* * *
Fadan strode across the palace, adjusting the leather straps of his vambraces. It had been a while since he’d worn a full suit of armor, and every single piece of it either felt itchy, too tight, or both.
“I said I refuse!” Sabium barked, chasing after the prince.
“This is not your student speaking to you, Lord Larsa, it’s your Prince.”
Their steps echoed as they entered the great hallway of the palace, Legionaries saluting as they passed.
“But I’m still just a magic tutor, not a liege lord. What do I know of ruling a city?”
Fadan halted and spun to face the old mage. “You’re are the rightful Duke of Niveh. Act like it!” He resumed his stride, and two servants opened the double doors at the other end of the hall at his approach.
“I abdicated in favor of Alman when I joined the Academy,” Sabium argued. “I was five! I was never trained for this sort of thing.”
“Unfortunately, Alman is dead.” The Prince stepped through the doors, the sun welcoming him outside. Before him, a grand staircase lead down to the courtyard, where Phaedra, Vardrada, and the other officers waited atop their horses.
“And this isn’t Niveh!” Sabium retorted, following Fadan down the steps.
“No, it’s Aparanta,” the Prince said, taking the reins of his horse from a page. “An imperial province. Which is why I’m nominating you as its Governor.”
“But why? It makes no sense.”
“Because I trust you.” Fadan turned to Sabium and added in a low voice. “I can’t leave the city in the hands of Varinian’s bureaucrats. I need someone I can trust.”
“But I… what do I do?” Sabium muttered.
“You’re overthinking this.” Fadan mounted his horse, his long blue cape covering the entirety of the animal’s thighs. “Start by fixing a single problem. Just one. Then take it from there.”
“This is my third day in this place. I have no idea what problems the city has!”
Fadan smiled. “There’s your first move, then. You find out.”
Sabium sighed but seemed to lose the will to protest, and Fadan turned his horse towards the courtyard’s exit. Two maniples formed a corridor leading to the gate, their silver armor gleaming under the sun. The rest of his Legions awaited outside the city, mobilized and ready for war.
Fadan kicked the haunches of his horse, sending it into a trot. “Prince’s own!” he shouted.
Two hundred fists smashed against the steel plates on their chests.
“We march!”
* * *
Doric paid the vendor and handed a packet of roasted chestnuts to Emrys, another to Hagon, keeping a third one to himself. They stepped away from the stall, navigating the thick crowd around them.
A young couple, locked in a deep kiss, bumped into Emrys, nearly tumbling to the ground. The lovers escaped the fall, but Emrys’ chestnuts didn’t, rolling over the muddy street. The couple fled, giggling, and Emrys watched them dissolve into the crowd with a murderous glare.
“Easy there,” Doric told him. “We’re supposed to be having fun, remember? Mingle.”
Emrys crunched the brown paper that had once contained his snack and threw it to the ground. “I wasn’t even hungry anyway…”
Hagon chuckled while Doric offered Emrys some of his own chestnuts, which the mage promptly declined.
They were in a wide plaza presided over by the Grand-Palace of Pharyzah—Margeth’s palace. Separated by a tall, steel fence resembling an arms rack packed full of spears, the gardens around the palace were as empty as the plaza was crowded. People sang, danced, and drank as if all the problems in the world had simply vanished and nothing but euphoria remained. Doric couldn’t help but feel like these people had figured out the greatest secret in existence. This was how life was supposed to be.
“I can’t believe how lucky we got,” Doric said.
“I wish I could share your enthusiasm,” Emrys muttered.
“I’m serious. With everything going on in the city, it’ll be far easier to infiltrate the palace.”
“And you say this based on your vast experience in these sorts of operations?” Hagon asked.
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re celebrating ahead of time,” Hagon replied.
“And you’re making assumptions,” Emrys added. “We don’t even know the empress is being kept in the palace.”
Doric seemed to deflate a little. “I’m sure Margeth would want to keep such an important prisoner close to herself.”
