by Sandell Wall
Aventine stood next to Holmgrim, gazing into the cloudless blue sky. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. She was about to suggest that they continue on to the smithy when Holmgrim pointed and said, “Is that a ship? Take my eyes, that’s a strange looking vessel.”
She dropped her gaze to the sea, searching for what Holmgrim looked at. Sailing around the headland from the north was the biggest ship she had ever seen. Triple-masted, its top deck rising high out of the water, it looked like a floating fortress. A complex network of sails and rigging hung above the deck, but what astonished her most was the speed. The ship was traveling against both wind and current faster than the swiftest trireme. When the sun hit the billowing sails, she saw why. Giant, golden runes blazed bright on the brilliant white fabric.
“That’s not one of ours,” Aventine said, her voice grim. “I have to find Narin. Go back to Saffrin. Keep her safe. I’ll find you again when I know what’s going on.”
Holmgrim gripped her armored bicep with one of his huge hands. “Be careful.”
Aventine nodded and he let her go. She turned and walked away as fast as she could, making straight for Narin’s command office. At the emperor’s request, Narin worked near the throne room. Before she could reach her destination, great warning horns sounded from the walls of the city. Narin came running from the opposite direction and met Aventine in the hallway.
“What is it?” Narin asked. “Has the enemy arrived already? They were supposed to be days away!”
“The threat is not coming by land,” Aventine said, shaking her head. “It approaches by sea. A strange warship is sailing down the coast, making straight for our harbor. It has rune-powered sails, the likes of which I’ve never seen.”
“With the Legion in tatters, we have no navy. If it’s an attack, all we can do is fight them at the harbor. Go to the barracks, muster as many as you can and meet me at the docks.”
“As you command,” Aventine said with a salute.
Fueled by adrenaline, Aventine turned and sprinted away from Narin. Careening around blind corners with the momentum of a runaway boulder, she raced through the huge castle. The Rune Guard barracks was three levels below her, near the city entrance. She leapt down each flight of stairs, hurtling three steps with each stride. Frightened servants scrambled to get out of her way, pressing themselves against the wall to avoid being knocked flat. She was out of breath by the time she saw the door to the barracks at the end of a long hallway.
Without slowing down, Aventine slammed her shoulder into the barracks door and charged in. Soldiers on break lounged around the room. Startled by Aventine’s sudden entrance, they jumped to their feet, alarm on their faces.
“We’re under attack,” Aventine said between breaths. “Find a weapon and follow me. We have no time.”
Before she finished speaking, twenty Rune Guard were up and armed, ready to follow her into battle.
“Let’s go,” she said. “We’re headed to the docks. Commander Narin will meet us there.”
Aventine took one last deep breath and set off again, running as hard as she could. They cleared the castle gates and hurried into the city. People crowded the streets, looking up at the castle walls in concern. The great horns still blared their warning note.
“Get out of the way!” Aventine shouted, but the people did the opposite. The appearance of Aventine and the Rune Guard sent them into a panic. Desperate hands grabbed at Aventine as voices pleaded for answers.
“Are we under attack?” one man asked.
“Protect my children!” a pitiful woman pleaded.
“Where are you going?” a voice said.
“Why are the horns sounding?” someone screamed.
Overwhelmed by the press of bodies, Aventine grabbed her twin daggers and poured her power into them. The weapons flared to life, the heat and orange light reflecting off of the people closest to her. She held the burning blades out in front of her, using their fire to push the crowd back. The mob recoiled from the intense heat.
“Come on!” Aventine shouted behind her. Using her daggers to part the crowd, she led the Rune Guard down the street. The route to the harbor was downhill the entire way. Aventine and her soldiers thundered down the cobblestone streets. Soon, they were moving so fast that anyone who did not step aside was simply swept out of the way. When they turned the last corner, the harbor stretched out before them.
Narin stood on the docks with at least thirty Rune Guard. The commander had marshalled what active duty soldiers she could find. With Aventine’s additional twenty, they would make their stand against whatever came out of the strange ship. Aventine lurched to a stop beside Narin.
