Temples of Dust (Kingdoms of Sand Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  I will not fear them. I will slay all my enemies. I am Seneca Octavius. I am an emperor. I will be brave. Tonight I am free.

  "Tonight we are free!" he cried.

  "Tonight we are free!" Imani answered his call.

  A barrel slammed into a ship at his left, spilling inferno over its soldiers. An iron bolt longer than a man tore into a ship at his right, sinking the vessel. The Aquila Aureum kept charging. Peppered with arrows, burning, punched with holes, the flagship kept sailing, faster with every beat of the oars, storming toward the enemy.

  Seneca sucked in air and grabbed the balustrade.

  Taste our iron, Porcia.

  With a roar that seemed to crack the sky, with shattering wood, with death, with screams, with men calling for their mothers and burning and drowning in darkness and torn apart by iron and steel, the fleets slammed together.

  Seneca screamed, clinging on. Ahead of him, only a few feet away, the ram of the Aquila Aureum—a great shard of iron shaped as an eagle—slammed into one of Porcia's hulking galleys. An enemy's ram tore into the Aquila Aureum's starboard, cracking wood, cutting the ship open. Water roared. Men screamed. Oars snapped and vanished underwater, and the enemy ship pressed up against them. Ropes swung and gangplanks slammed down, and with howls of war, Porcia's legionaries leaped onto the Aureum.

  Seneca tossed down his bow and drew his sword.

  "With me, Imani!" he cried. "For Nur!"

  She snarled, teeth shining in the firelight, raising shield and spear. "For Nur!"

  They charged toward the enemy.

  Across the deck of the Aquila Aureum, the battle raged. Legionary fought legionary. Aquila standards rose, shining in the night. The men had no room to fight as units; the battle became a brawl, a mindless slaughter. Men laughed as they hacked at their brothers, ripping off limbs, snapping through bones. Seneca's heart thrashed, and sweat washed him as he swung his sword. A hulking legionary raced toward him, leering, thrusting his gladius. Seneca raised his shield, catching the blow.

  I trained in the Acropolis with the finest of swordsmen.

  He screamed and swung his own sword, denting his enemy's armor, then parrying another blow.

  I fought Jerael Sela himself and defeated him.

  Seneca parried again, fell back a step, and hit the balustrade. His opponent smirked and pressed on the attack.

  I will not fear. Tonight I am free.

  Seneca roared and swung his gladius in a fury, parrying thrusts, landing blows of his own, adding dent after dent to his enemy's armor.

  I am not who I was. I am stronger, braver, wiser. I am righteous. I will not die tonight.

  With a cry, Seneca swung his shield, diverting a blow from his enemy's sword, then thrust his gladius with all his might. The razor-sharp, castrum-forged steel blade punched through the legionary's shield, drove deeper, and sliced through the torso until it sank to the hilt.

  Seneca yanked back the blade with a shower of blood, letting his enemy crumble onto the deck.

  Again I killed.

  Seneca panted and spat. His limbs shook. Around him, across the Aureum's deck, the battle still raged. Across the harbor, hundreds of ships clashed. Arrows shrieked overhead. The catapults and trebuchets still fired. Boulders sailed through the sky, slammed down, tore through decks, tore through men. Corpses sank in the bloodied waters, and the sea itself burned. Flotsam spread for leagues, ablaze, as men desperately scrambled for purchase before sinking into the darkness. A flaming ship sailed by, its sailors burning, screaming, and the sparks showered onto Seneca, and heat blasted him, and smoke filled his nostrils.

  The world burns.

  "Porcia!" he shouted. "Porcia, are you here? Did you come here to face me, or do you still cower in Aelar? Your reign is over, Porcia!"

  He moved across the deck. He lashed his gladius, slaying another man. Imani fought at his side, thrusting her spear, cutting through men. They stepped over corpses. They cut down the last of the invaders, shoving their corpses into the sea.

  "Empress Porcia's reign ends!" Seneca shouted. "Hear me, legions! Porcia's reign ends! Seneca Octavius is your emperor!"

  "Hail Seneca!" Imani cried, raising her bloody spear.

  "Hail Seneca, hail Seneca!" echoed his men, and the cry rose across the fleet.

