Ephyra kept her gaze on Hadiza, anger building in her gut. Hadiza didn’t know anything about Ephyra, what she had managed to learn about her own Grace. What she could do. But a part of what Hadiza said rang true, and that made Ephyra angry, too.
“I didn’t lie to you,” Ephyra said, her voice shaking. “I want to save my sister. That’s the only reason I’m here.”
“She’s telling the truth.”
All of them turned to stare at Illya.
“Are you . . . vouching for her?” Shara asked after a long pause.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.
“You do realize we have no reason to trust you, either,” Hadiza pointed out.
Illya shrugged. “You need me because I’m the only one who knows the code that was on that mirror. You need her to use the mirror. Seems like you’re going to have to put your notions of trust aside if you want to find this Chalice.”
“She’s the one who said we can’t trust him,” Parthenia said thoughtfully. “And if we can’t trust her, then maybe he’s trustworthy. But if he’s trustworthy and he says we can trust her, then—”
“This is making my head hurt,” Shara declared. She thrust the mirror toward Ephyra. “Just take it.”
“Shara!” Hadiza protested.
“Don’t make me regret this,” Shara warned as Ephyra took the mirror.
Ephyra took a deep breath and held it up. At first, all she saw was her own face staring back at her—thick black hair framing a fairly average face, with a long, thin scar running from her forehead down to her jaw. The mark Hector Navarro had left on her when she’d killed him.
Then the image rippled like water, and in its place, a structure appeared, but not like any Ephyra had ever seen. It looked almost like a mountain, triangular, with steps leading all the way up to its peak.
Ephyra lowered the mirror and then raised it back to her face. It showed the same thing. “I’m not really sure what this is.”
She crouched down into the sand to draw it.
“It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen,” Shara said.
“Hadiza?” Hadiza was still staring at Ephyra. “I told you this was a bad idea from the start.”
“So, what? You’re out?” Shara asked. “Come on, Hadiza. If you can’t trust her, then trust me.”
Hadiza bit out an irritated sigh. “Fine. For you, Shara. I’m only doing this for you. To make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
She crouched down in the sand beside Ephyra’s drawing. “This looks like one of the four main temples that was built by the Nehemians in worship of the old god. What did the top of it look like?”
Ephyra looked back into the mirror, and this time focused on the top of the temple. “There’s some sort of . . . sculpture. Or statue.”
Ephyra drew it in the sand. A circle with a line through the right side of it and curving lines above it.
“The Temple of the West,” Hadiza said, nodding. “It’s in a city called Susa.”
“Susa?” Ephyra repeated, frowning. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s because it doesn’t exist anymore,” Hadiza replied. “It was one of the cities that was destroyed in the Necromancer Wars.”
Ephyra felt a prickle of unease.
“You know the way there?” Shara asked.
Hadiza nodded. “It’s over a week’s journey.”
“All right, then, I guess we’re heading out.”
The others mobilized around Ephyra, finishing up their preparations and climbing into the skiffs. Her gaze found Illya as he approached her, smiling. It was a nice smile, handsome, warm.
Ephyra hated it.
“Well, guess we’re in the same boat,” he said, gesturing to the skiff.
“You’re awfully lucky we don’t just drag you behind us in the sand,” she replied, pushing past him.
He grabbed her wrist, halting her. Still smiling, he said, “I bet if these people knew who you really were, and what you’ve done, it wouldn’t just be Hadiza who wants out. Don’t forget, I know your secrets.”
Ephyra felt her pulse skip against his thumb. “Yes. And I know yours.”
14
JUDE
JUDE’S HEART THUDDED OUT ITS OWN WARNING AS THE BELLS OF KERAMEIKOS clanged.
A messenger burst inside the Tribunal Chambers.
“What’s happening?” Jude demanded.
“There are ships approaching from downriver,” the messenger said. “They—they have Godfire.”
“The Witnesses,” Jude said, understanding at once. He spun back to Anton. “We need to get you out of here.”
