Season of Glory

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “He revealed himself? To everyone?”

  “To me. And to you, but you weren’t quite coherent. After that, it was like whatever cloak kept him hidden from Vidar’s eyes was removed, and he knew too.”

  “How is it that Vidar didn’t recognize him before? Or Sethos?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe angels have the choice whether to reveal themselves fully to those around them. Vidar knew Niero was a force of good, just as he knew Sethos was a force of evil. Just not how … deep either man delved into each side.”

  “You know I’m going to have to tease him about that,” he said with a grin.

  I grinned back. “I think that would only be appropriate.”

  We stilled, and Ronan pulled me closer as we heard more boots running down the street just ahead of us. But it was a patrol of twelve Zanzibian soldiers. Still, we held back. Even if they were our allies now, we weren’t quite ready to trust them completely.

  “Ready to try and get to the palace?” Ronan whispered, once they’d passed.

  “Yes.”

  We took off again, slowing at the corner of First and peering in both directions. The street was dark and quiet, many of the citizens likely cowering indoors, waiting out the fighting and wondering what the morning would bring after so many changes and such a threat.

  As did we.

  CHAPTER

  20

  RONAN

  We ran directly up to the palace gates. There were no guards outside, but the doors were barricaded. Six guards peered down at us, each holding a torch against the gathering dark.

  “We are Ronan and Andriana of the Valley!” I called, agitated that we weren’t immediately recognized and admitted. “Let us in, quickly!”

  The guards looked grimly down first and conferred together for a moment, their hesitation making me want to scream. I wanted to get Dri inside, to relative safety. The Sheolites might be on the run at the moment, but …

  “It’s all clear! Let them in!” one finally called over his shoulder, down to those below on the other side of the gates.

  We heard the slide of the crossbeam, and again I looked down the street, both relieved and unnerved by the total silence and emptiness of it. The guards cracked the door just enough to allow us entry and then quickly barricaded it again. We were ushered by two grim-faced soldiers inside the palace, where we found our companions in a public room near the front, clearly waiting on our arrival. Lord Darcel, Lady Shabana, and the baby were with them.

  Quickly, we greeted one another.

  “Where’s Niero?” Vidar asked.

  “He sent us on,” I said to him, knowing that among all the Ailith, he’d be most likely to understand what had truly transpired. “He saved us from Sethos. As did the people of your city,” I went on quickly, turning to Lord Darcel. “If it wasn’t for them, raining down bricks upon the Sheolites, and your soldiers, chasing others, we might have been captured. Or worse.” I cast a grim look to Dri, and she nodded, even as she accepted a goblet of water from Tressa.

  “We must get you out,” said Darcel. “Before the Pacifican politicians come.”

  “They’re coming?” I asked. “You know this?”

  “They’ve sent word,” he returned. “We did not reply. I’ll deal with them when they arrive at our gates. For now, we have the remaining Sheolites trapped in the southeast corner of the city. We will make sure every one of them dies this night. But we only have an hour, maybe two, before their reinforcements arrive. You must be away.”

  “But Niero isn’t—” Bellona began.

  “Niero will join us in time. He’ll be all right,” Vidar said to her.

  “How will you hold the city against them?” Killian asked Darcel.

  “Their forward forces surprised us,” the young lord replied, face grim. “They won’t do so again. And this city has stood for a very long time. Thanks to you, we have renewed reason to hold the gates.”

  We all rose, accepting packs from servants, which I assumed had water and food in them. Then we said quick farewells to Lady Shabana, holding her bundled babe, and followed the lord down the hallway to a servant’s passage, then into the bowels of the palace. Behind a trapdoor, we entered a tiny, rough-cut tunnel, cold and damp and full of spiderwebs. Carrying a torch, Darcel led us all the way to the end, and after pulling an ancient key from his pocket turned it in the lock of one door and then another. Wet, slimy steps were below us, and by the smell, I knew they led to a sewage tunnel. “Forgive me,” said Lord Darcel, his nose wrinkling at the foul stench. “It’s the only way out of the city that I know of, without everyone knowing you’ve gone. And we want our enemies to think you’re still here. It will buy you precious time.”

