by Sandell Wall
The entire ship is manned by slaves. No, worse than slaves. Thralls.
Savaroth and the red-robed overseer followed their soldiers down the gangplank. Standing on the same dock as the silver giant, Aventine could now fully appreciate Savaroth’s size. He towered over her. She did not think she would be able to strike at his head with a sword, even if she jumped.
As the Drathani soldiers started to file into formation on the dock, Narin ordered the Rune Guard back. In preparation for a march through the city, she organized her soldiers into orderly columns. Narin pulled Aventine aside.
“Run ahead and tell the emperor what’s happening,” Narin said, her voice too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Make sure he’s prepared for this. I’ll stall as long as I can to give you time.”
“As you command,” Aventine said, saluting her commander.
Aventine dashed back through the city, retracing her steps to the castle. Uphill the entire way, the return journey was much harder than the outbound one had been. Her fast jog became a walk, and by the time she reached the walls of the citadel, she was staggering, barely able to raise her feet. She paused before entering, leaning on the white stone wall, her weight supported by one hand.
Brax would have made that look easy.
When she could breathe again, she passed through the gate and headed for the throne room. The castle was quiet. Every able-bodied Rune Guard in the province was already out at the harbor. Lady Athlain had removed her troops from the fortress in protest, declaring that if the Rune Guard were so powerful, they did not need her help. Aventine had been delighted at the time, but now she wished the House Drackon soldiers were present.
She found Emperor Pontius in his library. Since their meeting, he had become obsessed with studying history, trying to uncover any clues that would help him identify the mysterious enemy that had opposed him at every turn.
He won’t have to search any longer. He’s about to meet his enemy face-to-face.
“Your grace,” Aventine said from the doorway.
Startled, Emperor Pontius looked up from the tome he was poring over. “Yes, what is it?”
“Did you hear the horns, your grace? A strange ship has arrived in the harbor.”
“Yes, yes, I heard the horns. If I went to look at every disturbance, I’d never have any time to myself. That’s what you Rune Guard are for.” He lowered his gaze back to the book.
“Yes, your grace, but this is different. This ship is nothing like we’ve ever seen. It carries strange soldiers, and their leader claims to be the true ruler of the empire. He calls himself ‘Savaroth, Obsidian Crown of the Drathani’ and he’s coming here to see you. He’s marching through the city as we speak.”
Emperor Pontius’s head jerked up. “ ‘Obsidian Crown of the Drathani?’ Are you sure?”
“Yes, your grace,” Aventine said, a little unsettled by the mania she heard in Emperor Pontius’s voice.
Emperor Pontius launched himself at a stack of papyrus sheets on a nearby desk. Scraps of paper went flying as he dug through the pile. “I know I’ve read that epithet somewhere. I made notes, I’ve just got to find them!”
“Your grace,” Aventine said. He either did not hear her, or was ignoring her. “Your grace!”
He paused, looking up at her in confusion.
“Forget your notes,” Aventine said. “The real thing is on its way to your throne room. You need to get there first.”
Emperor Pontius’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Damnation and thunder, you’re right. Come on, to the throne room!” He swept out of the room, leaving a whirlwind of paper to settle to the floor behind him.
The frail emperor moved with surprising speed, his purple robes billowing behind him as he raced through the hallways. Aventine had to jog hard to keep up with him. Her weary legs complained with every step. Emperor Pontius was already sitting on his throne at the far end of the room when she stepped through the doors.
Dark clouds filled the eastern horizon. The breeze flowing through the great throne room arches carried the hint of a coming storm. The scent of ozone promised thunder and lightning, sending a tingle through Aventine’s body.
This room would be treacherous in the middle of an ocean gale.
Aventine walked across the huge space to stand next to Emperor Pontius’s throne. When she stepped into the enclosed area where the emperor sat, the sound of the wind died to nothing. Protected from the elements by three thick walls, Emperor Pontius could sit on this throne and watch the fury of a storm crash through the arches in front of him without ever being in danger. Huge braziers on both sides of the room could be lit to provide light and warmth.