“We’re here, commander,” Aventine said. Gasping for breath, she put her hands on her knees.
Narin did not respond. She was watching the mouth of the harbor. Aventine lifted her head to follow Narin’s gaze. Gliding across the waves, the strange ship crossed the threshold of the port of Amalt. The vessel sped toward the docks with impossible speed, its great, runed sails never slackening. As it drew near, Aventine’s astonishment grew. The craft was oarless. Its hull reared out of the sea like the walls of a castle. The gargantuan ship would dwarf the empire’s greatest trireme. Even at full strength, Aventine feared that the imperial navy would have been no match against this leviathan.
As it neared the docks, the ship’s sails deflated and the massive vessel started to slow. It coasted to a stop alongside the longest pier. Up close now, Aventine could make out the woodgrain of its hull. Where banks of oars should have been, there were rows of hatches, each closed by a wooden flap. Strange gray-skinned sailors climbed high into the rigging, stowing sails and securing lines. On the deck, silver-armored soldiers stood in motionless formation.
Aventine’s grip on her daggers tightened. She knew that silver armor. Before she could say anything, a huge gangplank appeared and was dropped to the dock, forming a bridge between ship and pier. At the top of the plank a tall, silver figure stepped into view. Aventine’s blood ran cold. It was the same creature she and Brax had encountered in the ruins of Ralmaddan.
At least ten feet tall, its immaculate silver armor shining brightly in the sun, the figure paused at the top of the gangplank to survey the gathered Rune Guard. Twin horns rose from its sinister helmet. A rich, black cloak snapped in the wind at its back. Wrapped around the creature’s left hand, an ornate gauntlet of golden metal reached all the way up to its elbow. Embedded on the back of the gauntlet, a brilliant red stone glowed with a strange inner light.
There’s no way that thing is human.
The way the creature moved made Aventine uneasy. Every step was languid, every turn of its head almost exaggerated in its slowness. But there was no weakness in those long, lithe limbs. The silver figure exuded power. Something buried deep in her brain screamed at her to run and hide. She was prey, frozen in place, heart hammering, hoping to avoid the predator’s hungry eyes.
Aventine could not see eyes in the dark sockets of the creature’s helmet, but when its gaze found her, she felt it. Deep in her gut, she knew it recognized her. The next instant, her intuition proved true, as a voice both terrible and awesome filled the harbor. It vibrated at the edge of hearing, as much a physical force as it was a sound.
“Behold ye Savaroth the Immortal,” the creature said. “Tyrant, breaker, eternal devourer. Obsidian Crown of the Drathani. Mine is the power to make and unmake. I have come to reclaim that which is mine.
“Thou art known to me, Aventine of Morn. Take me to thine ‘emperor,’ that thy race might bow before its rightful master.”
Chapter 22
UMGRAGON WAS DESOLATE. He had only just stepped out of the tunnel and already Remus was on edge. Monstrous, imposing houses lined the cobblestone streets. Both grand and grotesque, the buildings towered overhead, their dark metal spires and peaks stabbing at the sky. He craned his neck, looking up at the oppressive architecture. Twisted and hideous faces of molded iron stared ba
ck at him from the rooftops. Every window was boarded shut, and the streets were empty of the living. Rotting corpses littered the gutters. Smog filled the city like the coal fumes of a forge, but Remus could not detect the acrid scent of smoke. This miasma was something else.
“I do not like this place,” Monstur said as he exited the tunnel behind Remus.
“I don’t much care for the looks of it either,” Remus said. He waited for the rest of his party before venturing forth. Pikon and his squad of Ethari soldiers spread out, forming a protective barrier as they set out into the empty streets. Accompanied by Pricker, Tethana, and Monstur, Remus made for the distant towers of the Black Citadel.
The streets and alleyways were quiet, but as they passed through the city, Remus saw curtains twitch on second and third-story windows. People still lived in Umgragon, and they were watching.
