by Phil Tucker
"Thank you, Grandfather."
Little Zephyr bowed and gestured for Audsley to follow, and they hurried back out into the small courtyard. The two men were gone.
Little Zephyr closed the sliding door and gave Audsley a tight nod. "Well done."
Audsley shrugged. "Are we going to depart now?"
"Yes," said Little Zephyr. "We have only minutes before our defense gives way. Of course, we could immolate our attackers in black fire, but that victory would guarantee our ultimate defeat. So, we flee."
"And your grandfather? The others?"
"They will leave soon."
Little Zephyr hurried across the garden to the door on the opposite side, opened it, and entered a small room devoid of furnishings. The walls, floor, and ceiling were painted white, which in the light of the candles glowed ivory. A single archway stood embedded in the far wall, its interior alive with flowing black water.
The other doors to the chamber were open, and several men and women were hurrying forward to pass through the Portal. A number of them were august nobles, but others were mere scribes and servants; all of them were laden with chests and coffers, or were hauling packs and other forms of luggage.
They glanced at Little Zephyr and Audsley curiously but made no comment. An air of tightly controlled panic lay over them, and Audsley could understand why. Never in the history of the clan had they lost their estate. Who knew what ancient secrets lay hidden within these walls, what terrible truths might come to light, and in doing so destroy their power forevermore?
"Are you ready?" Little Zephyr turned to him and extended her hand, smiling in a manner almost innocent.
Audsley took her hand, and in that moment, it hit him that he had accomplished his goal. He had penetrated not only into the most inner sanctum of the Fujiwara, but was being taken to their hidden redoubt, invited to infiltrate the most rotten core of their operations. He was one of them, accepted by their grand master, sponsored and protected by a powerful member of their court. Their secrets would soon be his.
And yet, he felt no joy. No excitement. No thrill. The pleasure of discovery was gone, and in its place was an iron resolve to do anything and everything necessary to accomplish his goals. Was this evil, then? The acceptance of casualties, the willingness to accomplish one's objectives by any means?
Audsley nodded to Little Zephyr. No, this was not evil. This was simply pragmatism. If he'd lost his sentimental affectations, it was only for the best. From here on out, they would not hold him back. Nothing would hold him back. He would do justice to his sacrifices by wresting the darkest secrets from the heart of the Fujiwara.
Whatever it took.
"Yes," said Audsley. "I'm ready."
A wave of screams echoed down one of the corridors. He could hear someone running, harsh orders being yelled out. The Agerastians had clearly broken through.
"Come, then," said Little Zephyr. "Let me welcome you to Haugabrjótr."
And she pulled him toward the Portal, and he stepped into its dark waters.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Asho saw the troll approaching the rear ranks of the Ennoians. The cries and screams seemed to fade away as he took in its impossible size. It towered over the soldiers, a creature straight out of myth and legend, rangy and monstrous, its muscles standing out like tree roots along its shoulders and arms as it raised a sledgehammer high overhead and swept it down with devastating effect.
Everything fell into place in that moment. All doubt vanished, and a sharp and urgent imperative seized him. They had to escape. They had to break free of this death trap and make for the surface. More trolls were coming through the Portal, and kragh were lapping around their flanks. They had to flee or be massacred.
"Ser Cunad!" He ducked around a dueling pair, backed away from a charge, then sprinted past a knot of brawling Bythians. "Ser Cunad! Sound the retreat!"
There – a man in gleaming armor, his face splattered with blood, his golden hair refulgent in the green buglight. Ser Cunad looked almost disdainful as he cut down a Bythian youth, knocking his pickax aside and skewering him through the throat.
"Retreat?" The man almost spat the word. "We hold the Portal!"
Asho gained his side. "The Portal is lost! Look!"
Ser Cunad followed Asho's leveled blade and saw the troll raise its sledgehammer high once more. "By the Ascendant," he said. "What is that?"
"Death, if we don't get out of here!" cried Asho. Another troll stepped up to join the first, its hammer glistening crimson. "Sound the retreat!"