They waited in silence. Emperor Pontius seemed anxious and full of nervous energy. Unable to sit still, he shifted in his seat and tapped his hand on the arm of the throne. Finally he blurted, “Well, where are they? You said they were coming straight here.”
“Commander Narin is leading them here, your grace,” Aventine said. “She’s taking her time so that we could arrive at the throne room first.”
Emperor Pontius muttered something to himself, but did not respond. Aventine stood next to him, her hands crossed in front of her, staring out across the great hall. As she waited, her eyes were drawn once again to the mural on the ceiling. Her hope for the future was fast turning to dread. She feared she was living in the final chapter of the empire. There would be no one left to paint their story.
She was jolted from her thoughts when Savaroth appeared in the arched doorway at the far end of the hall. He had to stoop to avoid striking his head against the white stone. Once inside the throne room, the Drathani leader paused, as if taking in the scene. Armored forms moved in the shadows behind him. His red-robed overseer entered the room at the head of a squad of Drathani soldiers. Savaroth stood motionless while they streamed around him. Moving with eerie precision, the soldiers took up positions in front of the columns that lined the hall. Twenty on each side, they raised their shining, silver shields to their breasts.
Where is Narin? She should have entered first. Now we’re cut off from the Rune Guard.
The enemy overseer strode down the center of the hall, stopping before the emperor. Savaroth had not moved. The overseer turned his gaunt face toward the throne, and in a grand and ancient dialect, announced his master.
“Savaroth has come,” the overseer intoned. “He is eternal, immutable, unbreakable. He is the Obsidian Crown of the Drathani, Master of the Ethari, Emperor of the Known World. He rules over land, sea, and sky. All bow before him and tremble. To his subjects, he is supreme benefaction. To his rivals, he is absolute destruction. Choose well which thou wilt be, for Savaroth's judgment is given but once, and his decrees are final.”
As the overseer spoke, Savaroth took his first step toward the throne. When the last proclamation died on the overseer’s lips, Savaroth stood behind him. His duty complete, the overseer turned, bowed to his master, and then stepped back to stand at attention next to the nearest soldier.
In spite of herself, Aventine gulped. In all his terrible glory, Savaroth’s being demanded acknowledgement. He did not have to speak. His presence alone impressed upon Aventine the need to kneel before his absolute supremacy. To behold Savaroth was to stand at the base of a great mountain, looking up in awe at its magnificence and enormity. No one can argue with a mountain. It simply is.
She glanced at Emperor Pontius out of the corner of her eye. He no longer fidgeted. His gaze was locked on the menacing silver figure standing before his throne. His mouth opened and closed, but he did not speak.
“Long have I awaited this day,” Savaroth said, his voice carrying strong over the rising wind. “Six centuries ago, the Drathani found thy race scratching out a pathetic existence in the dirt. In their benevolence, they lifted thee up, granting unto thee power and knowledge. Mighty fortresses they built, and the gift of rune power was bestowed. The only price they required in return was servitude. For a time, this was good. But alas, e
ven the mighty stumble. Ever seeking greater strength, grasping in the darkness beyond the realm of their understanding, the Drathani sowed the seed of their own demise. Caretakers of their doom, they nurtured this creation in hiding for a hundred years. When this new power had grown great and mighty, it could no longer be denied. Savaroth was born.
“I strode forth from the shadows in splendor, embracing my birthright to rule o'er all. On the steps of the Obsidian Throne, I cast down the Supreme One unto ruin, undying prince of the Drathani though he was. I took his Obsidian Crown for mine, and I wrought a new race in mine image. Remnant Drathani we soon brought to heel, or else hunted across the centuries, spilling the blood of all who would deny our perfection and primacy. We built a new empire atop the old, new armies no mortal foe could defeat, new knowledge no Drathani could fathom.