“Probably,” Emrys conceded. “In any case, we don’t have the time to develop a network of informants, so we’ll have to breach the palace regardless.”
“Meaning I was right,” Doric said, smiling. He aimed a finger at the palace’s main gate. “Look.”
Five soldiers stood guard, the crowd keeping a healthy distance between them despite the overall chaos. A group of three men in bright, colorful clothes approached the guards. One was carrying a mandolin slung across his back, another was hauling a heavy-looking harp while the third held a couple of flutes in each hand. After a brief inspection, the guards waved them through the gate.
“See,” Doric said. “There’s a party going on inside the palace as well. We have a way in.”
“You want us to disguise as the help?” Emrys asked as if the notion was somewhat nauseating.
“As the entertainment,” Doric corrected. “We steal some instruments—somewhere—and we pretend we were hired to play at the palace.”
Hagon scratched his chin. “It’s not a bad idea, actually.”
Emrys rolled his eyes. “It’s needlessly convoluted. How many times do I need to say this? I could just do it all by myself. It’s really not that hard.”
“You’re just saying that because you hate everyone and want to be alone.” Doric motioned his head to the left. “I see Debra. Come on.”
The mage sighed and followed Doric through the crowd, Hagon right behind him. Debra and Andon waited for them, eyes swinging around as if scanning every single face in the throng around them.
“Found anything?” Doric asked.
She shook her head. “Not really. The eastern side seems to be just a long, flat wall. Guards every couple of feet. We’re not getting in through there.”
“The north and west is no good either,” Andon added. “There are barely any side doors and the ones we found are heavily guarded. You?”
“I think I have an idea, yes,” Doric said, enthusiasm seeping into his smile.
Debra nodded absently, her eyes lost in the crowd. “We should find a quiet place to talk,” she suggested.
“Hey, no need to get so excited!” Doric teased.
It was like she didn’t even hear him. “Come on, let’s go.”
Doric shrugged, ignoring the intense look on Debra’s face and complied, piercing the mass of carousing people. He made his way towards one of the plaza’s exits.
After a few feet, Debra said: “Okay, don’t look now, but you three have picked up a tail.”
“What?” Doric nearly spun around, but Debra’s hands stopped him.
“I said don’t look!”
“Who…?” Doric stopped himself, then added in a whisper, “You think it’s one of Margeth’s people?”
“I guess we’ll have to find out.”
* * *
A cold, salty breeze slashed across Fadan’s face. He could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs to the east. Beneath his feet, the ancient stone of the Castran Gate was worn and uneven. He placed his hands over the battlement and leaned forward, peeking down at the muddy road crossing under the wall.
“It’s beyond ironic that the Castran Gate doesn’t actually have one,” the Prince said.
“The Sappers will begin repairs within the hour, Your Majesty,” Vardrada said. “The gates should be up before nightfall.” She stood next to Fadan but was staring in the opposite direction, where their Legions kept pouring over the hills.
“What ab
out those?” Phaedra was hugging herself in a feeble attempt to stave off the cold and pointed quickly at a v-shaped hole in the wall about the size of a small house. There were two others just like it further to the west.
“That… will take longer,” Vardrada admitted.
“How much longer?” Fadan asked. “A week? A month?”
“Yes,” the General replied.
Fadan and Phaedra exchanged a shocked look.
“Merciful mother, General…” the Prince said. “This was supposed to be a fortress, not a ruin.”
“The Castran Gate was devastated during the Thepian Revolt,” Vardrada explained. “Neither your grand-father nor your father ever saw the need to repair it.”
“Good call,” Phaedra muttered.
“You didn’t think to tell me this before?” Fadan asked.
The General stared at her marching troops in silence, as if inspecting a parade. “I always said we needed more time.”
“Because of the reinforcement situation, not because of…” Fadan waved his arms around, “this!”
