The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Without hesitation, Aquira was reinvigorated. She shook out her frills and took flight. Whitney did his best to follow, but without wings himself, he was forced to crawl up and over numerous peaks and dip into just as many valleys. It took more time than he’d desired, but he finally found Aquira zipping around some distance away. The room was far more extensive than he’d previously thought.

  Aquira screeched. Looking up, he shouted, “Did you find an exit?”

  Whitney followed her calls. If she could have responded, the answer would have been, “Sort of.”

  Whitney was now staring at a ten-meter by ten-meter hole in the ground. It appeared to be like a dumb waiter with a set of ropes leading up and around two pulleys at the top of a stone shaft.

  “I guess that answers the question of how they got this all in here.” Whitney closed his eyes, and sighed. “Only one way out, and that’s down.”

  He leaned over. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something like this—escaping the tower of the Whispering Wizards came to mind—but without gloves, that rope was going to smart.

  He turned back to the room and approached the closest pile of coins. “Just a few,” he said, swiping up a handful of them and shoving them into his pocket. “For my troubles.”

  XIX

  The Traitor

  Torsten!” Rand shouted from down the tunnel.

  His elbow, propped against the wall, helped him wield Torsten’s claymore. King Liam’s weapon had been re-designed for a brute Torsten’s size, but it was the first thing Rand grabbed after coming to and choking the life out of the guard they left behind. The man hadn’t stood a chance.

  When Nesilia gave him the mission to remove Torsten from the equation before their magic-aided, naval ambush, he thought it’d be difficult. But then he saw him—the Shieldsman who’d pretended to be his friend, all while lying about Sigrid. The Shieldsman who’d abandoned him to face Oleander’s wrath alone.

  The truth was, the grimaur talon he’d been provided slid into Torsten’s side all too easy. Rand only wished he was able to stab deeper and truly take Torsten down. Hampering him would have to suffice.

  Torsten and his entourage stopped to look back. Rage twisted the features of Lucas and the other guard, but not Torsten. Even while fighting the toxin, he looked ashamed. Sad. Like how Rand’s father would regard him every time he lost to Sigrid in some manner of competition. Or every time he came back, bruised from a fight with the kids at school.

  And at that moment, Rand’s own ire waned. His heart plummeted. He knew what was coming… he could feel the subtle vibrations of the floor beneath him that only he knew had nothing to do with the crowd above.

  “You need to run,” he said. “You all need to run.”

  “Enough of this,” Lucas replied.

  He turned to the guard and whispered something. As he did, Torsten’s lips quivered like he was trying to speak, and his muscles wouldn’t comply. Rand had been drunk enough plenty of times to understand what that felt like.

  Rand stared at him. Torsten had betrayed his trust, but had also trained him, picked him out of all the King’s Shield recruits who’d tried to rise from Dockside. Helped him see the better parts of the world.

  Lucas pushed Torsten toward the exit; toward what was coming. Then, fearless, he turned to face Rand. He drew his gleaming longsword and set his jaw.

  “It’s time for you to die, traitor,” he growled.

  Brandishing his weapon, he charged. Rand shifted back into a fighting stance and lifted Torsten’s claymore as high as he could. His legs remained a bit woozy from the beating Lucas had put on him back in the cell.

  “I’m trying to help,” Rand implored.

  “You’ve done enough of that!”

  The young Shieldsman came at Rand with reckless abandon. It was obvious. This wasn’t about defending Torsten or fighting a traitor, but because Rand had offered his life as a blood pact to attract Sigrid.

  Young and foolish, that’s what Lucas was. Perhaps Rand wasn’t actually much older beneath his scrubby beard, but he’d faced enough adversity for a thousand lifetimes. Lucas’ charge left openings for numerous countermoves. Rand easily had the upper hand against such a raw opponent, if only he wielded a weapon suited for his size. With Salvation, he could only manage to parry the first attack. Using a defensive, high-elbow stance, he defended against a flurry of strikes that pressed him down the tunnel and back toward his cell.

  “You were a Shieldsman!” Lucas screamed, swinging hard.