“Not until two score and ten years ago did our gaze fall upon your lands, so little hope had we for man. Your empire ye built on the gifts of old, yet your debt remains unpaid.
“Long did I ponder this problem. Two empires is one too many. This land is mine, by ancient right, but we need not enemies be. Kneel and pledge thy servitude now, hail me as thine emperor and thou shalt see thine empire restored to thee. Thou shalt rule thy empire in my name. Thy rebels will trouble thee no longer. I can aid thee in ways unimaginable, and what has been broken can be rebuilt. Allow me to uplift thy race once more.”
As he finished his speech, Savaroth extended his open right hand toward the emperor. Aventine’s mind reeled. The Drathani leader had turned her world upside down. She waited for Emperor Pontius to speak, expecting him to be as astonished as she was, but he surprised her. When he spoke, his voice was filled with fire and vengeance.
“Did you kill my family?” Emperor Pontius demanded.
It was impossible to tell through the helmet that covered Savaroth’s face, but Aventine thought the silver-clad tyrant was taken aback.
“Thy empire is cheaply bought if thou wouldst barter it for a concubine.” Savaroth said.
“Did you kill my family?” Emperor Pontius roared, rising from his throne. He stood on spindly legs, his thin body rigid and shaking with rage.
“The assassin sought thy blood, not thy kin. Thy survival may yet spare many lives, if thou wilt honor thy dead with a peace. They did not suffer, for life is fragile. Let me make thee great once more and thy hurt will fade into memories of a time when Pontius was thought a mortal man.”
“Aventine,” Emperor Pontius said, the rage gone from his voice. In its place was a terrifying, implacable calm. He pointed at Savaroth. “Kill him.”
Aventine did not hesitate. Her rune-powered daggers were useless, so she drew the runeforged sword from her back. If death was the price for defying tyranny, she paid it gladly.
Savaroth laughed.
Aventine charged, lashing out with a devastating two-handed swing.
“Stupid girl,” Savaroth said, reaching out to check her swing with his left hand. He caught the blade in his open palm. When the runeforged metal bit into his gauntlet, Savaroth bellowed in surprise and pain. The stone embedded in the back of the gauntlet went dark. He jerked his hand back and leapt away.
“The blade, fools,” Savaroth thundered. “She bears it still!”
The red-robed Drathani overseer rushed forward, commanding his soldiers to swarm toward Aventine. At the far end of the room, Narin and the Rune Guard came running through the open door.
“Slaughter them,” Savaroth said. “Let their blood run down the cliff and into the sea.” The Drathani leader raised the crystal runestone he carried, gave Aventine one last look, and then vanished into thin air.
Chapter 24
DEEP IN THE BOWELS of Umgragon castle, hand in hand, Remus and Tethana stumbled along in the dark. After ten paces the ceiling of the tunnel rose and they could stand upright again. Remus was about to illuminate their surroundings with the stone on his gauntlet, but he detected a faint glow of light ahead of them. As they moved deeper, the walls of black obsidian turned an ethereal green, bathed in the light of runes inscribed along the floor. The runes formed a path, leading them onward.
Without the glowing trail, they would have been hopelessly lost. Whatever sense of navigation the gauntlet had given him in the castle did not work down here. The mouths of divergent tunnels yawned like portals into the abyss, rearing out of the darkness, and then disappearing behind them. Every so often, Remus glanced back, worried that the runes would go out and they would be trapped in these black catacombs.
After what felt like an hour of wandering through the subterranean maze, they turned a corner and found an arched door. Carved into the stone of the arch, green runes that matched those on the floor pulsed with a gentle, inner light. Inside, that same eerie glow illuminated the strange room.
Remus stepped through the doorway with Tethana close behind. At first, he could not speak, overwhelmed by what lay before them. The floor, walls, and ceiling were covered in runes. Inscribed in the dark stone, the runes swirled in a majestic, flowing pattern of circles within circles that centered around an altar in the middle of the room. It stood waist-high, protruding from the stone floor. Remus approached the pedestal, inspecting its base. The transition from altar to floor was seamless—the squat column was a part of the castle. On top of its black, reflective surface, there was a fist-sized impression.
