Cracking his knuckles absently, Hamid glanced over his shoulder to Emre. “You’re sure it’s his voice?” Emre nodded, a reluctant gesture if Ramahd had ever seen one. A pleasantly surprised look overcame Hamid as he took them in anew. In a flash, he’d drawn his shamshir. “By the gods who breathe, the Queen of Qaimir has stones so large she would send us the man who survived the Bloody Passage?” He took a step forward. “The Lord of the South? The man who has taken his sword to a dozen scarabs in search of our lord, Macide?”
Tiron, Luken, and Amaryllis all drew swords, at which point the men behind Hamid drew theirs. “Enough,” Ramahd said, turning and spreading his arms, barring the advance of his men. “Sheathe your weapons.” It took a moment, but they obeyed, only after which did Ramahd turn back to Hamid. “For this one night, our purposes align. I propose a truce.”
“A truce?” Hamid said.
“A truce,” Ramahd replied, “for this night only.”
Hamid lowered his sword. “And what makes you think we’d accept?”
“Because the White Wolf herself came, at great personal risk, to beg my queen for our help.” Ramahd stepped forward until he was within a sword swing of Hamid. “I understand the Kings have crippled the Host, slaughtering hundreds of scarabs. I understand as well they were not kind about it. I know your mission is grim, but if you would rather go alone, tell me now and we’ll return to our homes and watch as the Kings crush the rest of you underfoot.”
Hamid looked to Emre, giving him the chance to speak against Ramahd. Emre seemed to weigh Ramahd’s words for a moment, but then half shrugged, half nodded. Not the endorsement Ramahd was hoping for, but at least he said nothing against him. With no small amount of wariness, Hamid drove his sword home into his scabbard and waved for the rest of his men to do the same. “Very well,” he said, “though if we’re going to leave, it’s best we go now.”
“Wait,” Ramahd said. “Çeda said she would come. Have you had no word from her?”
Emre seemed dumbfounded by the news. “She told you this?”
Ramahd nodded. “She said she would meet us here if she could.”
Emre didn’t seem to know what to say, but Hamid looked up to the sky, perhaps weighing just how useful Çeda might be. “As much as I’d value an ebon sword by our side, time grows short.” He turned to Ramahd. “Come, oh fearless fifteen. Let us stand side by side this night, and see what the gods have in store for us.”
Ramahd nodded, and then they were off, jogging easily in two loose groups. Emre lagged behind, looking over his shoulder often as they headed through the city, but all too soon Karakir Square was lost and with it any hope of Çeda joining them.
They moved northeast, keeping wide of the garrison and the other holdings of the Silver Spears. They came after a short while to an expensive incense shop. They weren’t able to see much of Tauriyat from ground level, but when Hamid led him up a winding set of stairs to an old belfry tower, the whole of the high hill opened up before them: the House of Kings, the House of Maidens, the great wall surrounding them, and the large manses of Goldenhill beneath.
Hamid pointed to the walls nearest their position. “We’ll wait for our signal, then we’ll position ourselves between those two towers, scale the wall, and head for Kiral’s palace.”
“And what of Zeheb’s and Ihsan’s? Are you planning on leaving their caches untouched?”
Hamid paused. “You’re well-informed.”
“My queen hates being left in the dark.”
“So I’ve heard,” Hamid said. “Fear not. There are others headed to the remaining two palaces. Our concern is Kiral’s palace.”
“And what’s the signal?”
“We’ll know when we hear it.”
Ramahd hadn’t been sure how he was going to react if he came across Macide, but he supposed Mighty Alu had shined on him this day. The leader of the Moonless Host wasn’t here, which made it likely that he’d be heading to another of the three palaces.
Sunset came, and the city turned boneyard silent. Great lanterns lit one by one all along the Kings’ wall, then the palaces above, making the mountain glow. Such things were unheard of on the holy night, but the Kings clearly thought whatever safety it might bring them worth the risk of angering the desert gods.
At one point, Hamid went down to speak to someone who’d arrived late. Emre joined Ramahd in the belfry tower a few minutes later. His time in the Moonless Host had tempered him. He looked different now. Less angry, more sure of himself.
