The Prince of the Veil

by Hal Emerson

  They crossed through the mouth of yet another road, this one lined with carved statues of ancient warriors, and Lorna’s eyes fell on a small rune, almost indiscernible in the darkness. It was etched into the base of a statue, and as they passed, she felt a thrill go through her, shocking her from head to toe and stealing her breath.

  Bloodmage trap.

  She opened her mouth to cry a warning, but before she could so much as utter a single syllable, one of the Kindred soldiers stumbled into the plinth on which the statue stood, and a bloody red light lit him from below.

  He looked down, gaping almost comically, until his head was removed from his shoulders. The entire street suddenly blossomed with light, bathing everything in waves of scarlet and ruby. Every single one of the marble statues, dozens in all, came to life and began to attack the Kindred.

  Primal fear fueled Lorna to strike at the nearest statue with her axe, but the Valerium blade glanced off, making a grinding noise that had her fearing the nearly indestructible metal would shatter like flawed glass. The statue swung its blade at her, nearly taking her head off, and she saw at least a dozen others do exactly the same to the Kindred surrounding them.

  Lorna dove for cover, and, as she did, saw Davydd still making his way across the road, dodging the statues. Imperial soldiers rounded the curve of the street and ran for them, shouting and brandishing swords. She stood and followed Davydd, dashing across the street and into the adjoining square, pulling deeply on her Aspect, gathering what endurance she could to help heal any injuries she might sustain. The Imperials clashed with the Kindred, rocking them back, and as Lorna turned to see what was happening, she collided head-on with one of the statues.

  Red light blinded her, and threw her backward as the statue exploded, taking down a huge patch of Imperial soldiers. Lorna picked herself up and, as mortal wounds in her side and neck mended themselves, she stared around, bemused. What Raven had said about the Aspects and the enchantments came back to her, and she knew what she needed to do. Turning, she ran to the next statue and dove for it. Both her bare hands grabbed hold of the smooth, flawless marble, and she bore the ancient warrior to the ground.

  Again, upon touching her rough skin, the enchantment broke, and this time she was close enough to see the rune itself lose shape and disintegrate, cracking the statue into a thousand volatile pieces. She was blown up and into the air, soaring twenty feet only to crash down into a heap of Imperial soldiers, sending several flying like broken dolls.

  She was up in a flash, and she could tell by the terrified eyes of the Imperial soldiers that her face and body were heavily wounded and healing rapidly. Raising her axe she struck out and cut them down where they stood, saving a number of Kindred lives in the process. More energy flooded into her – I’m just like Tomaz; the more I save, the stronger I become – and she turned and ran for where she had last seen Davydd.

  She managed to break two more statues before she caught up with him, and saw him break one himself, having figured out the same trick. They had both lost their horses somewhere, though Lorna couldn’t even begin to tell when or how. But they didn’t stop: with the Kindred soldiers still behind them, many of them fighting so viciously they were nigh unstoppable, they rushed on, racing against time.

  More evidence of destruction came with every twisting turn of the street now: more broken doors, shattered glass from windows, bodies, and even now screams from up ahead that had nothing to do with the fighting.

  Have they started it yet? Has the killing begun? Are we too late?

  They broke through to another square, this one bordered with even more impressive houses, though it contained no patrols. Looking up, Lorna found they were in the shadow of the Fortress itself.

  Davydd stopped and turned back, grinning wildly, infecting the Kindred who had made it through with them; their looks of beleaguered terror turned to mimicked smiles of daredevil exhilaration. Davydd pulled his head back and howled like a wild beast, and the Exiles around him shouted and cried as well, and as one they crossed the square at a dead run, rushing for the looming Fortress, more of them following along behind, trying to catch up.

  They’ll follow the Scoundrel and his Luck to the ends of the earth.

  The winding alleyways turned to a series of wide roads that intersected the circular center road and began to split into multiple levels. Soon the cries of the Exiles died off as they saw sights they hadn’t thought possible: buildings with walkways between them towering hundreds of feet in the air; multi-layered mansions that twisted and warped and hurt the eye; industrial complexes big enough to hold a thousand Daemons with room to spare.