"We hold!" Ser Cunad's voice had become brittle. "This is my charge! I will not desert it!"
"Damn you, then!" Asho looked around wildly. Just then, the kragh smashed into their flanks from both sides, their roars overwhelming the human shouts.
Asho saw a Bythian woman turn to the massive, green-skinned monsters, her arms opening wide in welcome. She was an older woman, holding a simple staff in her right hand. The kragh came at her full tilt and buried his ax deep into her shoulder. She crumpled and was gone from sight.
The kragh hacked down Ennoian and Bythian alike. Asho yelled incoherently and shoved his way through the ranks of Ennoian soldiers to the front. The Bythians had fallen back in shock and dismay and were staring wild-eyed at their supposed saviors, who wasted no time in hacking their way into their ranks.
"Retreat!" screamed Asho. "Make for the surface!"
Those around him nodded dazedly and began to push back toward the ramp. Asho shoved at them and smacked their sides with the flat of his blade. He looked over his shoulder at the Portal. He couldn't see what was happening around its base, but it had finally died. The trolls had turned their attention to someone else and were no longer massacring the Ennoians. This was their chance.
"No!" The scream was torn from Shaya's very soul. "What are you doing? Stop!" She was only a dozen paces from him, and facing the kragh. She waved her arms and yelled something in kragh. It had no effect, so she dropped her slender blade, perhaps to show that she wasn't a threat, and ran toward them.
Asho screamed. The kragh here were normal-sized, not monstrous like Nok, but they still overpowered the Bythians with ease, nearly trampling them with their ferocious attacks. One shoved a Bythian man aside, cleaved through his upraised arm and crumpled his ribs, and then turned to see Shaya running toward it.
Asho was too far away to strike. In desperation, he hurled his sword overhand at the kragh as it raised its ax. The blade whipped tip over pommel past Shaya, smacked the kragh's chest and bounced off. Asho came right behind it. The moment's hesitation his blade had bought him was enough. He leaped off the ground and slammed both feet against the kragh's chest, driving all of his weight into the monster.
The kragh let out a deep whoof and staggered back as Asho crashed to the ground. But it didn't fall. It glared down at him, gripped its ax with both hands and stepped forward just as Shaya stepped in front of it, arms outraised, screaming in its language.
The kragh clearly didn't care. It began to raise its weapon, crazed with the desire for blood, and then a huge ax was buried in its head, splitting its skull and sinking right down to the thrapple.
Asho jerked his head around and saw Nok looming over them, his dark face scrunched in displeasure. With a jerk, he tore his ax free, and the smaller kragh fell bonelessly to the ground. Then Nok moved forward to stand in front of Shaya and face the oncoming kragh. He spread his arms and let loose a bellow of defiance, a thunderous roar that caused the other kragh to shy back in alarm, to part around him as if he were a boulder in a stream.
Shaya stood there, bereft. Asho leaped to his feet and seized her arm. "Shaya! We have to go! We have to get out of here!"
"Why are they doing this?" Tears filled Shaya's eyes. "They were meant to save us."
"We have to go! Call for the retreat!"
Nok grunted and swept his ax around, beheading a kragh that had come running at them. Its body fell with a heavy thud, head disappearing altogether.<
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"Tharok – I need to speak with Tharok –"
Nok took Shaya by the shoulder. His massive hand enveloped her from neck to upper arm, and he said something harsh and rough in his alien language.
Shaya blinked up at him and nodded. "Yes. Take me."
Nok raised his huge ax and let loose another bellow, then swept an arm around Shaya and lifted her clear off the ground. He began to pound his way toward the Portal. Kragh scattered around him, some of them tripping to get out of his way.
Asho yelled after Shaya, but it was too late. Cursing, he took advantage of the momentary lull caused by Nok's charge and yelled, "Retreat!" He pointed at the ramp. "Go!"
The Bythians saw Shaya leave them and as one turned to sprint up the ramp. The Ennoians, Asho saw, were still standing in place, battling kragh behind them. He couldn't leave them to be massacred. Desperate, he turned to plunge back into the fleeing Bythians, swimming through the mob to get back to the soldiers.