“Annuka, take the rest of the Guard and go to the gates,” Penrose ordered. She turned to Jude, and he did not have time to feel chagrined at her easy command of the Guard. “We should head to the passage in the mountains. If the Witnesses breach the fort . . .”
“How did they even find him?” Jude asked.
Penrose only shook her head. “We’ll need to figure that out later, but right now we need to move.”
Jude turned to Anton, whose eyes were wide and frightened. “Let’s go.”
They made for the exit.
“Where are you going?” the magistrate demanded.
They didn’t slow. “We’re under attack,” Jude said. “We’re getting the Prophet out of here. I suggest you and the rest of the Tribunal get to the Keep.”
Panic pumped through Jude’s blood as they wound through the fort, passing other Paladin running in the opposite direction.
“This way!” Penrose led them into the armory, where she grabbed a sword and tossed it to Jude. Jude balanced the sword in his hand, biting his lip. He wanted to tell Penrose about his Grace, that he would be next to useless in a fight, but now wasn’t the time. Once they got Anton to safety, he would tell her everything.
They dodged more Paladin racing to the outer fortifications. The cadence of the bells had changed, growing more urgent.
“What’s happening?” Penrose asked, stopping one of the passing Paladin. “Have the Witnesses breached the fort?”
The Paladin nodded, looking very pale and very young. “They’re within the outer walls. We were forced to draw the footbridges.”
That would slow the Witnesses’ progress into the fort, but not stop them completely.
“What about the Herati refugees?” Jude asked, knuckles tightening on the hilt of his sword.
“They’re in the Keep,” the young Paladin replied. “A force of two dozen are already there to defend it.”
Jude sucked in a breath. He didn’t know if that would be enough to protect the Herati refugees, but there was no way to gather them all and escape. Keeping Anton safe was the priority. “If the Witnesses breach the inner wall, pull everyone back to the Keep. Protecting the refugees is now your mission.”
The Paladin nodded and took off.
Jude, Anton, and Penrose made for the rocky outcropping that led them on a steep hike up to the surrounding mountainside. Jude paused for a moment as the path flattened off, looking out at the river. Here he could see the ships surrounding the fort, and the cloaked figures pouring off them, brandishing Godfire torches and crossbows with bolts aflame. There must have been over two hundred of them.
Penrose took Anton’s arm. “Did you really see something last night?”
Anton hesitated, and then nodded. “I had a dream, or—I don’t know, parts of it seemed real. Felt real. I saw the Hierophant.”
“You never saw him in Nazirah, did you?” Penrose asked. “How can you be sure it was him?”
Anton shook his head. “I just . . . knew. He was wearing white robes, and this gold mask so I didn’t see his face but—”
“That’s him,” Jude confirmed. His heart thudded in his ears.
“He was torturing someone with Godfire,” Anton said. His gaze skittered over Jude. “He wanted information about something that he said would awaken some kind of . . . I don’t know. An ancient power. Something old
enough and powerful enough to remake the world.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Penrose said.
Jude shook his head. An ancient power? The only ancient power was the Graces, bestowed upon a few by the Prophets centuries ago. “We’ll figure this out, Anton. Once we get out of here.”
Penrose led them through the trees, Jude at Anton’s heels as the forest thickened. They staggered up a hill of dense vegetation toward a clearing.
“Jude,” Penrose said, her voice tense. She had reached the clearing first, her gaze trained on the trees beyond.
Jude turned as three cloaked Witnesses emerged from the trees, crossbows and Godfire torches held aloft. The Witnesses had already penetrated the fort.
Automatically, Jude shifted into a defensive position, putting himself between the advancing Witnesses and Anton. Beside him, Penrose did the same.
One Witness stepped out in front of the others. He was covered head to toe in black, the bottom half of his face hidden by a mask, so all Jude could see were two bright gray eyes. His hand rested on a sword sheathed at his hip.
“Give us the Prophet,” the masked Witness said calmly, “and we will leave your little fort intact.”
Jude heard the metallic sound of Penrose unsheathing her sword. His hand went to the hilt of the sword she had procured for him.