  And as they went, more and more of their group found themselves drawn into battles with roaming Imperial squads. Lorna’s axe was bloody from blade to hilt, and she herself was splattered with the blood of enemies, friends, and her own oft-healed veins. Guardians attacked them from shadowed alleyways with no warning, archers shot at them from the walkways spanning hundreds of feet above them, and plain foot soldiers in roving bands attacked them from every angle.

  But they continued on, winning ground with every drop of blood they spilled, shouting defiance as one, each of them secure in the knowledge that if they fell they helped the others go farther; they helped, in their own small way, to bring down the very city itself.

  Death Watchmen, clad in the cast-off armor of their former selves, rose out of the shadows, no doubt summoned by the Empress herself to defend her tower. Guardians now roved in bands instead of soldiers, and Blade Masters, the most expert swordsmen in the entire Empire, commanded the forces arrayed against them. But Davydd and Lorna fought side by side, and, with the Aspects, won through every new challenge, following the road to the Fortress that only Davydd could see, the lucky path that would take them where they needed to go.

  They burst out into a courtyard that surrounded a small mansion, into which thousands of Commons were being forced. Roving bands of Guardians patrolled the edges of the square, and there were archers on the rooftop, waiting for such a thing as the Kindred to appear.

  Shadows and fire, we caught up to them.

  She took a step forward, and pain ripped through her with shocking force, as if a thousand shards of glass had cut across her body. Her stomach clenched and her heart stopped. A terrible certainty came over her, so sharp and cutting it almost blacked her out. She stumbled, and saw Davydd do the same beside her.

  Tym was dead.

  No – no, how can I know that? That’s impossible.

  But the feeling was undeniable. There was an emptiness in her as if something had been torn away, an emptiness that hollowed her out. The loss was so intense it was as if she’d lost a limb and was bleeding out.

  “No,” Davydd said beside her, stumbling forward. “No – not him!”

  The Kindred force came up behind them and surged forward, only pausing when they realized both Lorna and Davydd had stopped. The Imperial force had noticed them; Guardians were loping forward, unlimbering their two-handed greatswords.

  Lorna was so numb she couldn’t think, could barely remember to breathe. But Davydd’s face was a mask of fury, and he stood and shouted to the Kindred.

  “KILL THEM!” Davydd roared. “FREE THE COMMONS!”

  Lorna saw through clouded eyes Guardians pushing the people forward, cracking whips above their heads, forcing them through the large front door of the mansion, and her vision went red with the same fury that had taken Davydd over. Sound seemed to disappear, and all she could see were the tears streaming down the face of a sobbing Common woman whose child was being torn from her hands.

  Lorna remembered very little of what happened next, or how they won that battle, but when the clash of blades ceased, she found herself standing over a dozen hulking men that lay bleeding on the paving stones beneath her feet. She continued on, straight for the open mansion doors, and the Kindred followed her in a green and silver wave.

  Inside the doors was a clear path through the center of the
expansive mansion, one lined with torn clothing, discarded shoes, and the blood of those who’d resisted. Lorna followed it, the blood still pounding in her ears, righteous fury filling her to the brim. She crashed through bolted doors, overturning beautifully crafted tables and chairs that stood in her way, and found, finally, at the far end of the mansion, a wall that had been torn away to reveal a hidden passage.

  “Nice work,” said Davydd by her side.

  She grunted, and they moved down into the darkness, neither acknowledging what they’d experienced nor questioning how they knew what they did. There would be time to know if it was real after the battle – time enough then to count the dead.

  Not Tym … anyone but him.

  They found themselves in a large stone cavern, lit by wan torchlight that revealed a single passage in the central room that led down into the earth. They crossed the room, getting as many of the Kindred in through the faux-wall as they could before descending, telling the others to follow as they could, shouting back out the door orders to enter as quickly as possible and to bring any wounded inside to at least keep them safe.