“Why do people choose to live in such terrible confines?” Tethana said. “They’re stacked on top of each other like animals in a burrow. There’s not even room for a single plant to grow.”
“Not everyone finds comfort in the forest,” Remus said. “I’d wager some of these people have never been beyond those walls we just walked through.”
Tethana shook her head in wonder.
“The spirit wilts, so far from the smell of fresh earth,” Monstur rumbled.
“The Volgoth are bound to their trees,” Pricker said in Remus’s mind. “Their foolish superstitions prevent them from ever venturing beyond the Wilds and undertaking the feats of engineering and industry that would make them a great people.”
“And yet the Volgoth are free, while your race was pushed to the brink of extinction and then enslaved,” Remus said.
Pricker did not reply, but Remus could sense the Drathani’s annoyance and anger.
In the middle of the city, they finally encountered resistance. A meager barricade of wooden crates and broken furniture blocked the street. Behind it, a squad of pathetic looking soldiers watched Remus and his party approach. When they were twenty paces from the blockade, a voice rang out.
“Stop right there!” the voice shouted. “You’re trespassing on the holdings of Governor Wranger. Turn around and march back the way you came, or be destroyed.”
Pikon ordered his men to halt. He glanced back at Remus, a question on his dour face. If Remus ordered it, the Ethari could sweep aside these soldiers without even unsheathing their weapons.
Pricker had a different idea. The Drathani sent Remus a series of images, showing how he could use the stored power in the gauntlet to surprise and terrify the pitiful legionaries. Remus wanted to try it, but he had to attempt diplomacy first.
“Hold,” Remus said to Pikon. He raised his voice to a shout so that the soldiers blocking the street could hear him. “We’re refugees from Delgrath. We come seeking shelter and safety. We were told that the First Legion guards Umgragon, and would offer their protection.”
“The First doesn’t take charity cases,” the voice yelled back. “I don’t know how you breached the walls, but you’re here uninvited. That makes you invaders. You have until the count of five to turn around and leave. One.”
“So much for diplomacy,” Remus said to Pricker. “I guess we do things your way.”
“Two.”
Remus stepped forward to get a clear line of sight on the flimsy barricade. He raised his gauntleted arm.
“Three.”
Following Pricker’s instructions, he pressed two fingers into his palm to activate the runes. Pure white lightning exploded from his open hand. He raked the blockade once, twice, the jagged bolt of energy gouging deep, burning furrows in the wooden barrier. With great effort, he cut off the flow of energy from the gauntlet. Shaking from exertion, he dropped his arm.
The barricade blazed, already crumbling in on itself. Gone at the first sign of lightning, the defending soldiers had abandoned their post.
“So much for the vaunted First Legion,” Remus said.
Remus nodded for Pikon to proceed. The Ethari soldiers crossed the smoldering barrier with their weapons drawn. As Remus followed behind, he half-expected an ambush, but the street was empty.
“If that’s the extent of their forces, they need more help than we do,” Tethana said.
“Let’s get to the castle and speak with the governor,” Remus said. “I’ve got a feeling he’ll be more accommodating than his men after that little show.”
They made it the rest of the way to the castle unopposed. Built from the same black stone that made up the outer walls, the Black Citadel dominated the city. Its sheer black walls stretched for hundreds of feet in both directions. As they neared the gate, Remus slowed. He could sense the hulking presence of the fortress. Ancient and ominous, something inside reached out for the gauntlet on his arm. Whatever it was, it wanted a coupling. This was its purpose. Remus sensed immense power offered for the taking, but when he reached out to claim it, it resisted him. Something was missing. He noticed Pricker watching him intently, but the Drathani said nothing.
“What are you hiding from me?” Remus asked Pricker in his mind. “What is this I feel? What’s in there?”
“I sense it too,” Pricker said. “There are powers beyond my understanding. Be cautious. My people built great and terrible weapons into these old fortresses.”