  Seneca inhaled smoke, coughed, grinned, slew another man. He pointed his sword toward a towering enemy galley, a fortress of wood topped with archers.

  "For Aelar!" Seneca shouted. "Ram them! Cut them down!"

  The Aquila Aureum sailed forth, plowing through burning flotsam and drowning men. Arrows kept raining. One glanced off Seneca's helmet. Another sank into Imani's shield. More arrows cut down legionaries around them. With an ear-piercing crack, the Aquila Aureum's ram slammed into the enemy ship. Wooden planks shattered. Chunks of wood flew through the air. Archers fired from the wooden tower on the deck, but the ship listed, and the tower cracked. Archers tumbled down.

  "Board them, cut their men down!" Seneca cried.

  Gangplanks slammed down. Seneca's legionaries raced onto the damaged ship. Swords rang. Limbs scattered. Men fell, blood gushing, sliding into the water.

  Seneca struggled to breathe. Every breath was an agony of smoke and terror. His cheek bled. His leg spurted blood; he did not remember wounding it. All around him, thousands were dying. This was slaughter on a scale he had never seen, not even in Gefen. Countless legionaries and Nurians burned, drowned, vanished into fire and water. Ahead of him, atop another ship, Nurian warriors thrust their spears against legionaries. Farther back, a boulder slammed into another ship, shattering the deck and mast. Its men fell into the water, only for another ship to plow over them.

  And still the enemy ships emerged from the darkness.

  "More of them!" Imani shouted, pointing her spear toward the north. A gash bled on her forehead, and a sword had cracked her armor and bloodied her chest. Still she stood, panting, holding her weapon and shield. "A hundred more!"

  Seneca stared north and his heart seemed to shatter. A second wave of enemy ships was emerging over the horizon, lighting the night. More drums beat. More enemy soldiers chanted.

  All of Porcia's wrath is descending upon Nur, Seneca thought. Even with the wars in Gael and Zohar, she's unleashing her fury here. For me. For my head.

  Standing beside him on the bloodied deck, Imani clasped his hand.

  "No surrender," the Queen of Nur said.

  He stared at the advancing ships. "Death or victory."

  The drums beat ahead, and he heard their answer.

  Death. Death. Death.

  More arrows, bolts, and barrels flew from the new wave of ships. The death rained onto Seneca and his army.

  An iron shard the size of a tree slammed into the Aquila Aureum, driving a hole through the deck, plunging into the hold. Men screamed and died. Water gushed into the ship, and Seneca clung to the balustrade. Imani fell at his side, and he reached out, grabbed her. Planks rose from the deck like teeth, impaling men. The galley listed, and the water still roared, filling the hold. Oars snapped.

  Seneca tried to pull Imani up, but more arrows fell. He released the balustrade and raised his shield. The arrows slammed down, and he slid along the tilted deck. He slammed into a jutting shard of wood and screamed. The plank shattered against his armor, and Imani nearly slipped from his grip.

  "Seneca!" she cried.

  An arrow slammed into his shoulder, punched through the iron, bit his flesh. He spun across the deck, falling, and water blasted against him. He gripped Imani's fingers. She slipped over the edge, and her legs dangled over the water. Corpses were sinking below her, and shards of ships burned. A flaming barrel flew overhead and slammed into the Aquila Aureum only feet away. The masts and sails burned. The water kept rushing in. Smoke rose in clouds and more men died, sliding across the deck, slamming into Seneca.

  "Seneca . . ." Imani said, fingers slipping from his grip.

  He snarled. "We live tonight, Imani. We live tonight!
Tonight we are free. Tonight we are victorious. Drop your spear and hold on!"

  She swung up her second arm, letting her spear vanish into the churning water. She grabbed his wrist. He gave her a mighty tug, pulling her back onto the shattered deck.

  The ship kept sinking and burning around them. Still the arrows flew. Imani wrenched a gladius free from a corpse. They ran together, leaped off the balustrade, and sailed through the air. They slammed onto the deck of another ship—a Nurian vessel—awash with enemy legionaries.

  "For Nur!" Seneca cried.

  "For Nur!" Imani shouted, thrusting her sword.

  They ran across the ship, weapons flashing, only for barrels to slam down before them, shattering the deck, tearing men apart. Hundreds of warriors fell, rolling off the wreckage, vanishing into the water.

