by Sandell Wall
Ancient and unbreakable, the Black Citadel predated the empire. The smog that blanketed the rooftops was not smoke; it was the byproduct of the defenses that made the place impregnable. Aventine had visited Umgragon twice, and both times the runestones that guarded the treasury district had unnerved her. Powered without needing a caster to activate them, the runestones of Umgragon made all other runes useless. Nowhere else had these anti-runes been found.
Many had tried, and all failed, to power a rune within the influence of Umgragon’s sphere of protection. The emperor safeguarded the currency and trade of the empire by storing all its gold in the one place the noble houses could not storm by force. By long tradition, the First Legion guarded the treasury district. They were the best trained soldiers in the empire, and without the power of runes no one was going to oust them from behind the indestructible fortifications of Umgragon.
“Looks like the governor’s barred the gates,” Holmgrim said.
Aventine shaded her eyes and squinted, trying to see through the blinding light of the dying sun. Spread out in front of the gates to the city was a mob. There were at least several thousand people, she guessed. As they got closer, she could see tents housing entire families and wagons that had been converted into mobile houses.
“This is the entire bleedin’ countryside,” Marthis said from behind them. “Governor Wranger can’t just leave us out here to die!”
“The walls should offer some protection,” Holmgrim said. “No group of raiders is going to come within range of those battlements.”
“A pox upon the walls!” Marthis said, growing angrier by the step. “To shut his people out when they are being chased from their homes is unforgivable. That whoreson better have a damn good reason.”
“Calm yourself. We don’t know the story yet. Find a place for your wife and men while we investigate.”
Marthis tromped off towards the mob, muttering under his breath. His wife and fellow laborers followed, and then Aventine and Holmgrim were alone again.
“I don’t like the looks of this,” Aventine said.
“Aye, but there’s nothing for it,” Holmgrim said. He nodded towards the gates. “After you.”
In the twilight the high walls loomed with exaggerated menace. Spines and spikes of metal protruded from the stone at odd intervals, making the outline of the fortifications’ shadow look like it was overrun by thorns. The stonework reminded Aventine of Ralmaddan’s spire. She knew it was foolish, but when she drew near to the hewn rock, she felt colder. Some subconscious paranoia tried to convince her that if she touched that frigid stone it would suck the warmth and life out of her. She clamped down on her irrational fear and made straight for the gate.
A tremendous gateway controlled passage into the city. Embedded in the wall, two massive wooden doors were shut tight against the crowd of refugees. Next to the barred gate was a smaller portal, only big enough for a trickle of foot traffic. Aventine could see the bars of a lowered portcullis blocking the tunnel into the city. On the other side of the latticework of bars loitered an armored guard who was standing with his thumbs in his belt. He smirked at Aventine as she approached.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” the guard said, looking Aventine up and down. “Haven’t you heard? There’s raiders on the coast! Pretty little thing like you should let me keep you warm and safe. I can get you inside the city if you’ll let me inside that armor of yours.” He roared with laughter at his own joke.
Aventine stood in front of the portcullis now. Behind her Holmgrim entered the low arched tunnel. His bulk blotted out what little light still shone through. When the guard spotted Holmgrim, he sobered immediately.
“You’re with the guv’ner then?” the guard said. “No one told me you were coming. I meant no offense, just having a bit of fun is all.” He grinned weakly at Aventine.
What? Who does he think we are?
“Yes, we’re with the governor,” Aventine said, deciding to try her luck. “Now open this blasted gate.”
“On it,” the guard said, turning smartly on one foot. He disappeared down the tunnel, and shortly Aventine heard the grind of gears. She stood with her arms crossed as the portcullis slowly winched its way up into the stone slot in the ceiling.
She marched through the open passageway like she knew where she was going. Holmgrim followed her lead and stayed close behind. On the other side of the tunnel she stumbled—the runestone smog settled onto her like a sudden sickness. Her senses felt dulled, and her head started to ache. How the defenses operated was a mystery; only casters felt the negative effects. Holmgrim didn’t miss a beat.
Behind her Aventine heard the portcullis thunk back into place. The guard was nowhere to be seen.
“You know how to make an impression,” she said.
Holmgrim grunted. “Never liked this city.”
Before them a complex network of cobblestone streets spidered its way into the city. Crammed within the defensive fortifications, the town grew up instead of out, the buildings stacked so close together that they supported each other. Four- and five-story tall houses blocked out the sky on all sides. Not nearly as old as the fortress itself, the city of Umgragon was built to match the Gothic style of the citadel. The city’s skyline was a jagged range of peaked roofs and ostentatious architecture. Within the cramped streets, the oppressive haze made everything seem darker and dingier than it already was.
Aventine struck out down the leftmost road, heading away from the towers of the castle on the right horizon.
“Not going to call on the governor?” Holmgrim said.
“There’s a Rune Guard enclave in the city,” Aventine said. “I want to check there first.”
“Sensible enough, but let’s not charge in this time.”
Instead of replying, Aventine walked faster. Her memory of the city was faint, but she knew the Guard barracks was on the west wall. All they had to do was stay left and they would run into it. The city was quiet. Every merchant stall was closed for the day and the streetlamps were already lit. The few people they did see turned away in a hurry as soon as they saw Holmgrim.