  It was an ancient, last-resort escape route. This was perhaps the only time it had ever been used as such. But undoubtedly every royal who’d ever inhabited the palace had known of it. I had to admire Darcel—a man who had probably never had dirty hands, let alone been ankle-deep in sludge—as he led us through one iron gate after another. At the end, he opened the fourth gate and pointed out into the inky black night. “Once away from the wall, head directly east to the river. There, you will find Drifter drivers waiting with Jeeps that will get you to the Valley before morning. They work for us and have sworn to care for any that I protect with their lives. You can trust them.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” I said.

  “Thank you, Ronan of the Valley.” He took my arm and then Killian’s, then said good-bye to the others. “If our enemies come against you in the Valley, we will come to your aid. We owe you our lives. Our future too.”

  “We’re indebted to you,” Tressa said.

  “It is to you and yours that I owe my debt,” he said, kissing her hand and holding it with no trace of the lechery that once was so evident in him. “You,” he went on, his voice cracking, “have changed me. In so many ways. For as long as I live, know I will serve you and yours in any way possible.”

  “Serve the Maker in all things, and all will be well,” she said. “Continue all that has begun! It’s a new day, Lord Darcel. For you, your family, and your people.”

  I shook my head as we slipped out of the city, wondering at all that had transpired. Of all the people who had found new life after encountering us, the Lord of Zanzibar had to be the biggest transformation of all. And what his transformation meant, for an entire city … in retrospect, it made clear exactly why the Maker had sent us here. At no other time in his life had Darcel been ready to hear the truth, let alone abide by it.

  “What about Niero?” Tressa asked as we all hurried toward the river.

  “I imagine he’ll be along shortly,” I said, giving Dri’s hand a squeeze.

  “How?” Killian asked. “Will he sprout wings and fly?”

  “He’ll find a way,” I managed to say, my voice strangled. I didn’t know why Niero had kept his angelic secret from us for so long, but I was determined not to be the one to break such a confidence.

  “If he can make it out of Wadi Qelt and arrive beside the Isle of Catal in a boat,” Kapriel said, “I’m sure he can manage this as well.”

  “I don’t like it,” Killian said. “We’re best when we’re all together. Strongest.”

  But when we reached the river, relieved to wade in and wash away the stench of the foul sewer, Niero surprised us. “About time you arrived,” he said. “The drivers are just over the hill.”

  “Niero!” Killian cried, reaching for the man’s arm in the dark. “How did you—”

  “I went over the wall instead of under it. The lord had told me how he intended to spirit us out of the city. I took a chance that I might find you here.”

  “Did you kill Sethos? Is he gone?” I asked, taking my turn to grip the man’s arm. But it was … different, knowing what Raniero truly was. It made me feel cautious. Not in the sense that I couldn’t trust him, but more like he was again new to me, like an old friend or a brother returning home after several seasons away.

/>   “No,” he said, and I could hear the bitter disappointment in his tone. “Time and again, he went after you; once he knew you were beyond his reach, he escaped me.”

  My head jerked upward. We could all hear the sounds of engines in the distance, as vehicles bounced over the sand dunes, making their way toward us with headlights off. We all stood and gathered together, Knights before their Remnants, Niero before Chaza’el and Kapriel.

  When they pulled up before us, their faces becoming clear in the dim moonlight, I drew my sword.

  Because the Drifters who had come to fetch us and take us home were familiar … in a very bad way.

  They were the very same group that had kidnapped Dri.

  The same group that had shot Niero and left him for dead.

  CHAPTER

  21

  ANDRIANA

  Had these Drifters just happened upon us before the others arrived—those that had answered Lord Darcel’s call to transport his “guests” to the Valley?

  “Easy there,” cried one man. “I’m coming toward you, alone. Do your best to not run me through yet. I’m unarmed.”