  Rand blocked, but the force sent him reeling against a wall. Out of training for so long, he wasn’t as strong as he’d been. As his muscles strained against the attacks, his anger returned.

  The King’s Shield truly was nothing like the legends, as it had been under Sir Uriah and the Wearers of White who’d preceded him. The Order had failed Rand just as much as he’d failed it. Failed their Kingdom.

  Sigrid had clearly seen that, to give Nesilia control. The Glass Kingdom was unfixable and needed to be purged. Ruined by a sick King, a mad Queen, and a cursed, petulant child who couldn’t even grow a beard, let alone think for himself.

  “And you’re a fool!” Rand yelled.

  He countered fast and thrust the blade, but just then, the ground trembled. It sent them both staggering, barely able to stay on their feet. When the violent tremor ceased, a low, gushing sound replaced it, growing louder with each second.

  “The sea,” he said to himself.

  Nesilia really did it.

  Stories of unconquerable Latiapur filled tomes, and in mere minutes, Nesilia and her new allies were able to make history bow its knee.

  “I’ll kill you!” Lucas growled, recovering quickly. He slashed, leaving a shallow incision on Rand’s left arm as he spun away.

  “I told you all to run,” Rand said, panting.

  He dropped back into a defensive stance, but the ground quaked again and shook enough dust off the walls and ceiling to have them both in coughing fits. The sound of flooding seawater grew louder and more distinctive, like standing behind a waterfall.

  “Because that’s all you know how to do,” Lucas said.

  “No. I just refuse to die without talking to her again.”

  “She’s dead!” Lucas shouted.

  Chunks of stone fell off all around them. Booming crashes from above reverberated, and Rand had no idea what they could be the result of. And then, they both stopped as they noticed the far-off arena entrance and the water raging through it, spitting foam as it sloshed against the walls.

  Amidst the distraction, Rand reared back and swung as hard as he could at the wall. The blow resulted in cracking off stone, another cloud of dust, and shooting sparks at Lucas’ face. Then, he did what everyone thought he did best.

  He ran.

  Lucas gave chase, shouting drowned out by the deluge pursuing them. Having been brought down from the city gates with a bag over his head, Rand had no idea how to get out of the undercroft except through the flooding arena. However, the Glass Castle had many warrens and tunnels connecting one place to another and even auxiliary entries for servants and supplies. He hoped he’d find the same here.

  “You won’t get away again!” Lucas barked, voice now nearer.

  Rand ducked, but not before feeling Lucas’ blade shave hairs from his scalp. Too close.

  “You’re crazy!” Rand shouted. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

  He skidded to his knees, then flipped over to raise the claymore in time to block Lucas’ next attack. Their blades locked, and Rand’s jaw clenched as he resisted Lucas’s upper position.

  “So be it,” Lucas said, seething. “You won’t deceive Sir Unger any longer!”

  “He deceives himself, trusting a broken Kingdom.”

  “Only in trusting you.” Lucas slid his blade free of their entanglement, allowing Rand’s to slice his forearm as it dipped so he could gain an opening. His sword crashed down toward Rand, but not before the flooding water
rushed around the corner and struck him in the back.

  Lucas toppled forward, giving Rand the chance to grab his weapon hand and push it aside. The heavy current then heaved them across the floor, and they both lost grip of their weapons.

  Unarmed, they tangled, punching, kicking, and biting. Rand wasn’t sure what he hit, stone, or his opponent, only that the current was unreasonably strong and that the water rose fast. Both were shoved against a wall at the end of a tunnel. By then, they were no longer fighting, but flailing for the surface, desperate for air.

  Rand and Lucas broke through at about the same time, and they both caught sight of one another, then, the giant claymore stuck in the hinges of an open cell door.

  Lucas kicked, then dove for it. Rand did the same. They groped through the water, the hilt shifting in the wild current, and every time one of them managed to get a finger on it before the other pulled them away. Soon, they were both pulled beneath the surface again.

