“Perim Lu,” spurted Emethius in disbelief. He frantically gestured for Malrich to halt, but Malrich was belligerent with rage. Seeing no other option, Emethius chased after his friend.
“Damn you, and the gods you serve,” shouted Malrich. He pointed his blade with menace as he marched toward the figure. “You’ve dogged us for every leg of this journey. This ends here.”
“This ends here,” agreed the Watcher, his deep voice emanating from beneath the stone mask. He stepped out onto the road. The folds of his cloak parted, revealing a suit of glistening mail beneath. There was a crossbow in his hand. The Watcher leveled the weapon on Malrich’s chest.
“Wary should be those who enter the Ador unbidden,” said a second voice. There was a rustle in the underbrush on the far side of the road, and figures began to materialize from the mist. There were a dozen in total, all of them multi-faced and cloaked. With blades drawn, the Perim Lu cautiously formed a circle around Malrich and Emethius.
Emethius cursed, unsure of what to do — one rash move and Malrich would be dead. “We have no business with you, nor your clan,” said Emethius. He knew his empty words would not prevent what was going to happen next, but he spoke anyway, hoping to buy time. The truth was, blades were drawn, and arrows were aimed; someone would die before this was through.
“Wrong. Your business and ours are one and the same,” said the Watcher with the crossbow. “You seek the Sage. So do we. He sniffed the air, as if there was a scent trail he could follow. “We were foolish not to see that he was nigh all along. You will take us to him, or you will pay the blood price.”
Emethius lowered his head and pawed at his vambrace, feeling each of the ten grooves. “We can’t help Meriatis and Ali if we’re dead, Mal,” he said finally.
Malrich nodded in understanding. “It has been an honor, captain.”
With a weary sigh, Emethius turned toward the Watcher bearing the crossbow. “We yield. We’ll tell you all.”
“Honesty is one of the five virtues. Compassion is another. My master will be quick to remember this, but even quicker to punish if you lie to him. Your weapons, gentlemen.”
A Watcher stepped forward to collect their swords. Emethius offered his blade in surrender, but as the Watcher reached for the handle, Emethius spun around with the edge of his blade and slashed the Watcher’s outstretched hand.
Before anyone could react, Emethius twisted to his left and came down with his sword as if he were chopping wood. The Watcher beside him was taken completely by surprise, an although he leapt backward to avoid the blade, he did not go far enough. The tip of Emethius’s sword sliced through the Watcher’s mailed shirt, cutting him open from navel to groin.
After that, everything seemed to happen at once. The crossbowmen fired on Malrich. Malrich stepped aside, catching the bolt in his left bicep instead of his chest. Malrich simultaneously stabbed with his sword, driving his blade through the mouth of the Watcher’s stone mask. When he withdrew the blade, the Watcher looked like he was vomiting up blood.
“Run,” screamed Malrich, as he whirled around, parrying off another Watcher’s attack.
Emethius dropped his shoulder, knocking a Watcher to the ground and clearing a path through the throng of enemies. They broke into a dead sprint.
“Curse the day,” said Malrich through clenched teeth.
A second arrow hissed through the mist, cleaving the air between them. A third caught the tip of Emethius’s right ear, nearly cutting his ear in half. A fourth embedded itself into Emethius’s travel pack.
“Into the woods!”
They leapt off the road and kept running.
The top half of Emethius’s ear was bouncing up and down with every step, dangling by a thread of flesh. He ignored the ghastly injury — Malrich was in far worse shape. “How badly are you hurt?”
“I won’t die if I can get the bleeding to stop,” answered Malrich between forced breaths. The crossbow bolt had punctured through the inside of his bicep and exited through the backside of his arm. A gush of blood spurted from the wound, soaking his shirt red. Without breaking stride, he tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his tunic and used it to bind the wound in a tight tourniquet. “A drink would be nice to cut the pain,” said Malrich, grinning like a crazy person.
Another bolt hissed through the air, this one catching in the trunk of a nearby tree. Words spoken in the old tongue echoed throughout the forest. The Watchers were not far behind.