  Seneca fell.

  Black water enveloped him.

  Sea. Fire. Blood.

  Men thrashed around him in the black sea, reaching up, bubbles rising from their nostrils, trying to rise, sinking in their armor, screaming underwater. The fire burned above.

  Seneca kicked wildly. His head was submerged. The surface grew more distant, and the corpses sank all around him, and ships sank with them, and he couldn't breathe, and his lungs ached, and his blood rose. The water grew darker, colder, tugging him down. The sea seemed bottomless.

  He slashed his sword madly, ripping at the straps on his breastplate, and tugged the armor off.

  "Imani!" he cried, voice casting bubbles into the sea.

  She was thrashing underwater at his side. Her helmet was gone, and her hair coiled around her. She too was tugging off her armor and kicking, struggling to rise.

  Their gazes met underwater.

  We live tonight, Seneca thought.

  Their hands clasped together, and they kicked, and they rose through the water. They ascended through bodies, through sinking swords and arrows, through blood, through the devastation of war. Their heads burst over the surface, and they gulped down air.

  Around them the sea burned. Their ships were sinking. In every direction they fell—her Nurian warriors, his legionaries. Thousands dying in the water, their ships shattering, sinking.

  We can't win, Seneca realized, floundering in the water. She's too strong. I was a fool.

  He couldn't see Porcia here. He called to her, but no voice answered.

  She didn't come, Seneca realized. She sent her army, but she remained in Aelar, beyond my grip.

  He roared, imagining her, comfortable in her palace while the blood washed him.

  "Coward!" he shouted.

  In the din of the battle, he imagined her voice, echoing through the storm of war.

  Now you die, Seneca. Die. Die.

  The demonic presence weighed down on him, ready to crush him, to drown him in the water. He could no longer see the stars, and her ships kept sailing forth. Several of her galleys attached themselves to the boardwalk, and her warriors stormed into the city. Soon they would spread across Nur, reclaiming the province, slaying all those loyal to him.

  They'll find me, Seneca thought. They'll take me back to Porcia. She'll flay me in the arena, crucify my skinless body, leave me to die in the sun as the crowd cheers and the flies feast.

  The fear was too great. His wounds were too deep. He began to sink again.

  Imani's hand tightened around his. She shouted through the roar of battle.

  "Hold on, Seneca! Swim! Swim!"

  He looked into her eyes, and he saw true concern. He saw . . . love. Love for him. He had never seen love in Ofeer's eyes, only blind worship, then disgust. He had never seen love in the eyes of the whores he would buy.

  Imani wants me to live. She truly cares for me. His eyes dampened. My wife.

  He kicked in the water, and he swam.

  They swam between the corpses, the wreckage, the sinking ships, the raining arrows. They swam until they returned to the boardwalk, and they climbed onto the wet stones.

  Seneca stood between land and water and beheld the underworld risen.

  The ships sank behind him. The port city burned ahead. The forces of Porcia Octavius were racing along the streets, cutting people down. Children ran, burning, and leaped into the water, only for arrows to pierce them. Nurians fought and died in alleyways. The catapults were firing from Porcia's fleet, tearing down buildings. Archways and towers crumbled.

  Today we live.

  "For Nur," Seneca whispered.

  Imani nodded. "For freedom."

  They took new spears from fallen warriors. And they fought.

  "For Nur!"

  "For freedom!"

  They fought on the boardwalk. They fought in the alleyways and in courtyards. They fought along riverbanks and on the roofs of crumbling homes. Around them they rallied—the last of Seneca's legionaries, the warriors of Nur, the people of this southern land, crushed, broken, brutalized. The city rose in a true rebellion, not only warriors but children, elders, nursing mothers, hurling stones, fighting with kitchen knives and clubs. This night all in Nur were soldiers. This night the entire land was an army.

  This night Seneca and Imani refused to die. This night they fought. This night they lived. This night they were free.

  Porcia's legionaries surrounded them, moving closer, swords thrusting from between their shields. Howls rose, and dark figures leaped from the roofs. With a battle cry, Prince Adai, Imani's brother, landed among the legionaries and swung a khopesh in each hand. Hundreds of other Nurians, once rebels and now soldiers of the savanna, landed around him, lashing their weapons. Legionaries fell, and more Nurians flowed forth, roaring for their kingdom, for a land crushed, a land now rising up, doing what no land had ever done.