  Rand popped up and quickly landed a fist on Lucas’ chin with a wild punch. Lucas reeled, and Rand grasped him by the shirt, wrenching him back into a choke lock. His arm squeezed Lucas’ throat as he took frantic elbow after elbow to his ribs. Rand clenched his teeth and held on until the blows softened, both by Lucas losing his strength, and the pure volume of water closing in around them.

  Lucas’s neck started to lilt. His arms went limp, stretched back by the current. Rand kicked his feet, fast as he could to keep his mouth above the rising water, but he continued to squeeze, just in case.

  Then came a deafening bang.

  He found himself blinded by an explosion of stone and debris. Water sloshed and splashed, and a shockwave hurled him. He tumbled in the water, stopping at a crease between the wall and floor, where a hefty chunk of stone fell on his foot and pinned him.

  The arena’s outer wall had come crashing down, breaking open the street above the tunnel. A shaft of light pierced the water, revealing the sky and providing more light so Rand could see his own leg.

  He grabbed and yanked. A layer of leg skin scraped off against the abrasive surface, but he managed to free himself. The saltwater burned the fresh wound while he kicked for the surface.

  Clambering up the rubble while more floodwater rose with him, he reached the square surrounding the arena’s north side. Lucas’ hand gripped his leg, fingers digging into the wound.

  “You won’t—“

  Rand silenced him with a kick that sent him back into the rising water, then pulled himself over the broken ledge. Feet stampeded all around him. Hundreds of Shesaitju civilians fled the arena, while others dressed like warriors approached from around the city.

  The city’s infamous Serpent Guards surged out of the main entrance in a tight formation. Shieldsmen here and there leaked out of other archways.

  Rand shook out his foggy head. Any of them might recognize him, or worse, Torsten might spot him. He hadn’t gotten enough of the toxin into him to completely knock him out, and Torsten was bigger than the average man.

  So, Rand pushed to his feet and fell in with the crazed throng. The sounds emanating from the arena sent chills up his spine. Crushing stone. Screams. Roars that could belong to nothing but the same tentacled beast he’d watched his sister’s body upon in Yaolin City.

  He wasn’t sure where to go next. Then, he spied what looked like King Pi fleeing with the rabble, guided by one Serpent Guard. The boy-King of Glass. The boy who’d died in the arms of a wicked mother who’d punished everyone around her, and then rose from the dead to cause a devastating war.

  His chestplate was scratched and dented, white clothes torn, and his hair disheveled, but there was no question it was him.

  “Remove Torsten from the equation,” Nesilia had told Rand before she dispatched him, wearing the body of his sister. “Without him commanding the Shield, the boy-King, and Latiapur, are sure to fall. Then, the seat of Glass will come undone.”

  “Why not kill him?” Rand had asked.

  “Because I want Torsten—a man of the most unshakable faith—to watch his failure with his blessed vision. I want he who thought himself able to stop my return atop Mount Lister to know it was my doing.”

  Rand might’ve failed to render Torsten completely useless, but if he could take Pi out himself, Nesilia would get what she wanted anyway.

  Then, maybe, she’d release his sister.

  Then, maybe, Sigrid could have her life back.

  XX

  The Knight

  Dellbar the Holy rubbed Torsten’s back and whispered in his ear, beseeching Iam, begging their God to retake control. On his hands and knees, after Mahraveh saved him from the floodwater, Torsten could do naught but listen to the chaos erupt.

  But he was lucky for his leather zhulong armor—at least the beasts from the Black Sands were good for something. The grimaur toxin had already dwindled in his bloodstream, and sensation slowly returned to his left side.

  In his peripherals, he spotted Lord Jolly being torn away from King Pi. Torsten didn’t hesitate. He pushed Dellbar aside, robbed a Serpent Guard of his glaive, and brought it crashing down on the tentacle of a beast he’d thought to be a thing of Panpingese lore.

  Blood, cold as death and black as night, splashed his face as the creature reeled. Torsten stumbled forward, the weight of the weapon and the effects of the toxin keeping him off balance. Lord Jolly collapsed beside Dellbar, and Pi ran to Torsten.

  “Take him!” Torsten yelled. “Take the King!”