“We have solutions for this sort of problem. Our Sappers are experts at Earthworks. It’s hard work, but as long as the enemy is not here, we can commit all of our men to the project. The holes will be plugged. You have my guarantee.”
Fadan took a deep breath. “Okay, then.”
“I’ll be sure to send some of the non-combatants to restore the towers and castles along the wall as well. In the meantime, I would suggest that Your Majesty take residence in the main tower. Now, I should get down there and coordinate with my staff.” Vardrada smashed a fist against her breastplate. “By your leave.” She marched off, heading toward the wall’s staircase.
“General,” Fadan called.
She halted and looked over her shoulder.
“You supported me when no one else was brave enough to. I appreciate that you understand our odds even better than me and that you know what you’re doing, but going forward, you will need to keep me better informed.”
Vardrada turned so that she was facing the prince and bowed low from her waist. “Understood, Imperial Highness. It was not my—”
Fadan raised a hand, interrupting her. “That’ll be all.”
The General nodded, then skipped down the stairs.
Left alone with Phaedra, Fadan exhaled loudly and returned to the battlements, looking over the plain stretching in front of the fortification. He could picture Intila’s troops marching out of the treelines and charging towards them. Thousands upon thousands. Enough to cover the whole ground.
“You surprise me sometimes.”
Fadan looked at Phaedra and blinked, waking from his reverie. “What?”
She smiled. “Never mind.”
* * *
“Go! Move!” Debra hissed, pushing Doric forward.
The crowds were getting thinner as they drew deeper into the alleys of Pharyzah’s old town, but it was still hard to keep up with Debra’s brisk pace without barrelling into someone every couple of feet. Luckily, most people were having far too much fun to be bothered by some bumps on the shoulder.
“When I say, turn left,” Debra commanded.
Doric nodded and kept pushing through the crowd.
“Now!”
Pushing an old man aside, Doric turned a corner into a tight back alley, ignoring the man’s protest. The alleyway was squeezed between two, three-story high buildings, and could barely accommodate two people abreast, which explained why it was completely empty.
“Are we still being followed?” Doric asked, looking over his shoulder.
“I think so,” Andon said. He was bringing up their rear.
“Just keep going!” Debra insisted.
A similarly narrow backstreet cut the alley half in what had to be the smallest crossing Doric had ever seen. “Straight ahead?” he asked.
Instead of replying, Debra grabbed his sleeve and halted in the middle of the crossing. “You three,” she said, pointing at Andon, Hagon, and Emrys. “Over there.” She turned to Doric. “You’re with me.”
They split, each group taking one of the crossing’s flanks. They all shrank back against the moldy, wooden walls. Beside Doric, Debra drew a knife.
Oh dear… he thought, the weight of his father’s sword suddenly growing at his waist. Closing his eyes, Doric grabbed the sword’s handle and started to draw it, but a hand stopped him. Reopening his eyes, he saw Debra shaking her head. Yeah, probably a good idea. He shoved the weapon back into the scabbard.
On the other side of the crossing, Hagon and Andon had also drawn weapons and a blue aura was pulsing around Emrys.
Footsteps sloshed in the mud, breaking through the echoes of the distant revelry. From the sound of it, it seemed like there was just one pursuer.
Just one person, Doric thought. Surely it would be no threat.
Right?
The footsteps slowed, then stopped altogether.
Crap! He knows we’re here. Wait, what if he calls reinforcements?
“Doric Auron!”
The name echoed five-fold in the alley.
Debra stared at Doric, mystified. What the heck? she mouthed.
Doric shook his head, shrugging. How in the world should he know?
“You don’t know me, but I know you.” It was a woman’s voice. Arreline accent. “You’re looking for your wife. I can tell you where she is.”
* * *
The wall of the Castran Gate stretched for one mile. A castle stood on each of its ends, one over the cliffs of its eastern edge, and another at the base of the Asterian mountains to the west. A single tower stood at the very middle of the wall, rising thirty feet into the air until it ended diagonally, revealing a cross-section of its interior as if a gigantic axe had sliced off its top.