  How many are left now? A few hundred?

  The subterranean tunnel continued on and down, straight as an arrow, for miles; screams, echoed and magnified, bombarded them from down below. Lorna tried to quiet her mind but found herself unable. They were racing as quickly as possible, and she was already out as far ahead as she could be without leaving the rest of them behind entirely, but it wasn’t enough. They were still too late.

  Halfway through the tunnel they encountered resistance, and Lorna felt like tearing at her hair in fury. The tunnel was only wide enough for two to stand abreast now, and because she was out front she killed almost all of them herself, staving in breastplates and helms with her axe. She didn’t even try to block the swords that pierced her side and bent and scratched her already ruined armor.

  She passed beyond, running, pounding the floor with steps that added to the tumult of noise. She knew they were getting closer: the screams had doubled. She passed over a dip in the floor, ducked under an overhanging rock, and the tunnel widened, opening into a funnel that led them directly to the Bloodmage cavern.

  The hollowed out space was bigger than Lorna could have imagined without seeing it. The area in the center of the gargantuan chamber was laid out in row after row of stone seats, carved out of the living rock. Everything seemed to glow with sourceless phosphorescence, perfectly highlighting the thousands of Commons that had been gathered by the Guardians of Lucien and led to a platform high above the rock seats. One by one, they were being led to one of a dozen Bloodmages who were standing between two enormous crystals that glowed with a blood red light. The Bloodmages forced the men and women to the ground, making them kneel before a third crystal, even larger than the other two.

  And as soon as their knees hit the floor, the Bloodmages used black onyx knives to slit their throats.

  Lorna watched, stunned into immobility, as a desperate man, eyes rolling in his head like a maddened horse or rabid dog, fought against the inexorable tide that led them up the walkway to the platform. He scratched and tore at those around him, attacking any and all living beings that he could see and touch, but it didn’t help him. The Bloodmages grabbed him, forced him to his knees, slit his throat to spill his blood across the crystal, and rolled his body off the platform. It fell, blood still spurting from his death wound, into a growing pile of bodies that rested in a pool of blood.

  “Monsters,” Davydd snarled from beside her.

  He ran forward, eyes blazing hatred, and Lorna followed. A dozen Guardians heard them and turned to meet them, trying to block their way, but between Lorna and Davydd they stood no chance. The rest of the guards, in the brown and red of Defenders, continued to whip and hack at the Commons, forcing them on faster. Lesser Bloodmages, those who weren’t on the platform performing the ritual, shouted words of power at the huddled, screaming masses, words that burned anyone who dared move in any direction but forward.

  Lorna moved toward them, ready to attack, but just as her bare foot fell on the cold, rough stone of the first step, the underground cavern seemed to shift around them, and a Bloodmage rune burned red and then disappeared beneath her.

  The walls changed in a way that made no sense, and holes opened where there hadn’t been any before. Guardians, each group headed by a Blade Master, surged into the cavern; Death Watchmen detached themselves from waiting shadows; shouts of surprise and terror sounded from the now-surrounded Kindred. The shadow armies of the Empress rushed forward, attacking the Kindred in waves, blocking the way to the Bloodmages who went about their grisly business.

  “Break the crystals!” Davydd shouted at her as he ran back toward the other Exiles. “Do whatever you need to do! It’s the only way to stop them – I’ll buy you the time!”

  He took off left, stepping into the center of the pathway down the side of the enormous rock cavern, and planting himself at the head of the Kindred between huge stalagmites that soared hundreds of feet into the air. The Imperials rolled forward, crashing into the exhausted Kindred, and they were lost from view.

  Lorna ran to the right, already knowing which way to go, having seen it as soon as she’d entered the cavern: a long row of stalagmites along the right hand wall that gave a concealed way to the bridge that arched to the central platform. She watched as another Commons was sacrificed, and then another.