Emre studied Ramahd’s features, as if trying to find the man he remembered in the face that greeted him now. “Why did you come?” he said at last.
Ramahd knew what he was getting at. Why put himself or the interests of his queen at risk? It seemed foolish when viewed from afar, and indeed part of Ramahd hated being here. He was horrified by the thought of taking orders from Macide, either directly or indirectly, but when Çeda had come to him there had been no way he could deny her. She didn’t know what he owed her, but he certainly did. The seed he’d planted when he’d agreed to Guhldrathen’s demands might never actually bear its terrible fruit, but he would give her this: help when she’d asked for it, even if it meant setting aside old promises.
“It’s not so difficult an equation to solve. I came because my queen has decided it’s in her best interests.”
Emre studied the eastern sky, where the moons were rising. “Just like that? Years of searching for revenge and your queen, your sister by marriage, a woman who’s helped you kill our men and women since you returned from the Bloody Passage, decides to set it all aside and help her enemies?”
“You may find this hard to believe, but it’s what kings and queens do. They find what’s best for their country, and chart a course by that compass, no matter that it takes them to places they find distasteful.”
A scolding laugh escaped Emre. “I’d never do what you’re doing.”
“No? Not even if Çeda asked you to?”
For the first time, Emre seemed unsure of himself. “Is that why you did it? For her?”
Yes. Absolutely. “I do it for my queen.”
Emre weighed him, looking wholly unconvinced, then resumed his watch over the House of Kings. “I’m not surprised you’ve come to love her. She’s abrasive as sandstone at times, but only because she’s determined. Get beyond that, and you see her true self, and it’s wondrous to behold.”
Ramahd could hear the love in his words, his devotion to his friend. But then he wondered: Have I truly seen Çeda? Because if that were so, I would never have agreed to Guhldrathen’s demands. “Let’s just look to the task ahead, shall we?”
“As you say.”
The moons continued to rise. The wailing of the asirim rose in the east, more of them than Ramahd had ever heard. It made his skin crawl. Just as Tulathan and Rhia were coming into alignment over Sharakhai, the sound of battle rose like a demon in the distance. Warriors shouted. There came a clash of steel and stone. Hamid rushed up the stairs and scanned the horizon.
“Now?” Ramahd asked.
Hamid shook his head. Soon after, though, several loud booms rose above the sounds of battle. Over and over they came, with shouting and screaming both preceding and following. Ramahd swore he could feel the impact in his bones. What in the wide great world could explode with such force?
“Be ready,” Hamid whispered harshly down the stairs.
Moments later, there came a groaning sound, as if the desert were opening the doors to its heart. The look in Emre’s eyes was one of fear, but not for himself. A fear I know well, the sort one has for a loved one you’re powerless to help. A massive crash of thunder made each man in the belfry shiver. Clay pots rattled below. A pair of amberlarks Ramahd hadn’t even realized were on the roof of the belfry tower took wing. Despite the call for silence on the Holy Night, Ramahd heard children begin to cry, heard t
heir mothers and fathers shushing them.
As one, Ramahd, Hamid, and Emre spiraled down the stairs and rushed from the incense shop behind the rest of their men. They moved steadily northeast, wary of being seen, but they saw no one watching and their moves along the streets of Goldenhill went unchallenged. As they approached the walls of Tauriyat, a hand of Blade Maidens followed by two white-robed Matrons sprinted along the wall above. They were gone quickly, leaving the wall above them—as far as Ramahd could tell—undefended.
“Quickly now,” Hamid said.
At this, Emre and the hulking brute with the battle axe unfurled ropes from around their waists. They flung grapnels up and over the edge of the wall, then the lot of them, twenty in all, scurried up to the top. With the nearest tower undefended, they rushed toward it and took the stairs within to ground level, secreting their ropes and grapnels at the base for use later in their escape.
If we ever make it back, Ramahd thought.
They could not see the battle, but they could hear it. It raged like the opening act to the ending of the world. Who knew how long it would last, though? Who knew how long it would be before the Kings’ attention swung back to their palaces?
