”
“To death we go, to death we go…”
“Ever onward to the truth; from death comes life, and we are proof,”
“To death we go, to death we go…”
“Nothing can stop Rodnim’s race, we’ll never drop from the face, of Candor’s land, through Aleph’s grace,”
“To death we go, to death we go…”
“To die a good death is great my friends!”
“All for all! For the Groganlands!”
The people cheered, mourning the only way they knew how, reveling in those slain on the battlefield. Willyn felt hot tears well up in her eyes as the people bowed before her. She held up the helm, and it felt for a moment that the whole complex would explode with a roaring passion. Willyn’s whole body shook with a mixture of fear and awe.
Rander stood and held up his hands, commanding the throng to be silent. Willyn then noticed the hovercams that circled above her, capturing her and Rander, who stood slightly above the gathering of hundreds in that space.
“My fellow Grogans. Zenith has fallen, and our Sar has returned, bearing the news of those lost. Our victory in Zenith was not without great sacrifice. Remember these victorious dead. Remember all those who have died for our freedom. Now go to your homes, feast and rest.”
The crowd dispersed, but Willyn still stood tall, taken aback by the sudden ceremony that had been thrust upon her. She felt a potent mixture of pride and rage at all of it, especially since Rander had set the whole thing up without her knowledge. Willyn’s silver arm reached and grabbed Rander by the tunic.
“I will have words with you,” she whispered.
“Aye, my liege. I’m at your service.” Rander met her crisp blue eyes without the slightest bit of fear, his confidence fueling Willyn’s rage even more.
She pulled him in. “Would you try to make me a fool, Rander? Would you try to make me look weak in the face of my own people?”
Rander leaned in, his face unflinching, only to answer her question with another. “And is the Sar weak? Is the Sar unwilling to administer the rites of her people?”
Luken stepped closer to them, but one quick glance from Willyn was all it took to hold him at bay.
“Are you questioning my allegiance, Rander? Weigh carefully your words.” Willyn could feel the fire within her veins course through her body. She wondered how long this “alliance” would last.
“No, I do not question your motives, my Sar, but you should know that I am not interested in Willyn Kara.” He held out his hand toward the crowd of people. “And neither are they. I am here for the Sar, to ensure she keeps in step with our heritage.”
Willyn roared, “I am the Sar. To say anything else is treason!” Willyn’s hands itched to swing a club through his smug mouth.
“Not to them, Willyn. Not yet.” Rander’s eyes cut through her like razors. “Did you honestly think you could come back to the Red City after you sacked Zenith and not administer the War Quorum? Did you?”
“I didn’t think…”
“Precisely. You didn’t think. Being the Sar is much more than waging a war, Willyn.” Rander’s face softened. “You have proven yourself as Sar to me. Anyone lesser would have sent me into battle, knowing that it would be a sure way to rid yourself of a rival. You did not. You went into battle yourself.” Rander’s eyes brimmed with tears, robbing Willyn of anything to say. “Yet you are young, and you have no one to guide you in your station.”
Those words nearly shattered Willyn’s heart as they echoed endlessly through her mind. You have no one to guide you. The face of her brother reappeared in her mind. ‘Strange reversal of fortune isn’t it, Lyn?’
Rander touched her shoulder. “Let me, Willyn. Let me guide you. I will help you navigate this and help you bear the burden that comes with the helm.”
Willyn struggled to find an answer, when suddenly she felt the room shake. It felt like an earthquake. She turned, only to find Luken lyi
ng prostrate on the floor, blood pouring from his nose, his body quaking in seizure. She rushed to his side, her hand pulling back his closed eyelids.
Soldiers stormed into the war room, screaming at both her and Rander. “Morels! Thousands of morels are breaching the city gates!”
Willyn stared down at Luken, who lay helplessly on the cold tile, her mind locked in a daze, all of it seemingly impossible for her to understand, let alone bear. Luken’s eyes flew open, his face as pale as a ghost’s.
“Get out of the city. Get as far away as you can!” he screamed.
“What are you talking about, Luken?” Willyn could barely talk over the chaos erupting around her as another aftershock rolled through the city.