“Take the Prophet and go,” Penrose said, before he could draw it. “I’ll hold them off.”
The command was so startling Jude whipped his gaze to her.
“No,” he said. “I can’t—” He cut himself off. He couldn’t let the Witnesses know that he was Graceless and vulnerable. “You take the Prophet.”
“The Prophet,” the masked Witness said, placing his hand on his sword, “will be coming with us.”
“Jude,” Penrose said. “Go.”
With a cry, she ran at the Witnesses, her sword gleaming in the sunlight. The sharp clap of firing crossbows filled the air, and Jude reacted on instinct, pulling Anton to him and shielding him with his body.
The crossbows flew wide, and Jude tightened his grip on Anton’s arm, spinning around to search for Penrose in the chaos. Another bolt sailed toward them, and then she was there, leaping in front of it, her sword a silver arc slicing through the air. The bolt dropped and Penrose landed at Jude’s side.
“Jude, go,” she urged. “Keep him safe.”
Another protest died on his tongue. He knew it was futile. He should have told Penrose that his Grace was gone, but it was too late now. He would do whatever he could to get Anton out of danger, and then pray that the rest of the Guard found them.
“This way,” Jude said, steering Anton toward the trees. He cast a glance back at Penrose, who was fending off two Witnesses as they rushed toward them. She would be all right. She had to be.
They wove through the copse, toward the head of a waterfall that cascaded about fifty feet to the river below. They would have to cross over the stream that fed it, and then climb down twenty feet of a precarious slope studded with loose rocks to reach the passage that lay behind the waterfall. It would lead them out of the river valley and into the mountains, where they could hide.
Jude stepped into the ankle-deep water, reaching back to help Anton over the slick rocks. He waded in farther, keeping his hand on Anton to help him balance. When they were over halfway to the other side of the stream, he glanced back at Anton again and saw another figure appear at the edge of the stream. The masked Witness.
Panic jolted through Jude as he thought of Penrose. If the masked Witness had gotten past her—he couldn’t even think it. He shouldn’t have left her. If she was hurt, it was his fault.
Jude’s eyes found Anton’s. “Keep going. Climb down the path. The passage is through the falls. I’ll be right behind you.”
Anton opened his mouth, as if to protest, but before he could say anything, Jude whirled around. The Witness stepped into the water, drawing toward him.
“Jude Weatherbourne,” he said. “The Hierophant has told me much about you.”
“Then you must already know that your Godfire chains won’t work on me,” Jude bluffed.
The masked Witness unsheathed his sword.
For a moment, Jude was blinded. The sword blazed in the light of the sun. And then Jude realized it was not the sun’s glare that lit the sword. The blade itself was engulfed with pale white flame.
Godfire.
Jude flinched back on instinct. The scars on his throat tingled with heat, as if remembering the scorch of those pale flames.
“You fear it,” the masked Witness said. The sword blazed between them. “You shouldn’t. This is not your destruction, Paladin. This is your salvation. You are too blind to see it now, but in time you will know the truth. Now, step aside.”
Jude closed his eyes and breathed in, stepping into the position for the koah of speed, willing his Grace to respond.
Nothing.
The masked Witness lunged forward, his sword cutting through the air toward Jude’s chest.
Jude unsheathed his sword, parrying the blow. The masked Witness struck again, and Jude ducked beneath the blazing sword, water splashing around him. The Godfire sword thrust forward and Jude maneuvered away, realizing too late that the Witness was slowly working them both toward the other side of the stream, where Anton stood despite Jude’s command.
“Go!” Jude hollered back at Anton, keeping enough of his attention on the Witness to parry his next strike.
The attacks kept coming. There was something familiar about the way the masked Witness moved, something that reached back into the foundations of Jude’s training. Jude was barely able to keep ahead of the attacks, too accustomed to his Grace-enhanced speed. The Witness would soon have Jude hemmed in against the sharp drop of the waterfall, and Jude was powerless to stop him.