  She caught a glimpse of Davydd as the tide of battle swept him away from her: he was fighting desperately to hold off both a Death Watchman and a group of Guardians. Lorna barely kept herself from running to his side.

  She reached the end of the line of stalagmites, turned inward toward the Commons, and cut down the two Bloodmages nearest her. The others turned to her, grabbing hold of their Soul Catchers, and shouted words of power that had no effect. She strode through them and cut them down one after the other.

  They turned and ran in fear, dropping their whips and shouting in fear. She turned to the Commons men and women huddled before her.

  “Run,” she rasped at them.

  They ran. She turned and continued on up the line, shouting out a challenge for the other Bloodmages to come stop her. She felt her neck and foot suddenly sprout arrows, and she tore them from her skin and ignored the coursing pain. She engaged a Guardian who’d come running for her, and though he fought with skill, her speed gave her the edge, and her axe cut him down.

  More Commons were running now, but not nearly enough. Almost a hundred or so had made it to over the edge of the amphitheater steps, racing for the tunnel to escape into the city, but thousands more were still being kept in check by Defenders, Guardians, and Bloodmages, one of which turned to her, crystal in hand, only to find his magic couldn’t touch her. Her axe swung forward and his chest split in two, ripping away his black cowl to reveal his bald and tattooed head, before he crumbled to the floor. She moved forward again, and found herself at the edge of the bridge that led to the platform. Bodies were still falling to the distant ground as the Bloodmages spilt more and more blood, working with frantic strokes, like butchers trying to meet their quota.

  Lorna shouted again for the Commons to run, and now the bulk of them were able to flee along the path she’d just cleared, giving her enough space to mount the bridge. But as soon as she set foot on it, every Bloodmage on the platform turned as one and began shouting words of enchantment at her, even as they continued to slaughter indiscriminately, throwing bodies into the pit where blood had begun to pool in astonishing quantity. Hissing, burning words flew at her as she approached, but they all passed over her like hot wind, momentarily ruffling her hair before passing on, ineffectual.

  She raised her axe and cut down the first man, sending his body into the abyss where he had recently sent so many, and then turned to the others. Eight of them attacked, drawing cruel daggers, even as the final three continued sacrificing the dozen or so Commons that she hadn’t freed. She cut them down easily, one b
y one, feeling a thrill of pleasure course through her as her blade ended them, but then one of them grabbed a Commons and raised his knife high in the air, trying to continue the sacrificing. Lorna dove forward, knocking him aside, but the blade pierced her neck, and she felt it lodge in her spine.

  The whole left side of her body went numb, and she stumbled to the ground. Her shoulder knocked the Bloodmage off the platform, gaining her time. She dropped her axe and reached up with her right hand, grabbing the knife handle, but it wouldn’t come free. She twisted it, trying to pull it out, and pain shot through her, red hot and blinding. She whimpered in pain and realized she had only succeeded in embedding the blade deeper.

  There were only three Bloodmages left, and none of them had paused. Their onyx daggers continued to spill blood, and, as Lorna watched, the baby she had seen outside, no more than six months old, was pulled screaming from its mother’s arms, and sacrificed. The tattooed face of the Bloodmage, half hidden by his black cowl, showed no remorse, no sign that he knew what he had done. Determination had set his square block of a jaw, and a light had infused his eyes that pulsed and throbbed in time with the blood red crystal around his neck. He dropped the tiny body over the side, and grabbed the mother by her long, brown hair.

  Lorna rose up, pushing herself to her feet with the working half of her body, rage forcing her past the bounds of human endurance. She grabbed the man by the throat and broke his neck with her bare hand, squeezing the life out of him, feeling the coarse black fabric dig into his soft, pale flesh.

  But the other two still continued. She realized now that they were chanting something as well, a string of words that seemed to electrify the air around them. They grabbed the mother, the final Commons on the platform, with frantic haste and held her over the crystal. She screamed once, but Lorna saw in her eyes that her heart had already stopped caring the moment her baby had been slain. The knives acted as one, and she died.