Still, it was a good place, this city, for the first time. It was now a whole place, not the dark shell of a town. And Darcel, the Lord of Zanzibar, and his new wife, Shabana, were the right leaders for it. They had wed almost immediately, and his harem now prepared to vacate the palace and reestablish themselves with the ample funds Darcel had gifted them.
“One more dinner here, together,” I said to Ronan. “And then we shall slip away as the pilgrims sleep. Darcel has promised us two Jeeps to carry us all the way to the Valley. We’ll make far better time than we had on our mudhorses. And even if Keallach’s spies have told him of our presence here and they threaten to close in with force, they’d still have to be a day away, right?”
He nodded, his green eyes still clearly troubled by the unseen threat that always followed us. Again, Vidar’s tight attention caught my eye. Bellona stood beside him, and they stared upward, as if looking for one particular guard. We came alongside them, and Ronan whispered, “What is it?”
“Those of the dark are with us,” Bellona grunted. “We need to get the Rems into the palace.” A swirl of foreboding entered my belly, and I looked up again, even as Ronan took hold of my elbow and pulled me forward.
“The angels defend us, even now,” Vidar said to me with hooded eyes. “But there are more dark ones arriving by the moment.” It was then that I saw Niero had disappeared. Was he up there, doing battle on our behalf?
I felt a mad impulse to turn and run for the city gates. But we had to get back to the palace, to find Tressa and Killian, Chaza’el and Kapriel, before we went. And the sun was coming down. As much as I’d proposed leaving under cover of darkness moments earlier, the thought of heading out across the desert with Sheolites in pursuit struck terror within. Images of the time we’d tried to outrun Drifters in the desert—with Niero getting shot and me getting captured—cascaded through my mind.
People began screaming ahead of us, turning in a wave and stampeding toward us. A woman fell, and Ronan helped her back on her feet so she might escape being trampled. We were pressed and pushed until we had no choice but to turn and run with the rest, before we’d seen what so alarmed them. Was it soldiers? But I knew from the chaos all around me—the particular fear in those who passed me—that it was worse. The Sheolites and their wraiths were here.
“This way!” Bellona screamed to us, dashing into a side alley as the bulk of the crowd pressed onward, along First Street, toward the main gates. She yanked Vidar behind her, and Ronan was pressing me forward, urging me to follow them. But still, I looked back. I wished we could get to the palace to be with the others. But Raniero and Azarel were with Kapriel and Chaza’el, and hopefully Tressa and Killian had joined them. They wouldn’t be without defense. We simply had to find our way back to them safely.
Bellona and Vidar ran to Second and then Third, down the alleyway before taking a sharp right, where we could be out of view for a moment. We gathered together, and I knew that in the deep shadows my expression of panic must mirror what I saw on my friends’ faces. “How?” I said, panting. “How could they have gotten inside once the gates were closed?” I realized I’d felt a measure of security when the gates closed at sunset, thinking any battle would be at bay until at least morning.
“Over the wall,” Vidar said, pushing damp hair from his forehead. “That was why the unseen battled to make a way for them. They knew surprise was their best method of attack.”
“Because they wanted us separated, yet trapped, within these dreaded walls,” Bellona hissed, pacing. “To divide us is their best opportunity to capture us. We should’ve left this morning and gotten back to the Citadel.”
“And missed what the Maker released today?” Vidar asked, shaking his head. “Never. This was exactly what we came for. To heal the babe, yes. But we also came for the people who turned to us afterward—that is what pleases the Maker most.”
“They would have come after us anywhere, Bellona,” Ronan put in, taking my hand. “Haven’t you felt it building, the threat? They’ve been hovering near, waiting. We were not born to cower in the Citadel. We were born to move out and into the world in the Maker’s name.”
“Yeah, well, now we need to find our way back to the palace,” Bellona groused, “so we can live to move out into the world again tomorrow.”
“Agreed,” Ronan said, and we set off running.