Luken stared, his eyes unfocused as a second drop of blood slid out from his nose. “Isphet...Isphet is here.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Answer the girl’s question. What are you?”
Kull kept his lips shut, his mind gauging the danger that this stranger posed to him. The bounty hunter tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. Rot’s constant barking ripped through the trees, his large maw pulled back to reveal long white teeth.
Cyric threw a glance at the Mastermonk, his face cruel. “Don’t make me kill your dog, Mastermonk. Call it back.”
Wael touched the hackles on the beast’s back and stooped down to whisper into his ear. The barking ceased, but Rot’s cycloptic gaze did not leave Cyric’s face.
“There now...now we can talk like civilized folk.”
“What do you want, Cyric?” Wael called, his voice grave.
“I’m here for answers. I’m here to find out who he is.” Cyric nodded in Kull’s direction. “To find out what kind of man I’ve got here. To understand how Grift Shepherd’s son can come back from the dead.”
Kull winced at the name of his father. His hands shook, first from Adley’s near assault of him, and now to the rogue pressing in on him. He spoke, his voice clear and resolute, “I am a servant of Aleph. That is all.”
Cyric laughed. “Taking a page out of the Mastermonk’s script, I see? Well...all that flowery holy talk sure sounds nice, but you’re hiding something. Something important. I imagine there are plenty of people looking for whatever it is you have. After all, I know you brought down the Spire. My question is how.” The glowing orb hovering over Cyric’s palm rotated like a demented globe. “I’m sure folks would pay a heavy bounty to know that answer. In fact, I know they are. I’m here to get it, but it’s your choice in how you give it to me. I’ll take it either way: dead or alive.”
Kull held his hands out to Adley and Wael, ushering them back. “Adley. Wael. Get clear.” Kull turned and locked eyes with Adley, studying the nervousness painted over her face.
She whispered into his ear, “That weapon he’s holding...it’s some sort of Predecessor tech.” Memories of Henshaw filled her mind. “Those orbs can bring down an entire squadron of soldiers in seconds.”
“Adley, please—”
Wael screamed, “Look out!”
The sphere flew out of Cyric’s hand and shot toward Kull, careening forward like a wrecking ball. A loud, hollow thump echoed off the trees and Kull went airborne, only to crash into the trunk of a towering cypress tree.
“Kull!” Adley screamed. In one swift motion Wael pulled her back.
“Come with me,” the Mastermonk whispered.
“Enough of this!” shouted Cyric as he stepped forward. “I want answers!”
Kull lifted himself from the ground, extinguishing the small flames that danced on his shirt. Cyric shook his head with disbelief. “So... you can still stand up even after that? Impressive. Let’s see if you can handle this.”
Not waiting for a response, Cyric held out his gloved hand, and the orange orb grew bright red, like a living ember. It shot out again toward Kull’s head.
Instinct took over, and Kull ducked. The fireball split through a giant oak behind him, cauterizing the tree’s trunk in one swoop. The oak wobbled, tipped, and came crashing back toward the forest floor. Both Cyric and Kull had to throw themselves out of the way as the massive tree came crashing down.
Kull stood, his ears ringing, looking through the brambles of the fallen giant. Where is he? The snap of a twig announced his approach, and Kull turned, only to see a stun stick swing at him. It connected and sent him to his knees. Kull’s whole body was alight with hot pain as he felt the electricity arc through him.
Cyric laughed at him and swung again. This time the stun stick flew in a low arc. The black baton crackled with blue energy that popped as it met its mark. Kull briefly fell, shaking to the earth before sucking in a quick breath and grasping Cyric’s ankle, yanking his foot out from under him as Kull leapt back to his feet. Kull squared and hammered his right fist down, aiming for Cyric’s jaw, but before he could make contact a flash of orange sent him flying backward. The second blast was not as powerful as the first, but it made Kull’s mind swirl in confusion and searing pain.
Cyric scrambled to his feet and swung his open palm toward Wael and Adley as they started to creep toward him. “Back it up, Mastermonk. I don’t want holy blood on my hands but I will do what I have to.” Cyric stepped over Kull lying on the ground and hit him with the stun stick. The blue electric arc flew through him, and Cyric waited for Kull to pass out. Somehow, Kull pushed through the trembling fireworks of pain in his body and stood.
