“My sword,” he said, scowling. “You lie, Sargonaut.”
“I’m not lying. Look at my eyes. I know where you can find Aikon.”
Iolus studied Hekesh’s face for a moment, and then his eyes widened. He grabbed Hekesh and pulled him close.
“Take me there. Take me now!”
CHAPTER 59
T he storytellers had good reason to call her Champion of the Breeze.
Alexandra cut across the sky, her wings stretched out to their fullest.
She hadn’t flown like this since the war. The air was cold silk against her skin, and the fluttering of her clothes reminded her of the flags she and Maximus had flown in the days when they had both been leaders of the Forge.
She was careful. Whenever a carriage full of the emperor’s soldiers came within sight, she would take herself skyward into the clouds and disappear in that smoky whiteness until her intuition told her the carriage had disappeared.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when she finally saw the section of mountainside so familiar to her, just beyond the blighted spread known as the Nardgrillax Peaks.
A secret valley lay down there, in a crevasse—a valley of trees and bushes and grass that looked, in her memory, like an emerald of purest green embedded in all that rock, built to thrive and bear fruit even in winter. Magic kept it invisible from those flying overhead, but Alexandra knew that magic. She knew it well enough to see right through it.
There—just as she remembered.
She tilted her wings and plunged downward with the speed of an arrow. The ends of her hair whipped in the wind. Her feathers trembled. She was almost there.
Then the anxiety hit her.
What if the valley was empty? What if they had all left?
She crossed her fingers the way Emma had shown her once, for good luck. Sweet Emma, so innocent and small, and Milo with his bushy hair and brown eyes and his habit of looking down whenever a girl spoke to him. She was so close to being with them again.
But not yet.
The air warmed as she glided into the valley in a zigzag pattern. It was darker, moodier down here. The mountain silence—broken only by the occasional hollow thump of a falling boulder—calmed her, but also made her nervous. The place felt dead somehow, despite all the greenery.
She perched in the shadow of a small cliff overlooking the valley. The setting sun threw light in at an angle that reached halfway down the wall to her right. The valley itself was shady and quiet. She saw no traces indicating that men lived here, which might have been a good thing, unless they were all dead.
Maybe they were in the tunnels.
She tipped her head back, opened her mouth, and let out a primitive-sounding call that hadn’t come from her throat in decades.
“Aiiiiiiiiii-yaaaiiiiiiiiii-yaaaiiiiiiiiii-yaaaa………!”
Silence.
A shred of wind gusted down from the sky and bashed itself against the mountain, dislodging stones that fell somewhere she couldn’t see. Crack-crack-thud.
Then, in the distance, the white and gray figure of a man appeared from a grove of trees.
Alexandra didn’t recognize him. She didn’t expect to. In the nearly two decades she’d spent on Earth, the men and women of her army could easily have experienced their own changes and setbacks. It was even possible that the little man in the gray shirt, who was too far away for his face to be anything but a small, featureless oval, was not a member of any sort of rebel cause. He could have been an invader, or a tourist who had found his way into the mountains and had gone back to spread the news of this beautiful, hidden little valley.
The man howled up at her, lifted his arms, and began to jump in excitement. Alexandra’s heart swelled.
She jumped off the cliff, letting her wings grasp the air. As she glided down to the valley and the man grew larger and larger with the shrinking of the distance between them, she saw—with a swell of pure, ecstatic joy—that he was Arkanaeus Fellim, a man she had once trusted with her life. He had been a general in her army during the uprising, and one of Max’s most trusted friends.
Her bare feet landed on wet grass. It was warm down here, almost tropical. Insects buzzed all around her. The smells of rock and moisture and living, breathing earth filled her nose. It was the closest thing to being home.
Arkanaeus clasped his hands together against his chest and approached her. She caught sight of his striped orange-and-black tail. His eyes were a pale orange, the color of a tiger’s fur. He had something strapped to his upper body. A conch. It dangled behind one shoulder.