As the street opened up before us, I saw Vidar falter—heard him urge his Knight to wait—then saw Bellona abruptly dodge and roll, coming to her feet with a knife in each hand. Vidar slid, feet first, narrowly avoiding the swinging blade of a Sheolite sword. Ronan skidded to a stop, lifting his arm to protect me. “Back!” he cried. I leaned hard against him—my momentum too much to fully stop in time—but in the same movement, I turned on my m to run in the opposite direction.
But it was Ronan’s turn to run into me as I came to a dead stop again.
Because two blocks away was Sethos, striding toward us with twenty Sheolite scouts behind him. In their crimson capes, they were like blood oozing from a vein, passing between the tight adobe walls that only allowed them to come toward us one man at a time. If we could hold them off, we could handle them, one at a time. If only the first didn’t happen to be Sethos.
He continued his brisk, confident pace toward me, not running and well aware that we couldn’t go far. Behind me, I heard another tracker’s shriek and groaned, inwardly. We were surrounded.
“Come along, Andriana. Ronan. There is no need for this to become bloody,” he called, lifting a hand to us as if he might be conciliatory.
“Oh, I think it will be bloody,” Ronan said, stepping in front and tucking me behind him. “This city is ours now. It has been claimed for the Maker. Lord Darcel stands behind Prince Kapriel.”
“A faulty decision that will be corrected shortly,” Sethos said, nostrils flared.
From above, a brick came down, narrowly missing Sethos. Then another fell, striking the man behind him.
“Leave them alone!” cried a woman, tossing a third brick after pulling it from the crumbling wall before her.
“You will not have them!” cried another. More bricks rained down. Sethos stopped, cursing and pointing upward to those behind him, sending men after those who dared to defend us. Two archers began shooting at the women, whom I saw had been joined by several men and children too.
We weren’t alone in this battle. And our best way out was behind us. My heart leaped, as if it had previously slowed to a deadening beat. Energy shot through me, sending my fingers splaying. I turned and ran back to Fifth, pulling out my sword from the scabbard at my waist. I heard Ronan do the same behind me. We emerged onto the wide street, and I whirled, striking the nearest Sheolite with every ounce of force I had within me, concentrating on the Maker and his mission rather than on any emotion my enemy might feel.
“Duck,” Ronan grunted, and I fell low without question, hearing the whistle of a blade swing past me. As if in an intricate dance, my Knight stepped forward and stabbed my assailant under the arm, where his leather armor breastplate gapped for a moment. I rose, turned, and with one, smooth stroke, nearly severed him in half. Across from me, Bellona did the same with her adversary, wincing as blood spurted across the street. But she was immediately on the move, turning to face the tracker.
He sneered at her as the two of them circled, panting, sizing each other up. “Give it up, Knight. This is your last order.”
A dagger came sailing through the air, blade over handle, whipping between Ronan and me, and almost pierced the tracker’s throat. But he reached out and caught it, just as the point nicked his skin. He flicked it back at Vidar so fast that Vidar blinked in surprise. He bent backward at the last possible moment, and the blade passed just beyond his nose. “Man,” he said, straightening and wiping his upper lip. “I have to confess I’m not feelin’ a lot of the Maker’s love for these guys.”
But Bellona had used the tracker’s momentary distraction to draw an arrow and send it thro
ugh the air toward his heart. He whirled, and the arrow did little but tear through his red cape. She pressed forward, picking up a Sheolite’s sword and bringing it down toward his chest. He narrowly parried in time, holding off her press with gritted teeth until he could lift a booted foot and shove her backward. Ronan drove forward, taking over as Bellona regained her footing. But just as he neared the tracker, more bricks rained down—one catching the tracker dead center on his forehead. He staggered backward, dazed, blood trickling between his eyes and along his nose. Another hit him on the shoulder, and as he wheeled about, still another hit him on the head again. He slumped to his knees.
Vidar, his sword in both hands, turned and brought his blade down across our enemy’s neck, making certain he wouldn’t rise to track us ever again.
I looked away, up, to see several old women and girls, bricks in hand, eyes alight with glory. “Run, Remnant!” cried a girl. “Run! We’ll try and keep them from you!”
“Come on,” Bellona said, taking the lead. “This way!”
We pounded over the cobblestones after her, not arguing. If Sethos had brought more than just his forward forces of Sheolites—if there were Pacifican soldiers approaching too—and if the Sheolites had gotten to Lord Darcel, we had to convince him to remain true.
CHAPTER
19
ANDRIANA
We’d wound our way through the streets—Bellona and Vidar just a block ahead of us—when an arrow pierced Bellona’s shoulder. She cried out and spun to one side, and Vidar immediately turned to scan the rooftops. Another arrow narrowly missed him, and Ronan shoved me around the corner. “Take cover!” he cried.
But around that corner was Sethos, again, along with three scouts. I stared at him in horror. How on earth had he found us again? We’d taken turn upon turn.
Ronan drew his sword, as did I.
“Come now,” Sethos said soothingly. “Put down your weapons, and you both shall live to see tomorrow.”
“I’d rather die than return to Pacifica with you,” Ronan said.
“As would I,” I said.
“Oh, I’m not offering to take you back with me, Knight,” Sethos said. “I’m offering you one more sunset before you are impaled in front of Zanzibar’s gates. That shall make an appropriate example for your new … followers.” With two fingers, he waved the others in to capture or kill us.
I could feel the chill throbbing in my armband and knew that the dark ones were in their company too. I imagined wraiths streaming through the city streets, circling us, choking us.
We had to make our escape. Fast.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw there were four more Sheolites who had just turned a corner and spotted us. “Ronan, we have company back there too,” I muttered.
I caught a wave of despair and frustration from him as he attacked, taking down one scout in a remarkably swift move, then immediately turning to the second. I waded in with him, doing battle with the third while Sethos hung back, watching in a fairly disinterested way.
The man I battled was strong and matched every strike and swing I tried. He grinned at me, realizing my strength was failing, and drove me backward. I nearly tripped a couple of times, and he nicked my shoulder, but I held on, confident that he had orders not to kill, but to capture. But they clearly had no such orders about Ronan. The other Sheolites gathered behind me, creating a barrier that I doubted I could escape, while still more arrived and closed in around my knight.
Fear took hold of me.
I was going to lose this night.
Ronan.
My freedom.
They would take me to Pacifica and force me to marry Keallach—he could compel me through the vows—or Sethos would see me die before the gates, alongside my Knight.
Do not fear, came Niero’s voice in my head. I looked around as I swung my sword wildly, but I could not see him. The moment you begin to fear is the moment you doubt your Maker’s love. Do you believe he loves you? Cares for you? That he is with you, even now?
Was this really the time for preaching to me?
Where are you, Niero? We need you!
I grimaced and ducked, narrowly avoiding the side of the Sheolite’s sword from bludgeoning my chest, then I grabbed my dagger from my calf sheath and stabbed it into the Sheolite’s thigh. He screamed and staggered backward a few steps.
Behind him, Ronan fell and rolled as his own adversary struck at him, again and again, his sword narrowly missing Ronan on the stones each time.
What do you believe, Andriana?
The Sheolite I faced wrenched out the dagger from his thigh and flung it to one side. Then he came after me with renewed vengeance.
Niero. Now’s not the time …
I blocked the next scout’s first blow.
If you died this day, what would the Maker say to you? What is the truth in your heart?
Irritated, I cried out, whirled, and missed the Sheolite with my blade. I tried to concentrate, to figure out what Niero wanted me to see.
I believe I was created to serve the Maker.
Truth, indeed. What else?