Here was the source of the imposing presence Remus had sensed since entering the Black Citadel. He released Tethana’s hand and brushed the tips of his fingers across the top of the pedestal. It wanted something from him before linking with his gauntlet, and he suspected he knew what was required.
“It wants a vessel stone,” Remus said.
Tethana did not respond. He knew she would guess what was in his mind.
“The runes are green,” he said. “Your stone is green. The connection seems obvious.”
“You don’t know that,” Tethana said. “Yours might work just as well.”
“That’s true, but I can’t give up the powers of the gauntlet. We might not survive without it.”
“What are you saying, then? Just speak what you’re thinking.”
Remus turned to look at Tethana. “You know what I’m thinking.”
“Please don’t ask that of me,” she said. “I know you think it foolish, but I believe the vessel stones to be holy. Mine has been passed down from generation to generation—it’s the living history of my people. I cannot give it over to some foul ritual of the enemy.”
“Even if this could save your people, could save us?”
Tethana looked away, the indecision clear on her face. As she wrestled with the question, Remus was smitten once again by her beauty. The green runelight softened her features and accentuated her dark hair. She looked back at him, and noticing his gaze, gave him a shy smile.
“It would be folly to sacrifice my people for the sake of the stone,” Tethana said. “If we have no other choice, I will give you my stone to place on that pedestal, but only as a last resort. We might yet survive the storm.”
“I don’t think your beliefs are foolish,” Remus said. “I just don’t understand them. If you’re willing to consider it after all other options have been tried, that’s enough for me. I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to.”
Tethana stepped forward and gave Remus a firm hug. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder.
Remus gave her back an awkward pat, still embarrassed by Governor Wranger asking him if he had ever been with a woman. “We better get back to the surface. Everyone should be within the walls now, and the storm will hit soon.”
Tethana pulled her head back from his shoulder and looked into his eyes. In an instant, he was lost in her gaze, almost forgetting to breathe.
“What?” he finally managed to say.
“A month ago I thought you were a handsome but obnoxious imperial,” Tethana said, her voice husky. “I wanted to stab you as much as I wanted to talk to you. Now…now I don’t thin
k I want to live without you.”
“Me too,” was all Remus could think to say.
Then Tethana kissed him. Remus’s heart leapt in his breast. She kissed him with the fierceness of the Wilds, hungry and untameable. A thousand thoughts competing for his attention were banished from his mind as Tethana filled every one of his senses. Through their connection, he could feel her emotions surge, her desire and passion adding fuel to his burning need. His hands found her cheeks, her hair, the strong lines of her neck. And then, as if sensing the edge of a precipice, Tethana pulled back.
“That was to finish what you started on the plains,” Tethana said with a wicked smile. “Now we really should be getting back.”
Tethana turned and moved toward the door. His mind still fuzzy from the kiss, Remus followed her without saying anything. They had a pressing need to return to the surface, but he would have stayed in the runelit room with her forever.
The trek back through the dark tunnels felt a lot shorter than the journey inward. Remus was surprised when the glowing path of runes on the floor ended and the flickering torchlight appeared ahead of them. Reaching the low ceiling again, he and Tethana crouched and crawled back to the cell where Pricker and Monstur waited.
Remus climbed to his feet and turned to help Tethana up.
“What did you find?” Pricker said in his mind.
“A maze of dark tunnels,” Remus replied. “A trail of glowing runes on the floor led us to a strange, rune-covered room. In the middle of the room was a pedestal with a vessel stone-sized impression on it. Do you know what it is?”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I’ve been in exile for hundreds of years. The Drathani never stop experimenting, never stop testing the limits of what’s possible. There’s no telling what placing a vessel stone on that pedestal might unlock.”