  He shoved King Pi at Mahraveh and the other Shesaitju warriors, then slashed again at the monstrous creature. The resistance as his blade cut through its flesh was unlike anything he’d ever experience. Like chopping stone. The force of it ripping through the other side sent him down to his knees. Another tentacle kissed his chest and sent him flying up into the stands.

  “Torsten!” Lord Jolly shouted, running to his aid.

  He got Torsten to his feet, both of which he could now almost feel again. The wianu’s strike seemed to knock some sense into his compromised body. And with that, came the impossibly bright lines of pain tormenting his torso. Rand’s stab wound was the least of it. To see to the injury, they’d removed his chestplate, and without it, the beast’s hit had easily fractured a rib or two.

  “Torsten, what in Elsewhere happened to you?” Jolly questioned.

  “Nesilia baited us all,” he said, throat still sore as the muscles re-acclimated. “Leaders of armies and countries defying her, all of them together.”

  “I knew the ceremony should’ve been in Yarrington!”

  “Then maybe—“ Torsten lost his train of thought when he heard Dellbar, still muttering, “Iam help us. Iam take me,” under his breath, while he crouched behind stands, tracing his eyes again and again.

  “Lord Jolly, listen to me,” Torsten said. “You need to get Dellbar out of here alive and reach Hornsheim. He must rally the priests.”

  “You’re worried about him?” Lord Jolly asked. He pointed to the flooding arena. “Even with one arm, I know how to fight on the water. We need me here.”

  Torsten shook his head. “Iam chose him. If he dies, even in the face of destruction, the Order will convene to replace him. We will need all of Iam’s shepherds and their flocks. Take the west exit. Lucas and my horses are the fastest in the realm. Fetch them from the city’s stables.”

  Pi and Mahraveh were headed to the northern ramp, and it was better not to bring everyone together for Nesilia to pick off again. Pi had an entire contingent of Serpent Guards and the hero of Nahanab to guard him.

  “And you?” Lucas asked.

  “Me? I am the shield that guards the light of this world,” Torsten said, reciting the final vows of a Shieldsman.

  The monstrous wianu was half-upon the arena’s lower concourse, fighting off Serpent Guards and Shieldsmen alike on a path toward Pi and Mahraveh. Its giant tentacles swung wildly, breaking apart stone and skewering grown men like their armor was made of parchment. Through Torsten’s blesse
d vision, the entire thing appeared as one ugly mass of shadow. Absent light, like Nesilia had been.

  Torsten launched himself high, kicking from one stand to the next, landing on top of the creature’s head and driving the glaive down into its left eye. It got stuck only about a forearm’s length in, but he twisted it from side to side, earning distressed screeches.

  “Sir Unger, are you insane!” Sir Mulliner shouted. He and a cohort of Shieldsmen arrived from the western side of the arena, busy helping to organize the retreat of those civilians seated there.

  “Keep its attention!” Torsten ordered.

  A flurry of tentacles all zoomed toward him. He loosened his grip and slid off the side of the monster’s head, dangling adjacent to its maw. The stink gave what he’d experienced in that Panpingese inn a run for its autlas. It snapped at his feet while fighting off Sir Mulliner’s men.

  Torsten pushed off a set of teeth, narrowly avoiding losing a foot. Then, he broke the glaive in two, swung back in, and shoved its broken shaft into the top of the sea creature’s mouth, keeping it from biting down. Unlike the thing’s outer skin, this flesh was soft, and the jagged edge sank right in.

  Recovering quickly, Torsten pushed back, dropping from its maw and landing back in the stands. Sir Mulliner was there to help him while the monster flailed around like a mad boar until the shaft shattered in its mouth. It swallowed the sharp, wooden shards without any hesitation.

  “Protect the Master of Warfare!” Shieldsmen echoed, forming a wall in front of Torsten with heater shields. Torsten glanced left toward the central exit Mahraveh and Pi had been heading for. A flood of people shoved down the generous passage, which now seemed all too narrow. Another of the wianu approached them from the opposite side of the arena. A third devoured those who’d fallen into the waters, plucking others off the walkways with its long tentacles.