He tripped on a body and fell. Feet stamped all around him, some kicking him in the side or stepping on his legs. He'd fallen over the body of an Ennoian, the same sergeant Ser Cunad had sent to reconnoiter. There, on his belt – a curled bronze horn. Asho grabbed it, wrenched it free, fought his way to his feet, then climbed onto an outcropping of rock.
He raised the horn to his lips and blew the Ennoian signal for retreat.
His clarion call sounded sweet and urgent over the chaos of the melee, and the Ennoians heeded its command. As a mass, they shoved forward, shields held high, warding off kragh attacks as they followed the Bythians.
From where Asho was standing, head and shoulders above the battle, he saw a new wave of soldiers pushing the Ennoians on from behind – men and women in Aletheian armor, perhaps some fifty or sixty of them. The trolls were standing together in a tight knot beside the Portal, watching someone flee from their midst toward the Ennoians, a slender figure clad in green-enameled plate armor.
Across the battle, their eyes met, and it was as if for a moment Asho had reached out and touched the magic of the Black Gate. He felt it ride through him like a strike of lightning, a surge of elation, amazement, delight.
Kethe.
He reached for her without even thinking about it and sought to connect with her power, to open the channel that had empowered them both back on Mythgraefen. It was like trying to clutch at darkness. Nothing happened.
The kragh struck and hammered at their flanks as the Ennoians, Aletheians and Bythians surrendered the Portal and fled up the ramp. Asho remained on his rock, not wanting to lose sight of Kethe. Almost too late, he saw four kragh come at him from the side. With a cry, he dove off the rock, plunged into the last of the Aletheians, fell, rolled, and came up to his feet.
He was at the very rear of the humans. The causeway to the Portal stood open before him, littered with bodies. At its far end were the dead Portal and the four trolls. Before them stood a kragh of such presence that Asho stopped and stared. He was larger than Nok, broader across the shoulders, and he was holding a dark scimitar that dripped black flame. He radiated a fell power, and in his eyes Asho saw a cruel brilliance, a piercing awareness that shook Asho to his core.
This had to be Tharok. He had to be stopped. Asho wanted to march down that causeway and confront him, do battle, burn him to ashes and end this incursion before it could wreck the Empire.
He reached out for his magic, but there was nothing there for him to grab.
A hand took his own and pulled him away. Tharok raised his scimitar over his head in a gesture of victory and made no effort to give chase. Asho felt a knot of anguish in his chest, but he stepped back and allowed himself to be torn away.
He ran beside Kethe, neither of them letting go of the other's hand as the kragh closed in on both sides. They raced forward, warding off blows to the left and right, then gained the ramp and ran up its steep incline. Their breath coming in sharp gasps, they turned occasionally to look back, but the kragh did not give chase.
When they staggered out onto the plains above, they found the Bythians and Ennoians squaring off against each other, forming lines, exhausted and bloodied but clearly ready to continue their feud.
A stately woman in yellow armor similar to Kethe's stepped out between them. "What is going on here? Why are you fighting?"
Asho and Kethe moved to join her, relinquishing each other's hands only at the very last. Ser Cunad also approached, while the Bythians looked on in sullen despair.
"Virtue," began Ser Cunad. "These slaves have risen up against us. They sought to distract us before the kragh came through."
Asho laughed bitterly. "Which they managed very well."
Cunad glared at him, but the woman in yellow waved a hand, cutting off his rejoinder. "We need to send word to the Ascendant. We must be ready to pass into Aletheia the moment the Solar Portal opens."
"Aletheia?" Kethe seemed barely able to hold back her incredulity. "There are nearly five thousand of our soldiers still in Abythos. Tharok may have punched through, but his army won't have finished them off so easily. Akinetos, Synesis and Mixis remained behind. They'll drive the kragh out of Abythos, then come after Tharok. We must be ready to help them when they do."
"What happened?" asked Asho. "How did he get through?"