  We're casting them back, Seneca realized, fighting on the street, cutting down the enemy. We're defeating her. We're living.

  They had perished in the sea. Here, on land, on this raped and ravaged land of Nur, here the tide turned.

  Here they fought for freedom, and here an entire nation rose, soldiers and commoners alike, casting back the enemy.

  The sun had set on terror. It rose on blood, death, and victory.

  "Victory!" Imani shouted, standing on a temple's tower, raising her spear.

  "Victory!" Seneca cried, standing at her side, sword in hand. His armor was shattered. His body was cut, bruised, dripping. But he was victorious.

  "The city stands!" he shouted. "Nur stands! Nur stands!"

  Across the city of Tereen, they spread. What remained of his legions—only a couple hundred men. The armies of Nur—a scattered few thousand. Around them—thousands of dead. The husks of ships sank in the water. On the boardwalk, catapults still fired, driving off what enemy ships had not yet sunken.

  Those last ships turned to flee.

  The ruin of Porcia's army spread across the streets, the delta, and the coast.

  "Victory," Seneca whispered, turning toward Imani on the tower top.

  She took his hands, and her eyes shone, and the smallest of smiles raised the corners of her mouth. A wild, savage smile. A smile full of fear, hatred, and joy. They stood together on the tallest tower in Tereen. Across the city, the survivors cheered.

  "Look, Imani," Seneca said, sweeping his arm across the port city, the sea, the delta, the river that flowed from the savanna. "Look. Do you see it?"

  Her eyes shone in the dawn. "I see it. I see Nur."

  He shook his head. "You see an empire. Our empire. The great Southern Empire that we rule." He placed his hands on her waist. "It's ours, Imani. We will do great things here. We will raise new armies and new fleets, and we will build palaces, and for eternity, people will remember our names. Seneca. Imani. Emperor and empress of the south, of the sea, and soon of the world. This is only the beginning. I promise you this. The sun sets upon Porcia's domain, and our dawn rises."

  He kissed her. She hesitated at first, then kissed him back, hungrily, eagerly, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

  "I love you, Imani Koteeka, my wife."
He stroked her cheek. "Our love will light the world."

  They kissed desperately. They stood alone atop the tower. Around them spread the glory, the death, the blood, the sunrise upon ruin and empire. His hands explored her, peeling off the tatters of her clothes, exposing her body—bruised, cut, a warrior's body. She leaned against the parapets, the sunrise in her hair, her eyes closed. He made love to her there, in the dawn of their victory, pressing her against the battlements, as the smoke wafted from the city, as the bells of glory rang. They moaned together, naked, joined, consummating their marriage atop the city, the empire, all the world. The world that was burning. The world he would cleanse. The world he would rule.

  PORCIA

  She stood on the hillside, looked down at the lake, and pursed her lips.

  "It's a bit small."

  At her side, Ambrosia opened her eyes wide. She was a pretty thing, ethnically Aelarian but blond and blue-eyed, heralding from the northern hills near the border. A rare treasure in the court. Porcia liked pretty little things. Ambrosia was as a jewel, shining in the sunlight.

  "My empress, the ship is as large as a palace!" Ambrosia gazed down at the lake, awe in her eyes. "Truly a masterwork."

  Porcia snorted. "My palace back in the city is larger. I ordered a floating palace, and this is what I get?"

  The Luciana Nave floated in the lake, still under construction. Truth be told, it was the largest ship Porcia had ever seen, larger than she had imagined a ship could be. It dwarfed even the massive quinquereme warship, which floated by it for scale. A thousand men could squeeze into a quinquereme; they would feel roomy on the palatial vessel below. The ship wasn't yet seaworthy, but Porcia had decided to name it the Luciana Nave after her mother. It was three hundred feet long and a hundred feet wide, they told her. It was too bulky to ever sail downriver to the Encircled Sea or fight in battles, and in this lake it would remain, a sanctuary for an empress. Why should she sail south to war with her brother? She had generals for that. She had earned her rest here. Earned a ship of pleasure rather than one of blood and shit and sweat. She had fought for years; let her enjoy her glory.