by Sandell Wall
Remus left the wall, racing down the stairs to return to where his companions waited. Goregash was sitting in the street with a dazed look on his face.
“What’s happening?” Tethana said as soon as he drew near.
“The runebound horde followed us the whole way,” Remus said. “And they’re not alone. There’s a legion of Drathani soldiers out there, and a squad of imperial troops that seem to be aiding the enemy.”
“There’s so few of us left,” Tethana said. “We’ll never hold the city.”
“We don’t need to hold the entire city,” Remus said. “We’ll make our stand in the castle.”
From on top of the wall, a sharp command rang out, followed by the sound of many bowstrings released at once. Outside the gate, Remus heard the footsteps of the charging runebound army. The first thrall leapt through the wreckage of the gate, hurtling into the waiting swords of the Ethari.
Remus ran toward the line of Ethari. He clapped a hand on Promost Lister’s shoulder, turning the Ethari leader to face him.
“We’ll never hold this gate,” Remus said. “Get your men off the walls and retreat to the castle. If we’re going to survive this assault, it’ll be there.”
Promost Lister hesitated, considering Remus’s words. “You speak the truth,” Promost Lister finally said. “Take what few survivors that still live to the castle. We’ll hold the gate for as long as we can and then make a fighting retreat to join you.”
Remus reached out an open hand. Promost Lister returned the gesture, gripping Remus’s forearm. “For the fallen,” Remus said.
“For the fallen,” Promost Lister repeated.
Promost Lister turned back to the destroyed gate that was now filled with the runebound. The thralls clawed at each other in their haste to throw themselves at the Ethari. The line of Ethari soldiers cut down every thrall that rushed at them, swords rising and falling like black reaping scythes, but for every enemy they killed, three took its place.
Leaving the Ethari to the fight, Remus dashed back to where his companions waited in the street.
“We have to gather the survivors and get them to the castle,” Remus said.
Pricker did nothing, but Tethana and Monstur ran to where the remaining Volgoth huddled against the stone walls. While the two of them rallied the Volgoth, Remus searched the nearby houses. He poked his head into the gaping holes the lightning had blasted in the walls. He shouted in the imperial tongue, telling any Umgragon citizen who heard his voice to flee to the castle. If anyone heard him, they did not answer and made no move to follow his instructions.
Frustrated, he turned his attention to helping Tethana and Monstur. A surprising number of survivors gathered in the street behind the gate. Of the two thousand Volgoth villagers that entered Umgragon, perhaps half still lived. At least five hundred barbarian warriors stood with them. Goregash was back on his feet and had moved to stand with his people.
Remus approached the barbarian chieftain.
“I’ve no desire to be your enemy,” Remus said in the Volgoth tongue. “I need your help, if we’re to live to see another day.”
“I care not what you desire,” Goregash rumbled. “I am finished with heeding your words. I should have seen it sooner, but I am a fool. The enemy hunts you and you alone. I will take my people and find a way out of the city. No more of us need to die to preserve your life. If I see you again, one of us will die.”
Goregash looked to Tethana and Monstur. “The two of you must choose. If you turn your back on your people now, you can never return while I live.”
Remus saw tears in Tethana’s eyes. He could feel her pain and frustration through their connection. “Do not do this, uncle. Please.”
“You choose banishment then,” Goregash said. Dismissing Tethana, his gaze fell on Monstur.
“You are the chieftain of the Volgoth,” Monstur boomed in a voice even deeper than Goregash’s. “But I follow a greater authority. The gods of the Wilds would have me stand with Remus against this enemy. They enslaved our people once before, and will do so again if we do not fight. I choose to stay, but do not threaten me with banishment. There are greater powers than even you, mighty chieftain. The Wilds are my home, and the Volgoth my people, and to both will I return when my duty is done.”
Goregash stared at Monstur as if he wanted to challenge the strange barbarian’s words, but in the end he thought better of it. With a shouted command, Goregash set out down the street, away from the gate and deeper into the city. What remained of his people followed.
Stunned, Remus watched the Volgoth march past him. A few of the villagers gave Remus sympathetic looks, but the rest stared stolidly forward. The mass exodus moved quickly, motivated by the sounds of battle coming from the gate. Remus glanced at the growing pile of bodies in front of the Ethari. The dark-armored soldiers were losing ground, pushed back by the weight of the runebound corpses. Very soon, the enemy would control the gate. The city was about to be swarmed by ten thousand enemy thralls and the defenders had just lost more than half of their fighting force. There was only one option left.
“We have to use your stone,” Remus said to Tethana. “Whatever lies at the bottom of Umgragon castle will either be our destruction, or our salvation.”
Chapter 27
AVENTINE HAD NEVER FELT so alone. Poised in the battlements of Amalt, looking out over the forces of the enemy, she felt abandoned—isolated. Despite everything she had done to protect the emperor and preserve the empire, it was still going to come crashing down around her. Time and again fate had required her to shoulder the burden of duty, and always she had risen to the task, but she was only one person. The empire could not be saved by her efforts alone. She stood motionless on the wall, letting the rain soak her. Rivulets of water trickled under her armor and down her skin.
All around her, House Drackon troops rushed to get into position. Great, rune-powered ballistae lined the battlements, each weapon requiring three men to operate. She ignored the frantic activity, all of her attention focused instead on the front ranks of the enemy. In front of the traitors’ army, her father faced the huge gates of Amalt, preparing to signal the attack. At his side, Aventine saw a shorter man clad in glowing, golden armor. Even from the great distance, she recognized Sir Ignatius.
“Captain?” her Rune Guard companion spoke up. Aventine heard the uncertainty in the younger girl’s voice. “Surely there’s something we can do?”
Aventine did not answer. She gripped the edge of the wall in front of her, trying to crush the white stone in her bare hands. Tears mingled with the rain streaming down her cheeks. She felt something deep inside her grow taut to the breaking point. She could quit. She could walk away and abandon the city to join her father down below. At this point, no one would care. Narin would be disappointed, but Aventine knew the other woman would understand.
“Captain?” came the tentative question a second time.
“Are you prepared to die for the emperor?” Aventine said.
“I am,” the girl answered without hesitation.
A fierce grin spread across Aventine’s face. “Then so am I, but let’s try to live for him first. There’s no way we can hold out against the army assembled down there. They’ll get through these walls eventually, and then they’ll have us trapped between their swords and the ocean. Our only chance is to negotiate. There’s no need for them to sack the city if Emperor Pontius agrees to give up his claim on the empire. They might breach the walls, but they’ll pay a dear price to crack Castle Solis. It’s time for the fighting to stop. We just have to get the emperor out here before the battle starts.”
“What would you have me do?” the young Rune Guard asked.
“What runestones do you carry?” Aventine said.
“Strength and armor.”
“Can you use them and run at the same time?”
The girl nodded.
“I don’t have the stamina to reach the castle in time on my own,” Aventine said. “I’m a
t the end of my endurance. Help me with the power of your runestone, run with me, and maybe we can reach the emperor in time to stop this madness.”
“As you command,” the girl said, her young face set in determination.
“What’s your name?” Aventine asked.
“Alypia, captain,” the girl said.
After one last look at her father where he stood in the vanguard of the enemy, Aventine left Lady Athlain and House Drackon to defend the walls. Back in the street, the rest of her Rune Guard squad was gone, already dispersed into the city to hunt Drathani assassins. She set out at a jog, willing her exhausted legs to work. Beside Aventine, Alypia fished a runestone out of her satchel and lent her power to it. Responding to the stone, the runes on Aventine’s armor glowed a vibrant yellow. Strength and stamina filled her limbs. Her tired trot turned into a dead run as her boots pounded the paved stone road.
Aventine and Alypia raced through the wet streets of Amalt. News of murderous assassins must have spread, because the refugees that had crowded the roads were now packed inside any building they could find. Alleyways were blocked off, guarded by men and women with terror in their eyes. The city was filled with a sense of panic and desperation. Like rats fleeing a forest fire, pushed to the cliffs at the edge of the ocean, there was no where else for these people to go and now the enemy was at the gates.
When they rounded the last corner and the castle came into view through the rain, Aventine felt a twinge of uncertainty. The gate was wide open, but no one was in sight. She had expected to see soldiers from Narin’s squad by now. She slowed to a walk and gestured for Alypia to do the same. Aventine stepped into the castle courtyard with one hand on the hilt of her daggers.
The open space was empty except for an armored form slumped against the far wall. Blood smeared the wall where the soldier had slid to the ground. Against the white stone, the crimson streak looked like a splash of color on a blank canvas. The blood was fresh, the rain only just starting to wash it away. Aventine’s heart seized in her breast.
“Come on!” she shouted, leaping forward. Her rune-enhanced legs carried her across the courtyard in four great bounds. Aventine ignored the fallen soldier. She had to reach the emperor.
Aventine charged into the castle, lowering her shoulder and smashing into the massive wooden doors to the entrance hall. The great room was littered with corpses—a terrible battle had been fought here. Vases were smashed, suits of armor toppled, and great works of art were ruined, scorched to a crisp by rune-fire. Half of Narin’s squad had fallen here. Amidst the slain there was one pale-fleshed corpse.
All these dead soldiers and only one enemy killed!
Behind her, Alypia gasped as she entered the room. Aventine heard the girl gag.
“Steady,” Aventine said. “There must have been more than one assassin, because this is not all of Narin’s squad. We need to get to the throne room.”
They dashed through the castle, climbing the many stairs to reach the highest level. If Aventine had not known where the throne room was, she could have just followed the blood. There was at least one corpse in every hall, but the fiercest fighting had been on the stairs. Aventine counted at least thirty dead Rune Guard, and only two slain assassins.
Spurred on by desperation, Aventine pushed her body beyond its limits. Even with the rune-enhanced strength, her muscles screamed in agony. The last stairwell almost did her in. She staggered across the landing, finally reaching the hallway that led to the throne room.
The last of Narin’s squad lay in a tangled heap before the ornate double doors. As Aventine neared the dead soldiers, one of the bodies twitched. She spotted red hair and realized that Narin still lived. Aventine knelt and propped Narin against the wall.
“Help the emperor,” Narin said, her voice weak. Blood bubbled on her lips as she spoke.
Aventine jerked to her feet, cursing herself for stopping to check Narin.
“Stay with her,” Aventine ordered Alypia. “Keep the runestone activated. Don’t come after me.”
Without waiting for a response, Aventine entered the throne room and slammed the doors behind her. On the other side, the fury of the storm buffeted her, almost forcing her to her knees. Aventine could barely see the length of the open hall through the swirling rain. The emperor’s throne was hidden by the squall. In the middle of the long arcade, striding through the tempest unfazed, she saw a thin, white assassin.
“No!” Aventine shouted into the storm. She surged forward, digging hard into the wet floor, trying to propel herself forward faster than she had ever run before. Ahead of her, the assassin disappeared from view, swallowed by the wind and rain. Aventine drew her daggers as she ran, pouring her power into the weapons. Raindrops sizzled as they struck the burning blades.
White columns flashed past—the stinging rain pelted her face. The awesome power of the storm surrounded her. A hundred feet below, the furious sea hammered the cliffside. As she crossed the center of the great hall, the emperor’s throne appeared before her, protected from the tempest in its sheltered alcove. Emperor Pontius was in the grip of the assassin, pressed back into his throne by the creature’s weight. With fingers as strong as steel, the pale killer throttled the emperor with its left hand—in its right a dagger glinted.
Still twenty paces away, Aventine watched, helpless, as the assassin plunged the dagger into Emperor Pontius’s stomach. Again, and again the creature stabbed, his pale arm a blur. Emperor Pontius’s body shook with the repeated blows, convulsing in pain. The assassin grabbed a fistful of the emperor’s hair and jerked his head back, exposing his bare throat.
Now ten paces away, Aventine bellowed, hoping to distract the creature before it opened the emperor’s neck. The thing’s elongated head snapped around to look at her. When its eyes found her, it grinned, bloodless lips peeling back from huge yellow teeth.
Aventine did not slow—she charged up the steps to the throne and lashed out with her daggers, throwing one in a deadly arc straight at the assassin’s hideous face. Faster than she could have believed possible, the creature released Emperor Pontius and leaned sideways. Her burning dagger slashed through the air next to the assassin’s head.
After dodging her attack, the pale killer lunged forward, ducking under the glowing chain attached to her airborne dagger. The assassin slammed his blade into Aventine’s exposed torso. Already damaged from her previous encounter, the armor gave way with a sickening crunch. Aventine gasped as six inches of steel pierced her stomach.
The assassin did not stay within range of Aventine’s rune-enhanced blades. Having drawn blood, he dodged her weak counterattack and darted to stand behind her below the throne. Aventine turned on the steps, reaching one hand down to feel the jagged hole in her armor. She lifted her fingers up to her eyes—they were covered in blood. Behind her, Emperor Pontius choked and wheezed, struggling to draw a breath.
Shock crept over Aventine. A cold weakness gripped her in its talons. Ten feet away, the assassin watched her in curiosity, like a predator who knew it was only a matter of time before its prey was too weak to resist.
Aventine took a step down the stairs and stumbled. She let her twin-daggers go dark. A heartbeat later, she let them fall from her limp fingers. They clattered on the stone steps, falling to lay on the floor at the assassin’s feet.
He looked at the daggers and then back up at Aventine. When he glanced down, she palmed the runestone she carried in her satchel. It was small enough that she could hide it in her hand. With her daggers discarded, she could power the runestone in their place. She took another step, this time missing the stair and tumbling to land on her knees beside her discarded weapons. It was not hard to pretend to be dying—she felt like she was. The runes on Aventine’s armor still glowed yellow from Alypia’s runestone. If those went out, she had no chance.
On her knees before the assassin, Aventine looked up at the creature. She coughed and was surprised to find blood on her lips. The sight of blood must have been enou
gh for the enemy, because he stalked forward, his dagger held low at his hip. He reached out, gripping the top of Aventine’s head by her hair. Before he delivered the killing blow, Aventine surged to her feet, wrapping both arms around the assassin’s thin chest. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she locked her hands behind the pale killer’s back and squeezed with every ounce of strength she had left.
The creature struggled, arms and legs flailing against Aventine’s rune-enhanced strength, but Alypia’s casting held him fast. Before the assassin overpowered her, Aventine powered the green runestone hidden in her palm. As if inscribed by an invisible hand, green runes ignited in flowing lines on her armor. In response, the armor tightened in on itself, shifting and solidifying into an unbreakable second skin. Locked in her arms, compressed by her enhanced strength, the assassin started to scream.
Aventine felt ribs crack. She squeezed harder, crushing the creature into her chest. The thing thrashed, biting at her face with its huge teeth. She felt the assassin’s dagger stab into her back, trying to penetrate her now invulnerable armor. With one final burst of strength, Aventine snapped the assassin’s spine. Blood spilled from his mouth. The light in his dead eyes went out, and he slumped in her arms.
Not trusting that the thing was dead, Aventine waited to a count of ten before opening her arms. When she released the pale body, it dropped to the wet stone in a pile of gangly limbs. She took a step back and almost passed out. The runestone in her hand went dark, and her armor returned to normal. She cried out in pain as the wound in her side lost the support of the hardened armor.
With the assassin dead, Aventine turned and rushed to Emperor Pontius’s side. Slumped in his throne, he still lived, but she knew he had lost too much blood. He would be dead before she summoned aid. Tenderly, Aventine raised him into a sitting position so that he could die with dignity. There was nothing else she could do. She collapsed on her knees next to the throne, looking out across the great hall. Sheets of rain swept through the arches as the storm pummeled the cliffside.