“There were eyes within the stone sentinels all along,” called Emethius between breaths. “I was worried about this yesterday, but I didn’t say anything because it seemed so foolish at the time. I’m sorry, Mal.”
A horn blared in their wake, the same horn Emethius had heard the prior night. Emethius could hear the heavy thud of booted feet trailing right behind them, but each time he turned to catch sight of their pursuers all he saw were the trunks of trees. Sorcery! Their cloaks have changed colors to match the trees, realized Emethius, as he discerned a bark-colored object sprinting after them.
“Emethius, look out!”
It was the only warning Emethius received. One moment he was running on solid ground, the next, his feet were churning in empty air. He looked down just in time to see roiling black water rushing up to meet him as he tumbled over the edge of a cliff.
Emethius plunged beneath the water’s inky surface. The chill dug straight to his bones, like a thousand pricking knives. He resurfaced, gasping for air.
I’ve fallen into a river, Emethius realized, once his brain had time to process what happened. And not just any river. This is the Puttdale! Bi Ache wouldn’t be far.
Malrich was farther downstream, struggling to fend himself off of a rocky shoal that jutted from the water near the center of the channel. He waved for Emethius to keep going. “To the far shore,” ordered Malrich, before he plunged back beneath the water. A moment later a crossbow bolt splashed into the water where Malrich had previously been.
The Watchers had come to the edge of the low cliff that Emethius and Malrich had fallen over. One was busily trying to set another quarrel to his crossbow. The rest were looking for a way down to the shoreline.
Emethius swam for the far shore. But as he did, the old wound in his back knotted, sending a spasm galloping down the length of his spine. It took everything Emethius had to ignore the pain and fight the rapid current. Finally, he managed to swim into an eddy that back flowed against the bank. He crawled trembling from the water.
Malrich lifted Emethius to his feet and pulled him along. “We have to keep going!” he shouted between puffing breaths.
Emethius glanced over his shoulder as he stumbled after Malrich.
The Watchers remained on the far bank, appearing hesitant to give chase. They were conversing with one another, waving their arms with frantic motions. One pointed angrily at Emethius and Malrich, while another gestured to the forest behind them. A conclusion seemed to be made and the Watchers slipped back into the forest and vanished from sight.
“What are they doing?” asked Malrich. He gripped at his bloody arm, still trying to staunch the wound.
Emethius immediately understood why the Watchers didn’t cross the river once he examined the shoreline. The fog had cleared, replaced by a reeking foulness that seemed to hang over everything. Where the Great Northern Ador was silent and still, untouched and timeless, the bank they now stood upon was stained and vile, slick with slime and filth. Briers choked the forest floor. The tree branches were vine strewn and their trunks knotted with cancerous growths.
“Do you not feel it?” said Emethius. “We have left the realm of the divine. We are no longer in the Great Northern Ador. We’ve entered the Cultrator.”
Malrich gestured toward the river. “If this really is the Puttdale River, the ruins of Bi Ache will not be far. We should be able to reach the city by nightfall.”
At that very moment the wind carried the deep-throated cackle of a Cul.
Malrich’s eyes f
lared with disbelief. “It’s day... the Cul should be in hiding.”
Emethius’s gaze wandered skyward, searching for the sun. All he saw was an endless green canopy of trees. “It’s the trees. They blot out the sun.”
The cackling grew in intensity, a pair of voices, then a dozen, then a hundred, all coalescing into a single maddening sound. The call seemed to emanate from every perceivable direction. Malrich clamped his hands over his ears, the terror of the Cul making him momentarily forget about the wound in his arm.
“It is just as I feared,” said Emethius with resignation. “We will face the most vile stretch at the end. We must find a clearing. Run, run now, the demons are upon us!”
The cackle of the Cul became louder with every passing step. There were crashes in the undergrowth all about them. Black forms began to emerge on either side, slowly but surely hemming them in. Emethius watched in horror as the scene from a nightmare swarmed into reality.