  He jumped to the ground and padded toward us between the second and third vehicles, hands raised. It was Bushy, the huge, barbaric man who had so mistreated me. Left me chained in the cave while he and his people all drank themselves into a stupor. His eyes flicked over the others until they rested on me. He smiled and tilted his head in my direction. Ronan shifted, blocking his view. I moved to peek over his other shoulder, but Bushy was looking at Niero.

  “’Spect I deserve this kind of greeting,” he said, reaching a hand out to Niero.

  Niero did not take it.

  “But we’re friends now, or would like to be. People of the Way, my group of Drifters are now.”

  “You,” scoffed Killian, gesturing toward him. “Forgive me for being skeptical.”

  “Don’t blame you,” Bushy said, raising one brow and nodding. “We captured two people you had run across, a grandmother and her young grandson. They told us what had happened. At first, we didn’t believe it, but the more that sprite of a goatherd and old cheesemaker yammered on about their story, the more our minds started to open.” He put his hands on his hips, bowed his head, and shook it. “Takes some people a long time to put their faith in something like the Way, and others not long at all. I ‘spect the Maker had been workin’ on me for a good, long while. We were ready for a change.” A grin spread across his lips, and I remembered well his white teeth and foul breath. “And it doesn’t hurt that it lifts my skirts to do what anyone in power has forbade everyone to do … claim faith in the Maker.”

  Vidar stepped out from behind Bellona, walked right up to the giant of a man, and looked up into his face a moment. Then he grinned and offered his arm. “Welcome, brother. We are glad to have you. As well as to get a ride rather than walk for two days home.”

  We climbed into the Drifters’ vehicles, still a bit dazed by yet another turn, yet feeling utter peace about it too. “Now this could only be of the Maker,” I whispered to Kapriel as he climbed in beside me. “If you had met these people when we had …”

  He gave me a little smile. “Don’t you see it yet, Dri? The Maker is calling the worst, the farthest, the hardest to him first. It’s like folding a pastry in and in and in further, until all are included. He’s long had a heart for those who have no one else, or perhaps they are the first to recognize how much they need him. Those who have power and authority? They shall be last.”

  “Except for the Lord of Zanzibar.”

  He smiled again. “Well, yes, him.”

  “And you, the lost Prince of Pacifica.”

  “I’ve been the Maker’s subject since the day my parents first told me of him and what I had been born for. But few would say I have any power and authority.”

  “You bear the power and authority of the Maker,” I said. “That’s all any of us need.” The engines rumbled to a start. I glanced over my shoulder as Ronan climbed in behind me, electing to stand beside Chaza’el. “What could be greater?”

  “Perhaps that power and the throne of Pacifica?” Kapriel said, grinning at me.

  “Well, that would be good,” I said, joining in with my own conspiratorial smile.

  KEALLACH

  In the cramped transport, I paced back and forth in front of Sethos and two of his wounded Sheolites. He stood stiffly before me, staring straight ahead. Maximillian, Daivat, and Fenris stood behind me.

  “Let me be sure I understand this,” I said. “You had a hundred Sheolites at your disposal. Three of your elite trackers. A device to tell you exactly where my brother and Andriana were. And you lost them.”

  “We were far outnumbered, Majesty,” Sethos said stiffly. “The Zanzibians turned against us, from soldier to commoner. And the city was full of the faithful. We got close—very close—to Andriana. But then the one they call Raniero intervened.”

  “Raniero, their captain? He is a match for you?”

  “He is,” Sethos said. “I’m sorry, Highness. I have failed you.”

  “Yes. Yes, you have,” I bit out. “And now it’s time to take things into my own hands.” I turned and strode to the technician who had a screen before him and was overlaying a map of the city and the outlying regions. It only took a moment to see the two blinking lights indicating Kapriel and Andriana. They’d made it out of the castle, under cover of darkness. They were escaping.

  Heading home, back to the Valley.