“What the…”
Kull threw out a hand to touch Cyric’s arm, and the lightning flew as the circuit of current connected. The stun stick exploded and sent both men to the forest floor.
“Kull!” Adley ran to Kull who lay smoking on the ground. Her hands flew in the familiar patterns of her trade, checking desperately for vital signs and confirmation that he was still alive. Kull’s eyes flew open, and he coughed violently. His face was covered with ash, and his clothes singed. “Where is he?” he croaked.
Adley’s eyes flew over only to see Cyric still on the ground. Wael stood over him, leaning over his staff. Rot’s ragged maw was only inches from his throat, and the beast roared in a display of wild rage.
“Cyric, if you value your life, then I’d advise you not to move.”
Cyric’s eyes flitted open, and his face went white. He stammered with fear, “Call him off...Call him off!”
“Take the glove off, and sit up,” the Mastermonk commanded.
Cyric obeyed, his eyes locked on Rot’s single bright eye. His hands shook as he removed the Predecessor glove. “Okay…easy now.”
Wael nodded, pleased. “Now rest, Cyric.”
“What?”
Wael’s staff flew down, knocking the back of the hunter’s head. It was a swift and merciful blow, knocking him out cold.
Adley and Kull could not help but smile as the euphoria of survival washed over them. “That was close,” Kull said, rubbing his head.
Wael leaned down and motioned for Adley to join him to look over Cyric’s wounds. The two checked his pulse and made sure Wael’s strike didn’t split his scalp open. The bounty hunter groaned softly as they maneuvered him into a slouched sitting position. Adley tried to keep her attention on Cyric, but she couldn’t help marveling at Kull as he tried to brush off his singed shirt. She tried to calculate how her friend, back from the dead, was capable of withstanding multiple blasts that would have ripped a hole in the side of the largest Grogan tank with ease.
Kull looked up and caught Adley staring at him. He made every effort to slide his eyes in another direction, pretending to miss her curious stares. Then he sprinted away, disappearing into the forest.
“Kull?” Wael called out, scanning the woods as Kull ran off. “We could use your help carrying our friend. He will be alert soon, and we need to try to move him back to the cottage.”
Adley tightened a rope around Cyric’s wrists and looped a quick knot before hopping to her feet. “I’ll find him, Wael. Are you...okay?” Adley shook her head. “I mean, just an hour ago...”
�
��I am fine, my young sister. I will be fine. Now hurry and go find him.”
Adley sprinted after Kull, scanning the forest floor for any sign of him: a snapped twig, an impression in the soil, loosened rocks, anything. Adley was rambling between the mature pine trees when a clanking noise caught her ear to her left. She turned on her heels as lights flooded the forest floor around her. A loud rumbling broke out, shaking her and the ground beneath her feet. It took a few seconds for her to realize she was being stared down by a vehicle’s headlights.
Kull stepped out from the floodlights, a black silhouette slowly giving way to his own shape and face, a broad smile painted on his face. Adley took a deep breath and smiled as Kull nodded over his shoulder.
“I found his jeep.”
“What do we know?” Aleigha’s voice was stern as she looked out over the white waters of the Asban River, her weary eyes locked on the craggy mountain peaks that pierced the cloudy skies above.
“Very little, my lady.” A young scout knelt behind the queen, refusing to lift his head to gaze upon his master. “Everything happened so suddenly in Zenith that by the time we had eyes and ears in position it had settled and most parties had scattered. But we continue watching.”
“There is no need.” Aleigha shook her head and turned to the young man. “Please rise. We are at war, and you must be aware of your surroundings. I would rather you be aware and on defense than groveling before me in the dirt.”
“Yes, my lady.” The scout shuffled to his feet, but kept his brow tipped downward, his eyes averted from his queen. “The void is growing. The people of Lotte are growing restless.”
Aleigha stepped toward a nearby table and scanned a map that was rolled out over the old oak table. She ran her fingers over the province of Riht, as if waiting for something to pull her hand to a secret location on the map. “I am afraid we cannot deal with the throne until I have more answers. Not yet. It is still too early.”