The Cul might have been a little taller than a talsani if they stood up straight, but they ran with bowed backs and some even galloped on all fours. Their tattered and soiled clothes were wrapped tightly around their malnourished frames. Their eyes were large, their pupils honed to inky slits in the light of day. They grinned wickedly, revealing yellowed teeth and sharpened canines. What little exposed skin Emethius saw was as black as coal.
“We need to break free of their ranks!” called Malrich.
Emethius veered left, his sword flashing. A Cul wearing the ragged remains of a Dunie uniform tried to block Emethius’s path. Emethius took off the Cul’s left leg just below the knee. The vile creature collapsed to the ground, his cackle turning into a pitiful wail.
Emethius’s triumph was momentary. More Cul closed in, blocking all routes of escape. Malrich skittered to a halt and bared his teeth, trying to make a brave showing. Emethius waved his sword at any Cul that drew near. “Stay back!” he hissed, but the Cul only edged closer. Emethius could smell their rotten breath and see into their wicked eyes. There was wisdom behind those baleful orbs. They would not make the same foolish mistake as their crippled comrade.
A few goaded Emethius and Malrich with their blades while the rest waited for an opening. Malrich swatted aside a spear tip only for another Cul to lunge forward and hack at his legs with a bone ax. Emethius took off the culprit’s hand with a swipe of his sword, but that was only after Malrich received a slash that trailed from hip to knee. A third Cul took advantage of the distraction and leapt onto Emethius’s back. Before Emethius knew what was happening, bony fingers were digging into his eyes. Malrich saved Emethius this time, taking off the Cul’s head with one clean stroke of his sword. There was a spurt of black blood and the creature slid silently from Emethius’s shoulders. The other Cul neither advanced nor retreated.
“You will not pick us apart, one by one,” howled Emethius, blood soaked and enraged. He charged into the throng of Cul, hacking wildly with his sword.
The Cul struck back with rusted blades, chiseled stone, and sharpened bones. A blade tore through Emethius left breast, cleaving the muscle. Emethius turned his attacker’s face into a hideous red mask. Another Cul stabbed Emethius in the shoulder. Emethius swung around, catching only air as the Cul dodged aside.
Malrich had somehow lost his footing and was rolling about on the ground trying to throttle the life out of a Cul. Emethius moved to help his friend, but a club cracked against his skull, causing his world to strobe yellow and orange. I’m going to die, Emethius realized, as he stumbled down to his knees. All about him the Cul cackled, their call suddenly sounding oddly similar to laughter.
Malrich was now on his back struggling with a Cul for possession of a serrated dagger. Emethius shouldered the Cul aside and tried to lift Malrich to his feet. But in that moment a crack rent the air and the earth felt as if it were torn in two. The ground shuddered. The forest around them began to tremble and come apart. Trees split down the middle, limbs tore through the air like bolts fired from a ballista. A whirlwind of leaves and debris obscured Emethius’s vision. There was a swooshing sound, like the rushing wind, and Emethius’s mouth went dry. The forest broke down to its base parts — dirt, bark, leaves, twigs, limbs, roots, and trunks.
A searing light descended through the maelstrom, brilliant yet terrible to behold. Everything it touched caught fire. Emethius and Malrich reached out for one another. Their hands met, and they held on as the flaming wind boiled over their frames.
The radiance grew greater than that of the sun. The Cul could not withstand the light and fled in terror. Within the flaming fury stood the silhouette of a winged man. Emethius felt himself moved to tears, although he did not know why. The figure towered over him, at one moment a thousand feet tall, and the next, no taller than an average man.
“The Calabanesi,” mouthed Emethius in horror. That was why the Perim Lu had abandoned their pursuit at the river — they had gone to summon their god. Spying the winged silhouette against a backdrop of flames left little doubt in Emethius’s mind — this was the same figure who had tracked Emethius and Malrich across Emonia. But now his mortal guise was cast aside and his true self revealed. Emethius sought desperately for the power to stand up to the incontestable might of the Calabanesi, but he couldn’t help but grovel at the god’s feet.
“Trifling fools,” hissed the winged figure in the flames. “You will tell me everything. Where you are going. Who you seek. The location of the prince. The whereabouts of Shadowbane.”