“These people act like they know me,” Holmgrim said.
“They’re terrified of you,” Aventine said.
Several hundred paces ahead she saw a group of armored soldiers standing outside a two-story building set against the outer wall. She slowed her pace as they approached, spotting the Rune Guard emblem on the sign hanging over the entrance. The soldiers stopped their chatter and watched Aventine and Holmgrim with a wary eye.
“Easy now,” Holmgrim said quietly. “Those aren’t friends.”
Aventine quickened her pace and tried to feign disinterest in the Rune Guard barracks. They were just about to turn the corner and move out of sight when a small snake of a man jumped out of a doorway and accosted them.
“By the teats of the empress, what a pretty lass you are!” the man said. Before she could stop him, the man had slipped a hand under her armor and pinched her rear. “Nice and firm too. Just the way Wrangler likes them. And with the hair cut short. Oh-ho, you’ll have him eating out of your hand.”
Aventine was dumbfounded, her thoughts sluggish and muddled. She tried to swat the groping hand away, but he snatched it back so fast she missed.
The man looked at Aventine, but spoke to Holmgrim. “If you’ll bring her to my shop, I’ll powder her up and put her in some proper silks. No charge! Just let the governor know who dolled up his latest toy.”
Aventine finally caught on, and with clarity came anger. White-hot anger. She smashed her gauntleted fist into the man’s midsection so hard that his slight frame was lifted clear off the street. When he doubled over, she slammed an armored thigh into his face. He dropped to the ground, reeling from the attack, and she thought the fight was over. But the little man had grit. He lunged to his feet, a snarling whirlwind of fingernails and teeth. Aventine was winding up to knock his head off when Holmgrim’s tree-trunk of an arm shot over her sh
oulder and shoved the man away. With his other hand he pushed Aventine down the street and away from the confrontation.
Behind them the little man screeched, “You putrid whore! You better not leave the governor's bed, because if you step back into this city, I’ll own you!”
“Wonderful place,” Aventine heard Holmgrim say under his breath.
In her smog-induced funk Aventine could not let go of her anger. She seethed inwardly, ready to lash out again at the slightest of provocation. Each step sent a jolt of pain through her throbbing head.
“To the castle. Now,” she bit out, storming down the street without looking to see if Holmgrim was following.
Aventine marched through the deserted streets with a single-minded fury. She homed in on the distant spires of the castle, turning at random down any street that traveled in that direction. No one blocked her way, and if they had, she would have drawn steel. Soon enough the inner curtain wall of the Black Citadel appeared at the end of a long avenue. Higher than even the tall rooftops, the black walls of the castle dominated the cityscape.
Torches burned on both sides of the stronghold gate, which was open and unguarded. Aventine did not slow down. As far as she was concerned, leaving a gate unmanned was asking for unexpected visitors.
Holmgrim’s huge hand clapped onto her shoulder and stopped her short. “Hold, Aventine. You’re not yourself. I don’t think the governor is going to help us.”
Aventine massaged her temples with the fingertips of a gloved hand. Her eyes were closed as she spoke, “I don’t want his help. I want to look into his eyes and ask what he’s done to the Rune Guard.”
“Whatever he’s done to them, he’ll do the same to you,” Holmgrim said.
“You can stay here if you’re scared,” Aventine said, scorn dripping from her voice.
“Bleedin’ hells, you’re impossible,” Holmgrim said. “How did you survive to get this far?” But he was speaking to Aventine’s back. She had already stomped through the gate.
The inner courtyard was full of legion soldiers. Aventine charged through their midst like a battering ram. She barely noticed the bemused looks that followed in her wake, or the knowing winks directed towards Holmgrim. Not until later, much later, did it register that an entire century of armored legionaries was not something typically found in a castle courtyard.
Giant doors of polished wood opened into a brightly lit great hall. Dashing up the stairs and into the hall, Aventine entered the castle interior. The remains of a feast were being cleared from huge trestle tables by an army of scullions. At the far end of the room she saw a set of smaller, ornate double doors that could only lead one place: the throne room. They were shut tight.
Aventine ignored the servants as she swept through the chamber. Most of them stopped what they were doing and stared at her and Holmgrim. More astute than the rest, one man scurried away down a side corridor with a look of alarm on his face. When she was only several paces from her target a desperate voice called out from behind her.
“Wait! You can’t go in there!” She turned to see a fat fop of a man falling over himself in his haste to reach her. Behind him came the servant who had fled the room, looking smug. Aventine wanted to put her fist through his smirk.
Out of breath, the fat man skidded to a stop in front of Aventine. His clothes were garish, many layers of gold and brightly colored silk. A silly hat with a long purple feather sat awkwardly on his huge head.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” the man spluttered, his gaze flicking back and forth between Aventine and Holmgrim. His eyes widened when he looked at Holmgrim, and then after a brief inspection they narrowed and he said, “Imposter! You’re not Kolethar.”
“Who we are is none of your concern,” Aventine said “I’m going through that door.”