“I don’t believe it,” he said. “It’s a miracle. A miracle!”
“Arkanaeus,” Alexandra said. “Old friend.”
When they were only a few feet apart, the man formed a pyramid with the fingers of his right hand and touched his forehead. Alexandra smiled. It was a salute she and Max had created for the rebels—a tribute to that glorious thing which lets us all be like gods.
Our minds.
“Light guide your step,” he said.
“And yours. Rise, Arkanaeus.”
He rose, puffing up his chest and smiling at her. His tiger’s eyes were moist. Age lines creased his face, many more than when she had last seen him. His hair was gray at the temples.
“We thought you were dead, Zandra.”
“I was,” she said. “But I came back. My husband, however…”
She looked down and away.
“I understand,” Arkanaeus said. “And your children?”
“You know about them?”
“We’ve all heard the rumors. A boy and a girl. Twins. Some say it’s in line with the ancient prophecies.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe in prophecies, Ark, only the will to change things. We have to rebuild the Forge. We have to give the people of the empire hope. I believe my son and daughter can help us someday, but right now they are in serious danger.”
Arkanaeus saw the look in her eyes and stiffened. She could tell that he was clenching his teeth.
“Iolus,” he said.
She nodded.
Arkanaeus unslung the conch and put it to his lips. He breathed air into his chest and released it, sending a low but powerful HAROOOOOOO into the air.
He let go of the conch and grinned at Alexandra.
Alexandra smiled, a bit confused. “What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
Men and women appeared from the northern end of the valley, having emerged from hidden doors and passages. They clung to the trees and stayed behind the bushes, but she could see the fearlessness in their eyes. The years had not been kind to them, and instead of battle-hardened faces, she saw ones that had been toughened by the grueling process of surviving in the mountains.
Then those faces changed.
Eyes widened, mouths opened in wonder, lips moved as people breathed words of astonishment. A small tornado brushed up against Alexandra, and she looked down to see that Arkanaeus had disappeared. In his place was a large, sleek tiger with fiery orange fur and eyes that seemed to burn like glowing coals. He looked up at her, twitched his whiskers, and let out a deep, satisfied growl.
Alexandra smiled at him and then cast herself upward with a single flap of her wings, up into the shower of sunlight angling into the crevasse. She spun in that golden light like a top, smiling and stretching her arms, extending her wings as far as they would go. Then, feeling as weightless as one of her own feathers, she let herself descend to the earth where her naked feet once more met the grass.
She made a pyramid with her fingers, exactly as Arkanaeus had done, and touched it to her forehead. Her eyes were on the men and women staring at her from the trees.
She called to them: “Light guide your steps!”
The valley erupted in cheers. Small girls and boys were lifted onto their fathers’ shoulders to get a better look. Acolyte teenagers who had read about Zandra, Champion of the Breeze, in illegal comic books, began to whoop and beat the air wit
h their wings. A few Feral men phased into birds so they could fly up and get a better look, as they had heard of her legendary beauty. The legends were true. Alexandra’s hair was long and full, her body slender and strong. When she lifted one arm for silence, the voices quieted.
Arkanaeus was on all fours by her side, sleek and savage in his tiger form. She reached down and opened her hand. He lifted his feline snout and nuzzled her fingers, then dipped his chest and bowed.
“I am deeply, deeply grateful,” Alexandra said.
He let out a low purr. A crowd had gathered in front of them.
“Thank you again for coming,” Alexandra said. “But I fear I bring ill news, about a boy and a girl who are in incredible danger, and who need the help of the bravest army Astros has ever known…”
CHAPTER 60
I olus stood in open-mouthed wonder.
They were in the belly of a deep mine. The descent had been perilous, full of low tunnels and crumbling bridges that arched over deep pits. There were times when Basher had not been able to follow, his body too big to squeeze through the narrow openings. Iolus had solved the problem by blasting the stone apart, causing more than one avalanche. By the time they reached their destination, Coscoros’s and Leticia’s faces were pale and covered in sweat.