They ran with some speed now, though not too fast lest they exhaust themselves. The lower reaches of Tauriyat were relatively flat, but they were soon trekking uphill. Reasoning that few would be moving on Tauriyat, they took a gamble and followed the main road up toward the palaces. They were wary, though—prepared to run into the nearby brush if need be. On they hiked, ever upward, fear driving them as much as will. They passed fork after fork along the winding road, choosing the path that would take them to Eventide, the topmost palace.
When they were halfway up, they heard someone running toward them. “Help!” cried a lone boy, who resolved from the darkness dressed in King Zeheb’s livery. “Please, my lords! They’ve entered the palace of my Lord King Zeheb!”
“Who has, boy?” Hamid asked.
“The . . .” He stared, took them all in once more, then turned and sprinted pell-mell in the other direction. He was so winded, though, so hysterical with fright, it took little effort for Ramahd to catch up with him, grab a fistful of hair, and send him sprawling to the ground with a shove.
“Tie him,” he said to Tiron, who worked quickly, tying and gagging the boy, then dragging him far off the road. With any luck, he’d be found in the morning but be no further trouble tonight.
On they went, higher and higher, twice running off the side of the road and lying in the manmade ditch as first a woman on a single horse and then a dozen Silver Spears on tall akhalas galloped past. At last they neared Eventide, the largest of all the palaces. In all his time in Sharakhai, Ramahd had never stepped foot within the palace. It was huge, with tall towers and walls along its southern face. It was not nestled into the mountain, as many of the other palaces were, but built on top of a promontory near the peak, as if it were surveying Tauriyat, the city below, and even the desert beyond.
“There,” Hamid said, pointing to the left of the road, where a copse of fig trees stood.
Everyone was winded, but none were as bad off as Amaryllis. She’d trailed behind constantly, but had waved Ramahd off every time he’d tried to help. They had just made it into the deeper darkness of the trees when she fell to her knees and leaned against a trunk.
“We can’t wait for her,” Hamid said softly to Ramahd.
“Go on,” Ramahd said to him. “I’ll be along shortly.”
He’d planned on commanding Amaryllis to wait, but she was already up. “I’m fine,” she said, her words spilling out in a ragged groan between her sharp intakes of breath. She tried to walk past him, but Ramahd gripped her arm and stopped her. She tried to rip her arm free but Ramahd held her tight. “I’m fine,” she repeated.
“Choose now,” Hamid said. “Is she coming or going?”
The fire in Amaryllis’s eyes was what convinced him. She might be tired, but she was ready to fight. That much he could see. “We’re here now,” he said to Hamid. “Let her come.”
They caught up with others deeper into the grove. Ahead loomed a cliff, a dour face of stone. Atop it stood the walls of Eventide. Emre and the tall one called Frail Lemi crouched directly below a crook in the wall where a tower met the palace wall. Emre, their lone remaining coil of rope looped around one shoulder, a grapnel hanging from his belt, had one foot in Frail Lemi’s interlaced fingers. With a lift so easy it made it seem like a game between father and son, Frail Lemi lifted Emre up. From there Emre was able to climb and launch a grapnel, which caught against the battlements above. As soon as he’d climbed the rope and gained the wall, the rest followed.
Frail Lemi had just reached the top when Ramahd heard the call of an amberlark coming from the darkness of the trees behind him. As Hamid whistled back, a form approached through the trees. Ramahd’s heart started to pound. He wasn’t even sure why, at first. But then, by the light of the twin moons, a tall man was revealed, a man with a forked beard, a black turban, a black thawb, and two shamshirs hanging from his belt.
By Iri’s black teeth, it was Macide.
Chapter 62
WHEN THE GATES OF THE HARBOR FELL, a storm of wind spread from the point of impact. Çeda barely had time to rein Brightlock over before it struck. The unseen force of it threw her backward, off her saddle and onto the sand. She could only huddle there as the windblown sand scoured her. And even after the wind had died down, the impact continued to shake the very foundations of the desert. For several long moments, everyone stared, stunned by what had happened, but then many things happened at once.
The scarabs along the water channel began dropping on ropes hung to either side of the channel. Husamettín advanced on Hamzakiir with Night’s Kiss held high over his head. Hamzakiir’s arms were raised, but not in any sort of defense. His fingers looked as though they were drawing symbols in the air as Night’s Kiss cut downward and cleaved him in two. As Hamzakiir fell, however, his form changed to that of a different man entirely. Hamzakiir himself was farther back along the water channel.
Husamettín saw and charged, the poor soul he’d cleaved falling over the edge of the channel and down to the sand. Husamettín cut down Hamzakiir once more, and again the blood mage traded bodies with another in the Moonless Host. He was now close enough to the ropes that he grabbed one and slid down along it.
“Coward!” Husamettín called as two swordsmen tried to engage him. Seeing where Hamzakiir had gone, he backed away and leapt to the ground, landing in a spray of sand. He chased after Hamzakiir, but a dozen rebels blocked in his way as Hamzakiir sprinted over the fallen gates.
Somewhere inside the harbor, a horn sounded with a resonance Çeda felt in her bones. The Kings were calling everyone back to the harbor. Meanwhile, behind the Maidens, two ships crested the dunes, then two more, and more behind those, until a score of them were cutting through the sand, heading straight toward the fallen gates of King’s Harbor.
Sümeya stood in her saddle, waving her sword high above her head. “To the breach, Maidens! To the breach!”
Brightlock had bolted, Çeda realized, but the horse returned when she whistled, weaving through the madness toward Çeda. Çeda swung up to the saddle in one smooth motion and urged Brightlock into a gallop. Together, they flew toward the harbor. Çeda kept her asirim near, but many others now gathered on the dunes to Çeda’s left. Like a pack of wolves they chased down the nearest of the ships, a cutter with lateen sails. Two leapt upon the runners while three more scrabbled up the side of the ship. They climbed through the rigging, tearing at it, and in moments had cut the sails free to send them flapping away on the bitterly cold wind. One of the asir on the starboard runner brought both hands down against the support. Like a blow from a mighty maul, the support sheared in two. The ship listed and crashed against the dune in a plume of sand.
Another tall asirim charged ahea
d of a galleon. It was Sehid-Alaz. Çeda could see the glint of the crown upon his head. Çeda tried to reach out to him, to free him, heedless of what Mesut might do, but the ancient bonds upon him held true. The lord of the asirim, king of the lost tribe, arched his back, hands held high, then pushed as if he were plying his leverage against some great, unseen weight. Sand flew up before him, flying toward the galleon. Sand and stone and wind beat against the ship’s hull and sails. A howling came from Sehid-Alaz himself, an outpouring of anger and frustration the likes of which Çeda had never heard. So hard did the sand blow against the galleon that its sails tore, then split lengthwise along a seam.
This did nothing to stop the ship’s momentum, however. It continued to power forward. Sehid-Alaz waited, watching it come, then leaned one shoulder into the oncoming supports of the starboard runner. He was like a stone in the sand. The thick wooden beams that supported the ship burst into kindling as the ship’s bulk flew past the long-forgotten king.
The ship tilted down and plowed into the dunes. Men fell from the rigging to the unforgiving sand, some crushed by the passing of the ship, which was gouging its way across the desert.
Several more ships were taken down, but many reached the harbor’s entrance ahead of Çeda and the other Maidens. The ships crashed over the fallen doors, their runners hopelessly ruined, but the Host clearly thought it worth it to be that much closer to the harbor’s entrance. From the sides of the ships, planks were lowered. Ropes uncoiled. Scores of scarabs, both men and women, disgorged from the ships, swarming over the fallen gates and charging into the harbor itself.
Sümeya whistled. Rear two hands. Meet the enemy.
Immediately, ten Maidens peeled away and joined the asirim as they met the approaching force. A company of fifty Silver Spears joined them. The other Maidens, plus their asirim and the bulk of the Spears, ran for the harbor’s entrance.
Soon all was madness. Çeda rode into them, Kerim and the other asirim by her side, hoping to make it to the far side of the gathering line and lose herself in the confusion, but before she could go far an arrow caught Brightlock in the shoulder, sending the mare to the ground. Çeda threw herself free just in time to avoid being crushed. She rolled, losing River’s Daughter in the process, then came to her knees slowly, ears ringing, pain blossoming along her ribs where she’d taken the brunt of the fall.
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