The Godfire sword blazed toward Jude, and Jude had only a split second to make a decision. He dropped his own sword, diving to avoid the Witness’s strike. He landed on his hands and knees, turning to watch the Witness as his momentum launched him toward the edge of the waterfall.
The Witness wheeled back from the edge, catching himself on one knee. Jude lurched to his feet, but the Witness was already up, racing away from Jude and toward the edge of the stream.
Jude followed. Anton had finally obeyed Jude, climbing carefully down the steep slope that ran alongside the waterfall. He glanced up, saw the Witness barreling toward him, and Jude watched in horror as his eyes widened and his foot slipped off a loose rock. Suddenly Anton was tumbling down the slope, hands and knees scrabbling for purchase as he rolled off the edge of the path.
“No!” With a burst of speed, Jude flung himself down the slope after him.
The Witness reached Anton first, catching him by the shirt and dragging him back over the edge.
Jude froze.
“So,” the Witness mused, his hand still gripping Anton’s shirt. “You are the Prophet.”
“And you are?” Anton asked, his sarcasm betrayed by the tremble in his voice.
The Witness pulled Anton closer. “I am the most loyal of the Hierophant’s servants. I am the one who will deliver you to him.”
Anton drew back and spat directly in the Witness’s face. The masked man reared, his hand going slack, dropping Anton over the cliff’s edge. Jude leapt forward, barely managing to catch his arm and haul him back to safety.
The Witness stumbled back, raising the Godfire sword. “Step aside, Paladin.”
“You cannot have him,” Jude said, blocking Anton with his body.
The Witness lunged for another strike. Jude dropped to the ground, sweeping the Witness’s feet from under him. The masked Witness rolled to the side, springing to his feet against the rock face. Jude charged. The Witness swung his sword, the Godfire blade wheeling inches from Jude’s face. Jude leaned back, using the rock face for support as he kicked forward. He struck the Witness square in the chest and he stumbled back, arms flying out to his sides to try to steady hi
mself. But there was nothing to catch him.
He slipped off the edge of the rock, falling backward into the waterfall and disappearing into the river below.
Jude turned back to Anton who was staring, wide-eyed.
“Look out!” Jude cried, his gaze catching on movement above them, where several crossbow-wielding Witnesses fired from the top of the waterfall. He leapt at Anton, pinning him against the rock face and shielding him from the bolts raining down.
Anton’s breathing was quick and labored. Jude recalled with sudden clarity the night before, pinning Anton against the shelf, their breath mingling in the dark storeroom.
“On the count of three,” Jude said, his eyes locked on Anton’s. “One, two—”
He cried out as a crossbow bolt struck his right side. Pain seared through him as Jude fell against the rock, sliding to the ground.
“Jude!” Anton twisted beneath him, clasping Jude’s forearm, and pulling him to his feet.
“Go,” Jude said, breathless with agony, clutching at the bolt and tearing it from his side with a roar.
“No,” Anton said. “I’m not leaving you.”
Before Jude could argue, Anton tucked himself under Jude’s good side and half dragged him to the edge of the cliff, where the waterfall rushed past them in a deluge.
Anton glanced up at Jude uncertainly, and Jude had a sudden image of Anton, half-drowned in the cistern in Nazirah. He took a breath, and together they ducked into the falls. There were a few seconds of silence and submersion, and then they emerged onto the other side. The water rushed past them, echoing in the passage and enclosing them inside.
Jude turned to Anton, who was smiling.
“What?” Jude asked.
“This is just like old times,” Anton said. “Running away from Witnesses. Wandering through dark caves.”
Jude looked away and didn’t say anything. Back then, he could rely on his Grace. Back then, he was able to protect Anton. “We need to move quickly. The Witnesses won’t be far behind, but we can . . . we can lose them in the mountains.” Jude gulped in air, the pain on his right side blotting out all thought. “There’s an outpost,” he went on, “a few miles away. It should have plenty of supplies.”
As the Shadow Rises: Book Two of The Age of Darkness Page 12