“There she is,” Iolus said. “My prize.”
Aikon lay on a stone altar in the center of the cavernous room. Torches lined the walls, lit by Iolus’s magic. They bathed the room in a hellish glow, and the sword, Aikon, seemed to drink the light into its shimmering blade.
“What’s so special about that thing?” Basher said, reaching back to grasp the handle of his warhammer. “Looks pretty flimsy to me. Like I could break it over my knee if I wanted.”
Coscoros shook his head in disappointment. “Idiot,” he said under his breath. Basher only scratched his beard in confusion.
Hekesh approached the altar. He was followed by Iolus, who grinned and clutched his hands together in anticipation.
“The gods are good,” Iolus said, circling his prize.
Basher nudged Leticia. “Explain this to me. What is it with that sword?”
Coscoros cut her off before she could speak.
“It’s one of the swords of legend,” he said. “Aikon can only be used by a Savant sorcerer. If one of us tried to touch it—well, the usual.”
“We’d get blown up?” Basher said.
“More like melted.”
Basher watched Iolus and frowned. “How can a sorcerer wield something that big?”
“He doesn’t—at least not in the traditional sense. The blade is made from Tiberian steel. Even you couldn’t snap that thing.”
“Tiberian,” Basher said. “The only metal that can pierce my skin. You tell him to keep it away from me.”
As they spoke, Iolus slipped his hands beneath the sword and lifted it closer to Hekesh’s torch for inspection.
“…Tiberian steel, aside from being spectacularly rare, has other properties that make it special…”
Iolus lifted the sword as if it were something dangerous and unstable that could blow up at any minute, yet the look on his face was one of pure satisfaction.
Leticia spoke in a grim voice. “This is going to change things.”
“Finish, Cos,” Basher said.
“I’m getting there.” Coscoros licked his lips, watching. “Sorcerers are adept at elemental manipulation—fire, water, earth, air, and metal. With enough effort, one trained in the art of levitation can move certain metals around, make them float, et cetera. Tiberian metal, the rarest of them all, is the easiest to command.”
“So,” Basher said, kneading his massive hands together. “What does that mean?”
It was Leticia who answered.
“Watch.”
Iolus lifted the sword above his head as if offering it in sacrifice. He then lowered his arms, but the sword, Aikon, hung suspended in the air.
Iolus stepped back. Hekesh did the same.
Bobbing gently, Aikon turned and aimed its point at Hekesh.
“Iolus, please—wait…”
“It’s all right, old friend. I’m just amusing myself.”
Iolus lifted his right arm and made a few quick motions with his hand. Aikon moved around the room like a hummingbird, dipping and rising, spinning and slicing as if wielded by invisible hands.
Basher ducked as Aikon flashed toward him. It stopped inches from his face.
Leticia—throwing gusts of wind around as she did so—phased into a beetle the size of a dog and scuttled behind a boulder. Aikon sought her out and playfully tucked its blade beneath her, then lifted, tossing her against the wall. Her beetle legs twitched. Iolus couldn’t contain his laughter.
“Hooo hoo ha ha ha…!”
Coscoros stood frozen in place as Aikon floated over to him and brought its sharp point an inch away from his heart.
“See that?” Iolus said. “I could slice through you like a knife through butter, like an arrow through a silk sheet, like a pin through a butterfly’s wings!”
“In that case,” Coscoros said. “I hope your aim is as bad as your metaphors.”
Iolus howled. “Oh, ho ho ho, good one!”
Aikon flashed out of sight. Coscoros breathed.
A gust of wind as Leticia phased back into human form. She walked over to Coscoros, rubbing her lower back. Her hair was in disarray.
“Bastard,” she said.
The sorcerer set his sights on Hekesh. Coscoros, Basher, and Leticia watched as Aikon floated toward the Sargonaut.
“He’ll tear him apart,” Coscoros said.
Hekesh spoke in a ragged voice as Aikon crept toward him.
“I helped you find your sword, Iolus. We had a deal.”