“You absolutely are not,” the man said, puffing himself up. “No one enters the throne room without an audience, and only I can grant one.”
Aventine put her hand on the hilt of her sword. “You’re going to stop me?” she said, one eyebrow quirked.
“You dare threaten me? In the governor's own palace? I am the majordomo of the Black Citadel!” Flushed with indignation and growing fury, the man’s face turned bright red. “You foolish girl. You want an audience? Come then.”
The majordomo jerked around and with four quick strides reached the entrance to the throne room. He hit the gilded wooden panels with his full weight, one flat palm smacking each door. The double doors crashed open. Aventine followed close behind the majordomo.
Windowless and dark, the throne room felt like a cave. Torches along the walls, and great braziers next to the dais at the far end of the room were the only sources of light and heat. The governor and his wife sat on the dais, their twin thrones the same obsidian stone as the rest of the castle.
It was immediately obvious that the governor had not been expecting an interruption. To the left, Aventine saw the backs of Legion soldiers. They held a man by the arms, dragging him from the room. Whoever it was, he looked unconscious. His legs dragged behind him like dead weight, and his head hung so far down onto his chest that he looked headless. One soldier followed behind, carrying a basket in front of himself. In the middle of the open space before the dais a puddle of dark liquid reflected the flickering torchlight. To the right of the governor's throne, a massive man was walking up the steps of the dais, wiping the blade of a wicked looking axe with a cloth. When Aventine connected the dots, she felt sick.
They just executed someone!
Finished with cleaning his axe, the mountain of a man positioned himself next to the seated governor. When he turned around Aventine’s heart skipped a beat. He was a barbarian from the wilds as big as Holmgrim and with the same thick grey beard. On the opposite side of the dais stood another barbarian bodyguard. Midnight black instead of grey, the second guard’s beard was immaculately manicured.
Huge arms crossed over their chests, the bodyguards regarded Aventine with cool indifference. But when Holmgrim stepped into the room, both of them dropped into combat stances, hands moving to the hilts of their weapons.
“Your Excellence, a thousand apologies for the intrusion,” the majordomo said, his voice booming in the cavernous room. “But violence has been threatened to my person if I did not admit these brigands.”
The governor had been scrutinizing Aventine since she entered the room. There was nothing exceptional about the man. Other than a greying goatee that made him look severe, he was decidedly average. Without the goatee he might even look nice, like a kindly uncle.
“We will discuss your inability to keep miscreants from my throne room later,” Governor Wranger said. “You’re dismissed.”
The majordomo bowed deeply and backed out of the room, closing the double doors behind him. A little uncertain now, Aventine took a cautious step into the room. She could smell the blood puddled on the floor.
“I never forget a pretty face,” Wranger said. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Aventine of Morn?”
Chapter 25
REMUS DID NOT SLEEP. After the Ethari wine was gone the rest of the men quieted and soon slipped into fitful slumber. But Remus could not; his mind would give him no respite. Pikon had told him to prove himself or die, to rally his men and show their worth as something more than expendable captives in the upcoming battle. He had no idea how he was going to manage that. And the more he dwelt on it, the more frustrated he became. Until finally, somewhere in the night, he made peace with the fact that there was no way to plan or predict what was going to happen tomorrow. All he could do was be vigilant and ready to seize the initiative when opportunity revealed itself.
He had not slept, but when weak sunlight started to filter through the trees, he felt rested and at peace. Whatever destiny had written for him this day, he would face it. And if he did not agree with his fate, he would change it.
With the dawn the other men in the cage woke. Remus was squatting by the door when Grotius pulled himself to
his feet.
“I’m tired of sleeping in the cursed mud,” Grotius said. He looked at Remus. “Didn’t sleep a wink, did you?”
Remus shook his head no.
“I was young once,” Grotius said, making faces as he stretched and massaged his cold muscles.
“We’re going to fight today,” Remus said when the men were awake and standing. “All of us. This village is being abandoned and we’re going to cover the retreat.”
He had their attention.
“This is our chance to prove we can be more than killing fodder. Fight as a unit. Follow my lead and listen to Grotius and Ellion. If we show our worth we will have taken the first step towards freedom.”
The lie tasted sour in his mouth, but there was no denying the effect it had on the men. They nodded, rolling shoulders and cracking joints, mentally preparing themselves for the challenge to come. The only odd one out was Remus’s test subject. Dejected and sullen, the man was awake but slumped against the rear of the cage. Remus walked over and knelt by the pitiful-looking creature.
“I need you with us,” Remus said.
Bloodshot eyes twitched, scanning Remus’s face and then looking back at the ground.
“I’ve got a gap in my memory,” the man said, his voice weak. “If I go there, all I see is fire and pain. It’s in my head, and I can’t get it out.”
“I should have asked for a volunteer,” Remus said.
“You could have destroyed my mind!”
“I knew it wouldn't. I just needed to see how it worked.”
Another lie. The man looked up at Remus with imploring eyes, needing to believe the falsehood.
“I would never do anything to hurt one of my comrades,” Remus said, standing and offering his hand. The man’s gratitude was palpable. He took Remus’s hand and allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet.