by Sandell Wall
“The will of the gods often seems strange to mere mortals,” Monstur finally rumbled. “They set me on this path and I’ll not forsake it now. I will watch over these poor souls so that someday they might be liberated from their suffering.”
Remus turned to where Pikon and Promost Lister stood. “Are you with me, or against me?” he demanded.
“Peace,” Promost Lister said with a raised hand. “We will stand with you. You’re our best hope to stay free. You lifted a flying fortress from the earth, and now you have an army that will never waver or question your orders. If there’s any chance of resisting Savaroth, it’s with you.”
Satisfied that he was unopposed, Remus returned his attention to the runebound. He could sense their simple curiosity through the gauntlet. They awaited his command.
“Can your men build a ladder that will get us back up there?” Remus asked Pikon, indicating the castle courtyard above and behind them. There was no shortage of wood and rope lying about in the deserted refugee camp.
“That is within our means,” Pikon said. He barked a command to his men and they fanned out into the camp to gather materials. Within the hour the Ethari had assembled a crude but stout wooden ladder, rungs lashed together with rope.
When the ladder was in position, Remus moved to stand at its base. He started to send a command through the gauntlet to order the thralls into the fortress, but he stopped. Out of curiosity, he thought the command instead, keeping his fingers still.
“Climb. Enter the castle,” he sent out to the eight thousand waiting minds. The thralls responded instantly, stepping forward to obey his instructions. The successful experiment confirmed Remus’s suspicion. Somehow, he was able to communicate with the thralls directly—he did not have to command them with runes passed through the vessel stone.
Maybe it’s because I wear a circlet myself.
As the thralls filed past him, Remus pulled aside any who were unable to climb the ladder. These runebound were either too weak or too broken to fight. He removed the control circlets from the damaged thralls, placing the liberated runebound under Crell’s protection. When they were freed from their rune-imposed prison, the people fell to the ground in a stupor. A few were able to stagger away, but they did not get far before collapsing.
They might survive, but they will be of little use to anyone.
Of the eight thousand thralls, Remus estimated that a thousand would be left behind. Soon, the Black Citadel had swallowed the horde, and all that was left on the field was a mob of pitiful wretches who were free of their circlets for the first time in weeks.
Crell still sat on the ground where Monstur had placed him. He watched the procession of runebound enter the castle in silence. When the last thrall disappeared over the top of the ladder, he finally spoke.
“You possess more power than any man who has walked this earth before you,” Crell said, his voice grave. “Be careful. Power corrupts. Trust in the counsel of wise friends and do not ever forget your purpose.”
“I’ll not forget,” Remus said. “You won’t be able to hold the city with the gates breached. Don’t tarry here too long. You might find safety in the central empire.”
“We’d never make it. Here we’ll stay, and if fate decrees it, here we’ll die.”
“I’ll return if I can,” Remus said. “May fortune watch over you.”
“And you,” Crell replied.
Remus turned from the man and climbed up the ladder. Pricker, Monstur, and the Ethari had already returned to the citadel. Once he was back in the stone courtyard, Remus tossed the ladder down into the mud. He looked out over Umgragon one last time and then issued a command to the castle.
“Rise,” he said in his mind.
Responding to his desire, the great fortress shrugged off the clinging grasp of the earth and ascended into the sky. In the bowels of the castle, Remus could sense the runebound exploring their new home. He had an army now, and the awesome power of the Black Citadel was his to command.
As the castle rose higher into the air, Remus cast his gaze to the east. On the distant horizon, he could just make out the green treetops of the tyrant trees of the Wilds. The vision Savaroth had showed him flashed in his mind. A great and terrible enemy waited on the other side of of that forest, and Remus knew that while he had gathered astonishing strength to himself, it was not enough. The doom of mankind rose in the east like a black dawn.
Remus turned his back on the view. Their only chance of survival was to use the enemy’s own power against him. To do that, Remus had to learn what secrets the ancient castle held. His face set in grim determination, Remus entered the dark hallways of the Black Citadel.
Chapter 31
AVENTINE PUSHED HERSELF HARD as she ran through the streets of Amalt. The wound on her side burned, and when she pressed a hand to it, she gasped at the pain. The streets were deserted. Every refugee and citizen had gone to the walls to witness Narin’s execution. Holmgrim and Saffrin jogged beside Aventine.
“What happened to Alypia?” Aventine asked between breaths.
“She vanished,” Holmgrim said. “She was with us three streets back, but when I looked again, she was gone.”
“Damn. We don’t have time to stop.”
They reached Castle Solis without seeing another soul. Aventine slowed her pace to a brisk walk as they passed through the gate. Instead of entering the fortress proper, she led them into the Rune Guard barracks.
“There’s a passageway that connects the barracks with the prison,” Aventine said.
The long room was silent and still. A hundred neatly made bunks lined the walls. Wooden trunks, closed and locked, stowed the personal gear of the deceased Rune Guard. Aventine blocked out the desire to stop and stare. She could feel a great sorrow lurking in the core of her being, probing her weaknesses, hungry to consume her.
There was no time for that now. Aventine could still save her father’s life.
She left Holmgrim and Saffrin in the middle of the barracks and entered the small armory on the side of the room. After a brief search, she was able to piece together a suit of armor that fit her well enough. It was not her captain’s armor, and so the runes were basic, but it was better than nothing.
When she rejoined her companions, Holmgrim had her twin rune-daggers in his hand.
“We didn’t think it smart to leave them in your room,” he said, handing the weapons over.
Aventine accepted the blades gratefully. It would have been disheartening to leave them behind.
“And these are yours too,” Saffrin said. She unbuckled the sword she had been wearing and produced a dagger strapped around her thigh. They were Aventine’s runeforged blades.
“Keep them,” Aventine said. “You may need them, before this is over, and we should all be armed.”
Saffrin nodded and refastened the sword to her waist.
“Come on,” Aventine said. “The stairs down are this way.”
At the rear of the room, a stout wooden door secured the stairs down to the prisons. Aventine unbolted it and led them down the dark spiral staircase. At the bottom, a narrow passageway connected the barracks to the prison several hundred feet to the south. Every twenty feet, a small torch flickered in the cramped tunnel. Holmgrim had to stoop, the low ceiling preventing him from walking upright.
They found another closed door at the far end of the corridor. Aventine hoped it had not been secured from the other side. She pressed a hand against the door, testing it. Well-oiled hinges swung smoothly open without a sound—the door was not locked. She gestured for Holmgrim and Saffrin to stay quiet and then crept through the door.
On the other side, the prison was dark. Aventine could see two House Drackon guards sitting at the front of the large room facing the main entrance. Whoever had set them on guard duty had neglected to inform them of the passage connecting the prison to the barracks. A brazier provided light for the two guards, but the rest of the prison was hidden in darkness. To her right, a long
hallway of cells, each one secured by a door with a small, barred window, stretched into the shadows.
“We can’t risk them sounding the alarm,” Aventine whispered to Holmgrim. “They have to die.”
In answer, Holmgrim slipped his twin axes from his belt. “I’ll take the one on the right after you strike.”
Aventine stalked forward, placing each foot carefully as she tried to prevent her armor from clanking as she moved. Her twin daggers were in her hands, ready to flare into life and cut through the guard’s neck. She knew that if she did not drop him with one clean blow, the man might flee out the door and alert the entire city.
When she was ten paces from where the guards lounged, something gave her away. She did not know if it was a noise, her shadow, or simple bad luck, but one of the men jerked his head around and looked straight at her. They were on their feet in an instant. Aventine abandoned stealth and surged forward, her daggers igniting with rune-fire.
Before she could reach the guard on the left, one of Holmgrim’s axes streaked by her head and embedded itself in the other guard’s face. He dropped like a felled tree, dead before he hit the stone floor. The eyes of her target went wide with shock and terror. With his companion dead, the man decided to run.
Desperate to get away from Aventine, the guard flipped the wooden table over and shoved it into her path. Holmgrim’s second axe flashed out of the shadows, but this time his aim was off. The flying weapon glanced off the guard’s armored chest, cutting a nasty gash in his arm, but not slowing him down.
Aventine pushed the table aside as the guard bolted up the spiral stairs to the outside.
Damn it all.
She summoned what small strength her injured body had left to give and gave chase. But after the first two stairs, she knew she had no chance of catching the man. Her legs were weak, and pain shot up her side with each step. Just as she was about to give up and return to Holmgrim, she heard a shout and then a clatter on the stairs above her. Alarmed, she climbed to the next rise, and as she turned the corner she saw the dead body of the guard tumbling down the steps. Alypia stood ten stairs up, a bloody dagger in her hand.
Relief flooded through Aventine.
“By the abyss, you arrived just in time,” Aventine said. “We lost you in the city. Where did you go?”
“To fetch reinforcements,” Alypia said.
Behind Alypia, armored forms descended the stairs toward Aventine. Surprise and alarm surged through her, and she prepared to defend herself, but then she saw the first face. It was the Rune Guard squad she had led into the city to hunt Drathani assassins.
“You survived?” Aventine said in wonder.
“Aye, we’re still alive,” a grizzled, grim-faced veteran said. “We tracked and killed three more of those wicked creatures. Lost ten good soldiers for our efforts. We were in the city when someone activated the Bloodstar. Whole damned place went crazy. By the time we made it out of the chaos and back to the castle, you were unconscious and Commander Narin was captured. We were going to try to rescue the commander, but when we made contact with her, she ordered us not to.”
The man hung his head as if ashamed of not dying with Narin. “We think she was dying of her injuries and did not want us to throw our lives away. Alypia here told us we were the only surviving Rune Guard, so we returned to the city to hide until you woke up. She came to fetch us, said you were going to spring your father from prison. We’re here to help. Commander.”
Aventine’s eyes widened at the soldier’s last word.
“That’s right,” Alypia said. “As the last surviving officer, you’re now the Commander of the Rune Guard.”
Aventine shook her head, the idea too much to take in right now. “We’ll discuss that later. Right now we need to figure out how to escape from the city.”
“I can help with that,” the veteran said. “Follow me.”
The veteran tromped down the stairs to the prison. Aventine let the soldiers pass her by, counting how many of the squad still lived. Of the original twenty-five, twelve had survived. Holmgrim and Saffrin were surprised to see Aventine to return with a squad of armed soldiers.
“The last of the Rune Guard,” she said to her two companions. “They hid out in the city, waiting for me to wake. They’re here to help.”
Ignoring Holmgrim and Saffrin, the veteran Rune Guard soldier made for the small passageway that linked the prison to the barracks. He beckoned Aventine to follow him inside. Curious, she did so, and the soldier led her down the low corridor. Near the middle, he paused.
“The emperor thought the Rune Guard should have a way to come and go unseen,” the soldier said. He reached up and grabbed the torch that was held to the wall by an iron loop. With a sharp tug, he pulled the torch downward, and the metal loop came with it. When he released the torch, it returned to its original position, but as it did so, there was a low rumble in the floor that Aventine felt more than heard. She watched in amazement as what had been a solid wall of mortared stone hinged open to reveal a secret tunnel.
“Where does it lead?” Aventine asked, poking her head into the pitch-black opening.
“The tunnel travels several thousand feet through the rock the castle is built on,” the soldier said. “It exits in a cave on the beach below the cliffs. Not even the soldiers on the city walls will be able to see us leave.”
Aventine clapped the soldier on the shoulder, believing for the first time that they might get out of this alive. “The gods have not forsaken us.”
Confident they had a way out of the city now, Aventine returned to the prison. She walked down the long row of cells, looking for her father. Every cell was occupied, but she ignored the strangers. When she finally found her father, she choked back a sob. He had been brutally beaten. His limbs and chest were black and blue, and his eyes were swollen shut. Lying at the back of the cell, he looked like he had given up the will to live.
Aventine unbarred the door and dashed to her father’s side. She knelt and placed a gentle hand on his brow. He startled, his body spasming as he tried to sit up.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Aventine said. “It’s just me.”
“A-Aventine?” her father said. He cried, tears leaking from his crusted eyes. “I thought you were dead!”
“Not yet. I’ve still got plenty of fight in me. Can you stand? We’re getting you out of here.”
“Can I stand? Damnation girl, you’re alive! I could take on an entire legion.” He staggered to his feet, using the wall to help himself up. Huge even without his siegebreaker armor on, he towered over Aventine. Despite his enthusiasm, he was still weak—he teetered on his feet and had to lean on Aventine as he limped out of the cell.
Back in the hallway, Aventine was about to lead her father to the secret passage when a voice spoke from the cell opposite.
“So you were never Lady Saffrin’s bodyguard,” Sir Ignatius said. “You caused me a blasted lot of trouble.”
Aventine paused. Her father looked toward the sound of the voice.
“You were in league with the enemies of the emperor,” Aventine said. “You’ll find no sympathy from me.”
“So was your father, and yet you’re here to rescue him.”
“My father is not the lord of a great house. You are. I hold you as much responsible for the suffering visited upon the empire as I do House Lome.”
“Your daughter is as blunt and stubborn as you are, Varis.”
Varis smiled through his ruined face. “She gets it from her mother.” He turned his head toward Aventine. “We need him, Aventine.”
Aventine shook her head. “No, he’s dangerous. He wanted to be emperor himself. If not for his pride and ambition, Emperor Pontius might still be alive.”
“Of course he’s dangerous,” her father said. “He’s a lord praetor. And with the emperor dead, we need him even more. Someone has to sit on the throne and restore peace. Lady Athlain has already proven she’s going to kill anyone who opposed Emperor Pontius. If she becom
es emperor, she will hunt us for the rest of our lives. That you’re here rescuing me means that you’ve decided not to side with her. So who will you back to take the throne? There’s still a lot of bloody killing ahead—don’t think this is over.”
Aventine clenched her fists, not wanting to believe her father. “Is there no end to the fighting?”
Her father’s voice softened. “There’s always an end, be it in the afterlife or when the last enemy falls. But until that time comes, we have to do what’s best for the empire, and what the empire needs is a leader on the throne who will restore peace. The most capable man we’re going to find is locked in that cell in front of you.”
Leaving her father to lean against the wall, Aventine stepped forward to stand in front of Sir Ignatius’s cell. Through the bars in the door, his hard eyes glittered in the weak torchlight.
“Give me your word that you will only ever act with best interest of the empire and its people in mind,” Aventine said. “Promise me that your personal ambition will not cloud your judgment.”
“And if I don’t?” Sir Ignatius asked, his voice neutral.
“Then you’ll die in the morning at Lady Athlain’s hand.”
“That’s not much of a choice, but if it makes you feel better, I live and breathe for the empire. For the past ten years, Emperor Pontius relied on me to expand our borders and ensure peace within the realm. I never intended to defy him. I grew suspicious of his ability to govern, and sought to petition him to grant more power to the noble houses in case he proved unstable, but somehow he knew more about House Lome’s evil intentions than I did. He retreated behind the walls of Amalt before I was ever able to speak with him. I will go to my grave saddened that he died thinking me his enemy.”
Aventine reluctantly unbarred the door and stepped aside for the Lord of House Ramath. Compared to her father, Sir Ignatius was remarkably free of bruises.
“They did not beat you?” Aventine asked.
“They tried,” was all Sir Ignatius said in response.
As they walked down the hallway toward the escape route, the prisoners in the remaining cells called out to Aventine to release them. She ignored them, but Sir Ignatius stopped at a door on the right.