Iolus approached the man and the sword. When he was within reach of Aikon, he lifted his right hand and ran his fingers along the top edge of the blade. The sword never wavered, but steadily hovered in the air.
“This will be an honor for you,” Iolus said, giving Hekesh a serious look. “This is one of the swords of legend. How many can say they died by such a fine blade? Oh, wait, I’ve killed thousands with this blade. Never mind!”
Hekesh’s lips trembled as he spoke. “Fine. Take my life if you will, but leave this village unharmed. You gain nothing through meaningless slaughter.”
Iolus’s eyebrows shot down in a look of rage. “You think I have time to slaughter this gods-forsaken hole you call a village? I have better things to do.”
Hekesh bit back a response, his rage visible.
Iolus stepped aside. Aikon spun until it became a blur. Its whispery whup whup whup filled the chamber, throwing up dust. A tremor ran through the ground as the school, and all of its children, blew up in the distance. Aware of the slaughter, Hekesh closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
He screamed as Aikon tore him apart.
THE CARRIAGE CUT through the night clouds.
Leticia kept her gaze turned upward where she could use her Feral senses to monitor the sky, in case someone were to swoop down on them from above. Coscoros sat next to her, elbow hanging over the edge of the door. The wind cast strands of his and Leticia’s hair about, and made Basher’s beard twitch and shiver against his chest. Basher squatted in the back, too big for any of the seats. He kept his eyes on the yawning landscape. His eyes magnified the starlight, allowing him full view of all that crawled, walked, and sprinted below.
Iolus was the one most affected by the wind, and that was because he had chosen to drive the carriage despite his lack of experience. He stood behind the twin rows of levathons, reins in hand, arms stretched forward so he could lash the creatures onward. Aikon hung diagonally across his back. Every now and then, Iolus howled into the wind. Dark streaks decorated his pale face. He hadn’t bothered to wipe away Hekesh’s blood.
“There,” Leticia said, pointing at a light blinking in the distance. Another carriage, signaling them to land.
Basher peered into the distan
ce. “I see it, I see it,” he said. “You’re not the only one who can see in the dark.”
Iolus brought the carriage down through foggy darkness, toward a clearing in a forest of dead trees that resembled, from above, a hairy scab on the land. This was the Blighted Forest, and no man in his right mind would ever think to land here without—
—WITHOUT ME, Basher thought, smiling.
The Blighted Forest was like a second home to him. It was at times like these that he was glad he’d undergone the Dark Ritual to become a Berserker. He was about to meet his brothers. Hundreds of them.
Iolus tilted the steering rod and pulled on the reins. The levathons spread their black wings to catch the air and ease themselves down to the barren earth. The other carriage flew alongside them, full of soldiers. Basher grinned at them. They gave him baffled looks and then stared in shock at the clearing where they were about to land.
The only plant life down here was betrayeus weed, also called bad grass, which could survive in the winter and kill a man twenty seconds after touching his bare skin. It swayed in the breeze like sea anemones ruffled by ocean currents. Basher was immune to its poison, of course. Actually, he thought bad grass tasted quite good.
“By the gods,” the driver of the other carriage said as they landed. “Why are we stopping here? Are you mad?”
“Shut up,” Iolus said. He stood on his seat, probably so he could be taller than everyone else. “Have you found the ranch?”
“Sir,” said a robed man. He rose from the passenger seat and bowed his head. The robe’s heavy hood hid his face. When he lifted his right hand to salute, Basher saw that the man’s fingernails were long and curved. His skin was as white as paper and just as thin, over a network of veins visibly crisscrossing his bones.
A scout for the Low Order. A dark priest trained to move among shadows, poisoning his enemies, setting magical traps, causing blights and madness. Basher looked away as a foul taste entered his mouth.
The man continued in a snake-like hiss. “We have found a ranch to the north, protected by spells that Ezzrax has never seen. Ezzrax was unable to penetrate further and see for certain what the ranch holds, but he sensed many life forms within.”
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