“What is it?” Tethana asked. She had slowed with him and now stood by his side.
“I sense something,” Remus said. “A great power lurks within the castle. It calls to me through the gauntlet.”
“Wonderful,” Tethana said. “I think I might prefer the storm.”
Remus laughed. “Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as your uncle.”
Tethana grimaced.
As they neared the castle gate, Remus was surprised to find the thick doors open and unguarded. Instead of soldiers, there was only a fat man in silly clothes standing under the stone arch of the citadel entrance. Clearly terrified, the man wrung his fleshy hands while he watched the Ethari come to a halt five paces from him. Remus stopped behind the line of black-armored Ethari and waited for the man to speak.
“I-I-I’m the majordomo of the Black Citadel,” the man said. “I’ve been instructed to take you to the governor. He apologizes for the actions of his soldiers. They were only defending the city. Please, there’s no need for further hostilities.”
“Fine,” Remus said, iron in his voice. Better to keep the man scared. “But if you lead us into an ambush, I’ll fry you first.” He raised his gauntleted arm at the man for emphasis.
The majordomo jerked, squeaking like a frightened rodent. “I-I-If you’ll follow me, please.” The man turned and practically ran through the gate and into the castle courtyard.
Pikon motioned his soldiers forward. Staying close behind the Ethari, Remus stepped through the gate. On the other side, they found what remained of the First Legion.
The courtyard was huge, big enough to house an entire cohort, but Remus guessed there were less than four hundred soldiers in the enclosed space. The able-bodied soldiers of the First Legion lined the walkway to the castle, shields up, hands on the hilts of sheathed weapons. Fifty soldiers to a side, they formed a corridor that Remus and his party would have to brave if they wished to enter the fortress proper. The rest of the First Legion was scattered around the muddy yard, most of them incapacitated by injury or disease. Remus wrinkled his nose at the stench.
“Half of these men won’t live to see the new moon,” Tethana said in Remus’s mind.
Not wanting to appear weak or timid, Remus did not hesitate. He ordered Pikon forward. With the Ethari as an escort, Remus walked through the two rows of Legion soldiers with his head held high. Near the middle he held his breath. If they were going to attack, now would be the time. The two lines could break ranks and surround Remus and his party in a heartbeat, but the First Legion let them pass.
They truly are broken, both spirit and body.
Remus was disappointed when he reached the steps that led int
o the castle. He had expected more from the First Legion, but these ravaged and dying men would be of little use against the runebound horde.
Better to arm the refugees and pit mob against mob…if the storm does not kill us all first.
The majordomo waited at the top of the stone stairs. He ushered Remus’s party inside, hurrying before them to open a set of tall double doors. The doors swung open to reveal a great feasting hall. Cold and deserted, the room looked like a sad memory of warmth and revelry. Remus rubbed a hand along the top of a table as he passed by. His fingers came back covered in dust.
Overeager in his fear, the fat majordomo bounded up to the next set of doors. Smaller than the first, and far more ornate, Remus guessed they led to the throne room.
“Pikon,” Remus said. “Put away your weapons.”
The Ethari complied, stowing their sinister weapons before entering the next room. The majordomo swung the twin doors open with long-practiced ease, presenting the strange invaders to his lord.
Pikon and his soldiers crossed the threshold first, entering the throne room like an honor guard. Remus, Pricker, Tethana, and Monstur came next. The interior was so dark that at first Remus could see very little, but as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he was able to make out the governor sitting on his throne at the far end of the room. One lonely brazier burned in a distant corner, providing little light and less warmth. Flanking the governor on both sides, two hulking shadows stood like statues.
He has Volgoth bodyguards?
Remus walked calmly across the room to stand before the governor. He stepped between two Ethari soldiers, leaving the safety of their scarab shields. Unprotected now, he stopped just short of the dais that held the governor's throne. Carved from the same black stone as the citadel itself, the throne looked suited for someone far more powerful and imposing than its current occupant. On the governor's left, a twin throne sat empty.