The tower’s state of decay was even more apparent from the inside. Dirt and bits of masonry covered the floor at the ground level while dust covered everything else. Instead of shutters, thick cobwebs waved in the wind on every window, and some cheeky climbing plants had even made their way into the building. Fadan and Phaedra had to climb up to the fifth floor to find a walled room whose door was still standing.
The space was small but had a hearth in one corner. On the other hand, it didn’t have window shutters or curtains to stave off the cold wind.
“I suppose this will do,” Phaedra said, walking into the room. “I’ve slept in worse places. I’ll get us some wood and we can sleep by the fire.”
Fadan’s eyebrows shot up. “We?”
Phaedra turned to face him. “Is there a problem?”
“Problem?” Fadan blinked twice. “No. No problem.”
Phaedra rolled her eyes. “I can sleep outside if you prefer.”
“No, of course not!” Fadan’s hands flailed around. “We can sleep right here. By the fire. As you say.”
Shaking her head, Phaedra turned and made for the door. “Don’t worry, your innocence is perfectly safe with me. I’m sure I can resist the temptation.”
“What? No, that’s not…”
She was out the door before Fadan could finish.
Goddess damn it! Exhaling loudly, the prince stepped over to a window. It faced north, so he could see the wide plain beyond the wall. Once again, his mind conjured up the image of thousands of Legionaries marching across the field, and he shook his head to force the thought away.
It’s alright. Let them come. We’ll be ready.
He stepped away from the window, once more inspecting the appalling condition of his new bedroom. His and Phaedra’s. The thought set butterflies loose in his belly.
A horn wailed from above and he shuddered at the blast of sound. Confused, Fadan raced back to the window and peeked outside. The horn sounded once again, and then again, becoming more urgent. He heard gasps and looked down to the wall. Soldiers were climbing up to the ramparts and looking into the distance, covering their eyes and pointing to the north. Fadan followed their arms and a cold hand wrapped around his spi
ne.
To the northeast, by the treeline, the silhouettes of three horsemen circled themselves, keeping their excited mounts from going any further.
Merciful mother… Fadan thought. Scouts!
17
The Threshold
Aric turned on his side, coughing up salty water and gasping for air.
“He’s alive!” someone shouted.
As the last dregs of water cleared his lungs, Aric managed to finally take a deep breath, but it felt as if there was no air around him to inhale. He breathed in again urgently, lungs aching, and a soft hand touched his shoulder.
“It’s alright. Relax,” the voice said soothingly.
Aric turned further, stopping on his back, gasping desperately. Several blurry shapes floated around him. He pointed at his chest, his attempts to draw breath seeming to somehow fail.
“I know it feels like you can’t breathe, but please relax.”
With a couple of blinks, Eliran’s shape came into focus, then Lyra’s, then Leth’s. The mage moved her hand to Aric’s cheek. The warmth of her palm alone calmed him significantly.
“I need you to trust me,” she added. “Just keep breathing. Nothing will happen to you.”
Aric obeyed and breathed mechanically. His lungs kept begging for air as if they had been replaced by a hollow cavity, but he somehow kept functioning. If anything, his senses grew sharper and he propped himself up on his shoulders, wet sand shifting beneath him.
“Good, that’s good.”
As his heart slowly steadied in his chest, Aric inspected his surroundings. They were on a beach beneath the dark clouds of a twilight sky. The air felt unnaturally still, no wind blowing as if they were inside a locked basement. However, out at sea, a storm raged, flashes of lightning dotting the horizon. He looked over Eliran’s shoulder and saw several more people, some sitting or lying on the sand, others dragging all kinds of debris from the water.
That’s when his eyes widened. The Heron, or rather, its forward half, loomed in the middle of the beach, waves washing into its bowels through the open cross-section.
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