I believe the Maker loves me and wants me to live through this … I parried a blow and then punched the Sheolite in the throat, sending him reeling back, clutching his neck, eyes bugging out. Another stepped forward to take his place, face alight with glee. And I was so tired, then. I knew my strength alone would not be enough to carry me through. Nor Ronan’s.
That he is with us even now, in this desperate moment …
Yes, he is.
Niero dropped down from the rooftops between Ronan and the Sheolite, in a deep crouch. The surprise of his arrival gave my Knight a chance to gain his feet again. In two breaths, the scout was dead. Niero whirled, his ivory wings lifting in glorious fashion, taking down the man who threatened me too. I gasped at the glory of him, the wonder of him, as mighty and powerful as that night in the barn when Ronan was saved.
He moved past me so quickly that he was a blur and killed all four at our back flank with one perfect strike after another. My heart soared in praise for the One who had sent this one to walk alongside us, fight alongside us.
But a low, foul hiss behind me made me turn. Sethos.
The dark master’s eyes were on Raniero. “You dare to unfurl your wings here, before me? A dove before the wolf? I’ll have you begging for your life.”
Raniero turned, panting slightly, and tossed his bloody sword to his other meaty hand. He seemed bigger than he normally did, as if he bore the strength of ten men inside his body. And perhaps he did. “You, my once-brother,” he said to Sethos, “are the beggar at life’s door. But that passage was closed to you long ago, forever.”
Sethos turned, a swirl of red fabric, and I saw then the black wings emerge. I staggered backward as the two tall men came together, swords clanging, and tried to believe my eyes, yet chastised myself for not seeing it all along.
Of course. Sethos was a dark angel, just as Niero was one of the Maker’s loyalists. Everything about them seemed heightened, brightened, larger, in every sense of the word. Even as I absorbed the truth of their order, I couldn’t quite rectify how I knew both of them in memory with how they appeared now, before me. And I was very glad that Niero had arrived before Sethos revealed himself. Because Sethos was the most frightful creature I’d ever seen.
He was Death, personified.
Niero sent Sethos stumbling back with a fearsome strike, and turned to us. “Run,” he said under his breath. “Get back to the palace. Now.”
He turned to meet Sethos’s next blow, his massive arms trembling under the force of it.
“But you—” Ronan began, blinking as if he could force himself to see things as they once were, not as they were now.
“Go!” Niero bit out through clenched teeth, swinging again at Sethos, once, twice, three times in rapid succession.
I took Ronan’s hand and pulled him toward the alleyway again, and eventually he shook off his amazement enough to reall
y put himself into our escape. We moved so fast we felt as if we were lifted by angels. And perhaps we were.
We made it past Third, to Second, and were almost to First when I saw them—the first of the men in red, running by on the main road. I ducked into a doorway, and Ronan pulled me close, under the crook of his arm, the two of us gasping for breath. More Sheolites ran past the open mouth of the alley, a swath of red, with three patrols of Zanzibian soldiers in pursuit.
“It’s all right,” I whispered, looking up at him in the deepening shadows, “they’re running away. The Zanzibians—Lord Darcel has stuck to his word! They fight for us!”
Ronan closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall behind him, relief wafting from him into me. “We’re safe for the moment. Which is good,” he panted, looking down at me. “I’d rather not see another man in red this night.”
“But tomorrow would be all right?” I said with a grin.
“Oh yeah, tomorrow,” he returned with a huff of a laugh. “Tomorrow, we can each take on another hundred. As long as Niero’s with us.”
“Agreed,” I said with a slight smile. Our bravado, even false, gave me a measure of comfort.
He paused a moment. “Dri … how long? How long have you known that Niero was … other? Over these last weeks … I think I’ve known all along. But didn’t. Does that make sense?”
I gave his hand a squeeze. “I knew he was different the night we reached the Hoodite cave. His ability to heal …” I shook my head, remembering his broad back, the hundreds of scars, and how his bullet wound looked months old, rather than just days. “But he didn’t fully reveal himself until the night we almost lost you after our escape from Palace Pacifica.”
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