Kethe turned to stare down the broad ramp into the depths below. "I don't know. It happened so fast."
"He knew our defenses intimately," said Ainos. "He played us well. Never have I heard of such strategies, or seen such legendary monsters in the flesh."
Kethe's eyes were wide. She was clearly staring into her memories. "He had small dragons, dozens and dozens of them, drop trolls on the tower tops. They destroyed the ballistae and drew all our men to the walls and towers. Then he somehow blew open the front gate. There was nobody below to oppose him. He led a charge to the Portal before we could cut him off."
Cunad fought to keep his voice even. "Small dragons? Trolls at his command? What kind of kragh is he?"
"Shaya said that he frightened and awed her," Asho said quietly. "That there was no stopping him. I thought she was exaggerating."
"We can stop him," Kethe said vehemently. "He's overplayed his hand. He's down below with a few hundred kragh and some trolls. All he can do is hold the Portal. We'll gather all the guards and soldiers in all of Bythos and prepare a force to strike at him as soon as possible. Then, when the Portal opens and Akinetos and Mixis come through, we'll attack him from the other side and crush him."
Asho bit his lower lip. "I don't know. If he was smart enough to know how to divert all of our forces to the walls so he could come through unopposed, then he must have planned out this next step."
Cunad smiled coldly. "He can't wish five thousand of the Empire's finest knights and soldiers away. It sounds like he won that round through a combination of surprise and speed. He no longer has either at his disposal. I agree with Virtue Makaria. His kragh will be rebuffed, and he will be left stranded."
Ainos inhaled deeply and rubbed her chin. "I don't know. I would have never thought this possible. We must be wary, but Kethe's plan is the best. I'll return to the Blade Towers and summon every man and woman capable of wielding a blade."
Cunad glanced sidelong at the Bythians. "And the slaves?"
"Let them go home," said Asho.
"Of course you would say that," sneered Cunad.
"Yes, because I have some measure of wit. Think: they came seeking salvation in the arms of the kragh. Instead, they were attacked and butchered along with the rest of us. If we send them back, they will spread the word and quash the rebellion before it becomes unmanageable."
An uneasy silence followed his words, and then Kethe nodded. "I agree with Asho. Let them go home."
"As you command, Virtue," said Ser Cunad.
"Very well," said Ainos. "I will instruct my Honor Guard and Consecrated to follow your orders. I will return as quickly as I can."
"Good luck," said Kethe, extending her hand. The other woma
n clasped it, gave a tired smile, and then began to run toward the distant towers.
Asho moved to stand before the Bythians. Their shoulders were slumped, and their eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion and despair. "Go home," he said. "Go home to your families and friends."
At first, they didn't react. Then one man took a half-step forward, as if he was ready to bolt at a moment's notice. "Home? We're not to be arrested?"
"No. Go home. You made a mistake. You fought for the wrong side, and your people died for it. You've paid your price. Go home."
"Our people, Asho?" Asho didn't recognize the young woman who spoke from the second rank. "I thought you were one of us."
"Not in this case," he said. "Not if it means betraying humanity for the kragh. Now, go."
His words sounded harsh even to his own ears. He turned away, unable to face their gaze, and walked up to Kethe. Now that the fight had died down, exhaustion threatened to numb his mind.
"Asho," said Kethe.
And like that, the exhaustion faded away as quickly as it had come. His name coming from her lips gave him strength, filled him with resolve. He gazed into her eyes and felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her, to pull her into his arms. Her lips parted, and her chest rose as she took a breath, but then Ser Cunad approached.
"Where shall we position the men, Virtue?"
Kethe looked around. "For now, have them guard the ramp. Send scouts down to see what Tharok is up to. Tell them to risk nothing and come back at the first sign of trouble. As for the wounded... let's ask the Bythians to help them return to the towers."
Ser Cunad nodded and walked away.
Kethe reached out and took Asho's hand in her own. "It's really you. I thought I'd never see you again."
He laughed, a dry rasp. "You're the one who disappeared forever into the clouds. Virtue Makaria?"