  I paced back and forth, thinking, pressing the sides of my head and squinting my eyes, trying to find a way through. We could try and capture them again, out here. But we would be outnumbered if Zanzibian patrols on the wall saw us and intervened.

  Deep within, I knew such an action would ruin everything. After the complete turning of Zanzibar, after such wins for the Way, they would be feeling strong, as if the Maker himself was encouraging them onward. He was, in a way. And I had to harness that power too …

  No. I couldn’t force Andriana and Kapriel to come back with me to Pacifica and gradually win their full support.

  I had to convince them to give it to me willingly.

  ANDRIANA

  The sun wasn’t even up yet when we arrived at the Valley mouth, with grit covering our faces and weariness making our eyes ache. But we were home and arriving victorious, in many ways. The Maker had sent us to Zanzibar, and we’d returned after claiming the city—that horrendous city—as our own. We’d battled back Sethos and his Sheolite warriors and all survived to see another sunrise. We’d seen Lord Darcel’s son restored to him and the nobles and commoners alike commit to One higher than they. The incredible sequence of events still made my heart swell with praise for the Maker and the way he had made for us. And for them.

  We shook hands with our unlikely saviors—the very people who had once threatened to sell me to the Zanzibians—and tried to convince them to join us in the Valley.

  “Nah,” said the bushy-bearded man—Redd, I’d learned his name was—with a shrug, patting his steering wheel. “Gotta stick with these, and you Valley-dwellers don’t go in much for roads. But if you need us, we won’t be far. For now, we’ll make sure that no one comes after you. Rest easy. You can trust that you’ll get all the way to the Citadel this night.” They handed us several torches and a lighter. Vidar set one torch after another aflame.

  “Thank you,” Kapriel said.

  Redd gave him a surprisingly regal bow and rose slowly, grinning. “I await the day you ascend the throne, my prince. When the kingdom is at last in your hands again.”

  Kapriel spread out his arms. “The kingdom is already here. It is, and has always been, and will be forever, the Maker’s own.”

  “The One who was …” said Redd.

  “The One who is,” said those nearest.

  “The One who is to come,” said everyone else, in unison.

  With that, we turned to go, climbing the path inward that had become decidedly more worn with all the p
ilgrims and refugees who had arrived. It was wider and flatter, with more rocks dislodged. There were wheel marks from where people had pushed carts and wagons. Hoof prints from goats and sheep, herded inward. Mudhorse tracks too.

  As always, the Valley felt as welcoming and reassuring to me as my mom’s own arms, opened wide. But this night, there was something different. Something off. One by one, each of the Ailith slowed, recognizing it. We looked at one another, silently understanding. We were not alone. There was another nearby.

  One of us.

  Except every last one of the Remnants was accounted for. Unless one of our lost brothers or sisters had miraculously found their way here. My heart leaped at the thought. After all, it had been our enemy who had told me that others had been captured and murdered on the road to us. What if they had lied? What if …

  Ronan gripped my wrist and pulled me back as I tried to surge ahead. “No, Dri, wait,” he whispered, passing me by. “Let us check it out first.”

  I stifled a groan and followed behind him, ignoring how his whole being practically turned into a scowl when I refused to stay put. But how could he think I would be left behind? This was a Remnant ahead of us, or a Knight—clearly Ailith blood.

  We crested a small rise in the path and looked down to a shallow clearing among the woods, the light from our torches filling it like a bowl as the rest of our party arrived. There we found a young man on his knees, dressed in an old, worn sweater and dirty pants, with only a small bag strapped across his chest. His head was bowed.

  At first, I didn’t recognize him and wondered why no one spoke to him. But when I looked over at the others and saw Kapriel’s profile, gaping in disbelief, I knew who it was before I even saw the newcomer raise his chin.

  Keallach.

  CHAPTER

  22

  ANDRIANA

  I watched it all unfold as if it was happening to someone else. Everything seemed slow. Muted. Ronan growled and pulled his sword, as did Bellona, both of them rushing toward Keallach.