“The Covenant, you’re breaking the Covenant!” blurted Emethius. His words came out weak, his voice hardly a squeak amongst the roaring flames.
“Brave and stupid, you are,” replied the god, laughing at Emethius’s boldness. “You do not know the extent to which I can undo your making. Kings tremble before me, even your high lord would kiss the ground I walk on, yet you are so bold as to defy my will. I am the sun, the sky, the earth, the water, but I am also the darkness in the deep. Do not dare defy me. Where are the Sage and the Sorceress?”
It suddenly felt like there was a second presence in Emethius’s mind. Fingers twisted at the webbing of his consciousness while watchful eyes scoured his every secret. A feeling of dread, greater than he had ever experienced, overcame him. He was naked before such power, and felt compelled to speak. He had to tell the god everything or he might burst.
“Bi Ache! I seek the Sage and Sorceress in Bi Ache!” The words vomited from Emethius’s mouth beyond his control. The grasping fingers and searching eyes that were probing at his mind slipped away. Every ounce of strength flowed out of Emethius’s body, and he collapsed to the ground. He was so weak he couldn’t even raise his eyes. He lay stupefied, staring at the dirt, awaiting the next question. But the next question never came.
The god’s gaze was cast skyward, his concentration focused far away on something unseen by mortal eyes. The hairs on Emethius’s body stood on end. Something was wrong. There was another flash of light, only this time it was blue, on par with the hottest flame of a blast furnace. The earth beneath the Calabanesi’s feet melted away. There was a bone jarring boom, and Emethius’s body left the ground as gravity momentarily ceased to exist. He was flung backward and struck something hard. The world vanished into a haze of light and shadow.
Emethius wondered if he had gone blind as he groped about on the ground for a weapon; anything that he might use to protect himself. He found the rusted sword of a Cul and held it aloft; no challenger emerged.
“Malrich,” Emethius cried, but he felt more than heard his voice drawing from his lips. His ears were bleeding. He could feel the blood trickling down his chin and neck. His hearing dwindled to a dim hiss.
Slowly his vision returned, revealing the burning hell-scape left behind by the god’s tumult. In mute horror Emethius came to a startling truth; he was alone in the forest.
The god had vanished, as had the Cul, but most terribly, so had Malrich.
CHAPTER
X
REQUIEM OF CATACLYSM
S
Leta awoke in the morning to discover a figure silhouetted against her bedroom window. In a cold panic, Leta frantically reached to her bedside table for anything that could be used as a weapon. All she found was a small handheld mirror. She pointed it toward the intruder as if it were a dagger.
“No need to mock me, Priestess Leta,” said the shadowed figure, waving a disinterested hand toward the mirror. “I don’t wish to see my ugly face any more than you do.”
It’s Ionni, realized Leta with sudden relief. Ionni leapt down from the window ledge, taking extra care to not put too much weight on her bad leg. A week had passed since the incident in the catacombs. The left side of her face was still yellow with bruising, but most of the swelling was gone. Ionni’s nose now had a slight and permanent bend. The poor girl would bear a reminder of Saterius’s savagery for the rest of her life.
“How did you get in here?” asked Leta, as she set the mirror aside.
Ionni jangled a key ring in the air. “I stole Sister Beli’s keys. Your guards aren’t very good at their job, priestess.”
“I will have to look into that,” said Leta, trying to keep a stern face. She rose from bed and pulled on a robe. “What, pray tell, was so important that you would steal from a sister of your sworn order?”
“I came to confess. Honesty is one of the five virtues, isn’t it?
“True,” replied Leta. “But you don’t need to confess to me. It’s not the place of a mortal to judge. Go to the temple of Vacia and tell the god-saint your sins.”
“This sin involves you.”
“Oh?”
“I betrayed you, Priestess Leta.” Ionni looked down at her hands, showing a semblance of shame. “I warned Lady Miren you would be following her the night of her secret meeting. Lady Miren gloated about it after the fact. She called you one of her leashed rats.”
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